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*staggering gabapentin* ever since I was a child, I always had a smile on my face. I’d just be minding my business and thinking to myself, and people would always stop and ask me, “what you smiling about little one?” And i’d say nothing, because truly i didn’t even realize I was smiling like that. 23 years i’ve been smiling for no reason, whether i’m happy, sad, suicidal, homicidal, or just existing. I don’t know if it’s a tic of some sort, if it’s a symptom of one of my many mental illnesses, i’m just retarded, or what. But people would always ask me what I was smiling about because I looked so happy, when really i’ve been suicidal since age 8 lmao.

But anyway, that sweet older lady in my cell, we called her “mama”, always complimented my smile. Of course deep down i was miserable and on and off suicide watch and having mental breakdowns every ten minutes in that jail, but yet that smile wouldn’t go away. I’m smiling right now, fuck. But she would say things like,

“you have the most beautiful face and smile. I love that smile of yours. I wake up and see you smiling in your sleep and when you wake up, and it makes me smile and feel better. Because everyone in here is miserable, always frowning and mean mugging you, and i understand because nobody wants to be in here. But you, you’re different. No matter what, you always got a smile on your face. With a smile like that, you probably saved someone’s life just by that beautiful smile. That’s the one thing i’m gonna miss when you’re gone.”

And of course i nearly cried like a bitch at what she said because it had been a long time since someone said something about my serial killer smile (one girl in my cell actually thought i was creepy as hell because of it, but her and i were cool lmao), and because, like i told her, i said, “all my life i’ve been struggling mentally and wanting to just die. I don’t know why i smile like this. But i told myself that if i couldn’t ever bring myself to actually kill myself or be of any worth to society or anyone, then at the very least i wanted to make someone happy or save a life by giving them hope. Basically give someone the life of happiness i could never have.”

And when i think about it, i actually have saved many lives. Even in jail, like i told y’all, everyone assigned me as the therapist/psychologist because the guards and mental staff were useless, so i had to handle the crises and fights and mental breakdowns and suicidal people — all while i was going through the same shit. But somehow I always managed to help these people, even when I can’t even help myself. I’ve been saving lives since i was a teenager and using that app called “vent” where people use it to do just that, but sometimes people would get mad suicidal on that app and i’d be up all night talking them through it because the app didn’t even have a fucking emergency system in place for incidents like that.

And when i was in the tcc on tumblr — which was basically nothing but suicidal and homicidal teenagers — i’d talk people out of suicide and even talk some out of mass murder (because mental illness + immersion in an online community dedicated to murderers don’t mix well…). Unfortunately, i had to get the authorities involved in two cases because they were serious serious, but thank god that because they were juveniles and obviously mentally ill, they weren’t sent to jail, they were likely sent to behavioral health. And some time after, they’d come back online and thank me for what i did and that they were doing much better now (i’ll never forget you pikachu boy lmao).

So like, i guess i am useful in some way. I have paid my debt to society and that’s been saving lives and making other people happy just by looking happy myself. Just by smiling for no damn reason.

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And i’ll forever hold that in my heart. I can’t believe i’m this miserable of a person when i deadass inspired a wholeass friend of mine to change their major and career/research path to mass shooting prevention just by rambling about it on tumblr… i don’t know how i do the things i do to make other people happy and successful and change their entire lives for the better just by existing yet being this fucking mental and crazy

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Right now Ben and Ef and I are packing to move and I’m about to eat and crash so maybe I’ll tell y’all about how the tcc is real in jail and people want to fawn over and be the friend/girlfriend of an attempted killer or an actual killer. Not at all what I expected from an attempted killer’s perspective but holy shit what an experience

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Ok i’m about to write up what it was like being on the other side of the killer/attempted killer fangirls and shit. I was in there less than 3 weeks, so it might not be much by the time i’m done writing this all up, but let me get something to eat because i’ve been starving myself in that jail for the entire time I was in there because their food made me sick as a dog. I’ll come back with a reblog when i’m done.

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*still waiting for the paint to dry on my coffin and blasting evanescence* ok, so.

Everyone. Everyone. Wanted to be my friend when word got around that i tried to murder my mom who was a cop. Now, i’m not particularly sure if it was because they wanted to be on my good side because they were scared of me (i’m a fucking harmless sewer rat and could never hurt a fly…). I’m a quiet and isolated person. I keep to myself. I don’t want to be bothered by other people irl because i’m mental. I spent more than half my life isolated. It’s a part of my soul now. I don’t speak unless spoken to. But everyone wanted to be my fucking friend. When i was in the mood, i’d visit the other two cells when they let us out and they’d be elated to see me. They loved hearing me talk about my passions (psychology and mass shootings and whatever else i was knowledgeable about), and one girl said, “i love the way she (me) talks. She’s just so smart.”

They were offering me their commissary (their own money or whatever they bought with said money), they offered to let me use their little tablets to play games and listen to music (shoutout to that hot chick who let me listen to bring me to life on her tablet), they gave me their extra food and snacks (even though i made it clear that their food made me sick as hell), they wanted to do my hair, they gave me snacks and cookies and candies, they spoiled me. They even came into my cell to bother and talk to me when i had my pants over my head as a blindfold and clearly trying to Out of all the fights that went down in that jail that required backup and the SAT team to respond, nobody so much as insulted me.

They wanted to know all about my case and why i tried to kill my mother and what it was like to try and kill her and a cop at the same time, every time i went to court they flocked to me to hear what my attorney and judge said. I tried to smile and be friendly about it but sincerely I was getting irritated by these people. They wanted to make small and long talk with me. They wanted hugs, especially that girl with the lice lmao. Also i did make a girlfriend, Pascal, and when she gets her shit together we’re gonna move in together because we’re both technically “homeless” now. Cute lil white/hispanic girl. Y’all know i love vanilla. She was in the cell next to mine and when they’d let us out i’d run in there to just sit with her and talk a little. If she was reading or sleeping or using her tablet, i’d leave her alone out of respect. But we’d also exchange music on her tablet and talk about all kinds of things and when MY cellmates came in and saw me talking to her and smiling they’d be all like, “are you happy now??? You talking to your little girlfriend all smiling and shit???” Lmao. But something about her company and her personality made it more bearable in there. She was the only one i wanted to talk to and be near. And then when they transferred us both to general population and separated us by putting her in the north tower and me in the south tower (before i went running back to the west tower lmao), i was fucking devastated. But she’s out now, i’ve been in contact with her mom, and her mom said that as soon as she gets a phone of her own, she’ll give her my number and we can reconnect and talk about our plans to move in together.

When i was booked in, i left my phone and all my contacts at home. So i had no one on the outside to help fund me or talk to. Still, they offered me “stamps” and to use their accounts to video chat and message people. And, like i said a few times, i was the designated psychologist in that bitch, so i had to break up fights and handle suicidal and homicidal people because the guards weren’t shit, and somehow they all calmed down and listened to me, and regarding fights, i got people to apologize to one another and go back in their cells and make peace.

Because i come from a family of cops, like i said, there was a running joke that i was an “undercover inmate/cop”, and that they had to watch what they say around me. However, because i’m so knowledgeable of the criminal justice system as a result of my family history and temporarily studying criminal justice myself, everyone came to me for advice, to answer legal questions, to know whatever about the law and jail and how jail works.

So, i suppose this is how murderers and mass murderers are treated in jail in prison. Or maybe i’m just a special case. Cause like Pete once told me this about Nikolas Cruz (Parkland Shooter). But i’m not a mass high school murderer, i just tried to kill a cop/my mom, and if y’all remember me saying, when we were watching the news in the day room and saw that Dallas PD got shot, we were all rooting and cheering over it lmfao.

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*waiting for the paint to dry on my coffin* the moment I truly realized that the justice system wasn’t so… just… was the day I went to court and was told i was going home soon. A few hours later, a friend of ours, Norris, from the cell next to us, came to ours and was belated because she was just told to, “pack it up,” and usually when they say that, that means you’re going home. Other times, however, it means you’re being transferred.

Norris was told by her judge and attorney that she would be going home after serving two months in jail for spitting on a cop. They explicitly told her that she would not be going to TDC (prison) when her time was up, and her time was up the same day i was told mine was up — and i was in there for two and a half weeks for trying to murder not only my mom, but a cop as well. A two for one special.

Norris gave everyone hugs and was so happy and was all smiles, she was so happy to be going home. Or so she thought. About an hour later, I went out into the day room and she was the only one in there looking out the window and at some drama going on in the other tank/pods with her bag packed by her side. She looked worried and distressed. I asked her what was wrong and she said, “i thought I was going home, but those people over there in that other tank (including miss Allen from my previous post) look like they’re from TDC.” I asked her what TDC was, and she just looked at me with the saddest look ever and said, “prison.” And so i asked her, “what did your attorney and judge say??? Did you speak to them yet?” And she said that she did, and that they said that she would be going home and not TDC. My heart sank for her because logically i knew that TDC was coming for her next, but i told her to try and hope for the best and went back in my cell.

A few hours after that, miss Allen and another officer had to wake us up like they did every fucking morning at 1am to do “roll call” and ask for everyone’s names to make sure nobody was missing or escaped. The other officer called out Norris’ name, and miss Allen said, “oh no, she’s gone. That’s the one that we just transferred to TDC.” I hardly knew that girl, we talked here and there, but I damn near cried for her.

This woman spent two months in that fucking jail and was transferred to actual prison after being lied to by her attorney AND her judge that told her she would be going home after her time there was up, all for spitting on a cop. I was there in that jail for two and a half weeks for trying to slit my mom’s throat, who also happened to be a cop, and was let go and allowed to go home, even get my own apartment, and start my life over (with 6 months probation, but i’ll take that shit over TDC any fucking day).

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I think the one guard in that jail i’ll miss the most is miss Allen. When they woke me up and transferred me to her unit at 1am, i was so confused and scared because i thought it was general population, but it was just the medical/west tower that i came to love. I was kinda panicking and asking her where i was and why they moved me, because i didn’t want to be moved, i felt safe where i already was. And she calmly explained to me that the jail figured I no longer belonged in the “infirmary” and it was time to move me to a space with a little more people to see how i do BEFORE they move me to general population. She was then sweet enough to teach me how to send a “kite” to the staff asking them not to move me again, but that was useless.

Then when I was depressed and not getting up to eat in the morning, she would ask me what’s wrong and if i wasn’t hungry and i told her i was just too depressed to get up. The second day i refused my meal, she came to my cell and asked if i still wasn’t feeling well, and i told her again i was just too depressed to eat. She asked me if it was “serious” (aka, do i need to be put on suicide watch), and I said no, which was true, and she said, “are you sure? It seems kinda serious to me, you’re starving yourself. I’m gonna get you a plate anyway and whether or not you eat it is on you, but I hate to see you like this,” and she brought me their nasty ass prison dog food.

The third or fourth day, i finally got up to get my own food, and as soon as she saw me, she lit up and said, “good to see you Mrs. Moore!” And i smiled and said, “you too!” I threw the food in the trash.

Then another day when she was doing her rounds, AFTER they sent me to general population and i had that mental breakdown and they had to send me back, i asked to speak with her and asked if the staff in the west tower are aware that they shouldn’t transfer me again because of what happened, because i was scared that because i wasn’t taking the medicine they were forcing on me, that they would move me again because the jail was so overcrowded and they were moving people out of the west tower by the numbers daily trying to make room for people with actual psychiatric and physical medical problems. And she told me that she can’t control what they might do, but as long as i spoke to the psychiatrist about it and they brought me back (i did), and as long as she was working that day, she wouldn’t let another transfer slide and made sure i stayed right there.

Finally, when it was time to go home, it was miss Allen who sent someone else to come get me and bring me to her and she was gonna transfer me down to the release station. She told me that she told the other officer to make SURE to tell me that i was going home and that it wasn’t another transfer, because she knew how terrified I was of general population and all of those people in one space. As soon as we got downstairs, she told me where to stand and wait for my belongings and to change from my jumpsuit to my actual clothes, and i never saw her after that.

In hindsight, jail wasn’t so bad. It’s just the lack of freedom and control and things to do. Not knowing when your name will be called, and if it is, if it’s just another transfer, a court date, or if the doctor or whatever wants to see you, or if you’re finally going home. Also the time. Never knowing the time. And even if you do know the time, what does it matter? Is there anything you have to do? Growing up, my family had a joke when you asked what time it was, and their response was, “why, you got a date?” That’s exactly how that shit felt in there.

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Does anyone wanna hear the story of how I was put on a bootleg suicide watch because the psych ward in the jail was overbooked and i had to sleep on the floor in the control center (where all the officers work and transfer people) for THREE DAYS and there was this old ass schizophrenic lady who was losing her MIND and screaming at the top of her lungs right fucking next to me and insulting literally everyone who walked passed her and spitting on people and throwing shit and she ended up getting maced right next to me and because she was so close to me i ended up getting secondhand maced too

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Ok i’ma tell y’all anyway cause i gotta get this shit outta my system because in hindsight that shit was hilarious

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Ok, so. Forgive me, but this is gonna be long lmao.

When I was booked into jail, I was put on suicide watch in the west tower/psych ward (#WestTowerBestTower) and in a single cell. They stripped me completely naked, no blanket, no nothing. I was in there for two days until I saw a psych doctor who determined that i could leave and be placed in the psych ward area with other people (8 people per cell). Now y’all know me, I have agoraphobia like a motherfucker. I can’t handle being around too many people. But I toughed it out and dealt with being placed in a cell with 7 other people. I was cool with that.

However, the psych doctors decided to put me on all kinds of drugs instead of contacting MY doctor to prescribe me the meds i usually take at home. The medicine they gave me made the entire right side of my face hurt like hell — my eye was drooping, the medicine was literally dripping from my nose, and it made me sick. I was looking like Justin Bieber when his face froze up or some shit. So I told them to take me off ALL that shit because the side effects were so horrible.

However, because I kept denying my medication, they figured that I no longer belonged in the psych ward, and so they transferred me from my cell with 7 other people to general population. General population is basically JAIL jail. 64 motherfucking inmates per pod. My agoraphobic ass only lasted 5 hours in that pod before I had a mental breakdown and told the officer that I felt myself getting ready to go OFF. I said, “ma’am… can you please help me get back to the west tower, because they should have NEVER transferred me from there because i have severe mental issues and i feel myself getting ready to have a meltdown…” and she was like, “do you fear for your life?” And i was like, “… kinda, yeah…” and she said, “you either do or you don’t,” which meant that if I didn’t tell her that I did, they would’ve kept me there. I knew that if I told her i was suicidal and homicidal, I would be put back on suicide watch and have to go through that humiliation all over again. So I thought about it for ten seconds and i was like, “… yes, i do fear for my life…” (what i REALLY meant was, “if you don’t transfer me back to the psych ward and get me away from all of these people, i am GOING to hurt myself or someone else, and i’m not trying to catch another case…).

She then told me to pack my bag and to sign a paper that explicitly said that i fear for my life and mental health. She then called the officers in the control center and told them what i said, they came and got me, and they had me sign some paperwork to see the psych doctor before putting me in a “time out” room. The officers in the control center thought i was JOKING because they had JUST transferred me in there five hours prior. One officer said, “ma’am, you look like you can beat half the people’s asses in there. You’re just saying this because you want to go back to your friends,” or whatever. I said, “ma’am. With all due respect, I have mental fucking issues. I’m in here for attempted homicide. Either you let me speak to the psych doctor and transfer me back to the west tower, or someone is going to fucking die.”

So, they put me back in time out until the psych doctor was ready to assess me. She asked me some questions, i told her what was going on, and afterwards i had to wait outside of the nurses office until another doctor from the west tower came to assess me again and determine if i should go back. I was then put on suicide watch again. Here’s where the incident with this old schizophrenic lady started.

Because the jail was overcrowded, there was absolutely no room for me to go back to the west tower and be put on an actual suicide watch. So, i had to sit there and wait for THREE DAYS for them to come get me. And who did i have to sit next to? The old lady. She was in “crisis mode” because, like i said, she was having mad delusions and screaming and pissing herself and throwing stuff at people. She was calling the officers retarded, hoes, stank pussy bitches, sluts, accusing them of kidnapping and raping kids. She would look at my tattoos and scream the words out loud. She was spitting and coughing and sneezing on everyone who walked past her. Of course she called me a fat bitch but i was laughing the entire time and mocking her (she believed that she was pregnant with triplets and that everyone was tapping into her phone and shit). She was a nightmare. And because, like i said, the west tower was overbooked, i had to deal with this bitch for 20 fucking hours.

So finally, a fight broke out in pod H. They had to call backup after backup after backup. Damn near every officer, sergeant, chief, deputy, everyone had to go running in there to break up that fight and pull them out. Now here’s where it went down with this old crazy bitch.

After the girl who started the fight in pod H was dragged out, the officers put her against the wall and started questioning her. The old lady decided to get in their business and was still cussing at the officers and screaming and interfering with their business. That’s when the sergeant who was questioning the girl who had that fight — oh man… a beautiful, testosterone fueled, tough as nails black woman — had enough. She fucking snapped. She turned around and said, “is this the one in crisis mode???” And everyone said yes, and the sergeant told the officers to grab that chair that they strap people like her down in and move her away from the other chaos.

However, when the officers were pulling her out of her wheelchair, she was spitting on them, biting them, hitting them, basically giving them hell. The sergeant then said to the officers, “i give you permission to mace her.” They whipped out that mace and sprayed that bitch like she was a roach and it was a can of raid. I know that shit fucking hurt. When she got maced, all of the officers who were holding her down started coughing and shit, that’s how strong it was.

Now, because i right next to this bitch — less than 2 feet away from the chaos — the mace ended up getting into my lungs. I took my shirt and covered my face as best as I could, and one of the officers tapped me on the shoulder and said, “ma’am, do me a favor and go sit on that bench inside inside the nurses station.” I fucking ran in there and immediately laid down on the bench because my back was killing me from being forced to sit up in a chair for about 20 hours waiting for the psych doctor. I asked one officer if i could just lay on the floor for a bit because truly i was in pain sitting that long, and she was all like, “uh uh, we don’t lay on the floor here sweetie. You have to sit up.” I hope she dies in particular, but whatever.

I was laughing. Laughing. So fucking hard at this bitch. I was coughing like a motherfucker and my lungs were tingling because that mace hit me just a little bit, so i can’t imagine the pain that bitch was in having got maced all up in her face.

One officer came in and offered me some water to help with that burn, and about five minutes later, that sergeant came in and asked me for my name. I said my name is Moore, and she said, “Moore, got it, you’re the one on suicide watch. Now listen, I don’t want you laying on my bench like this, so what you’re going to do is you’re going to grab two of those mattresses over there and put them on the floor in front of the window, and i’m going to let you have your blanket. Technically, you’re not supposed to have it because you’re on suicide watch, but i’m going to give it to you and let you lay down and get some sleep until the next shift.” And I couldn’t thank her enough. I was so fucking blessed by this lady. She went and got my blanket, i put the mattresses on the floor, and I felt so much fucking better…

Then, she brought the girl they pulled out of pod H for fighting and put her in the nurses room with me, and the sergeant asked her, “are you hurt??? Do you need to see the doctor???” And the girl was like, “well, i have a headache…” and the sergeant SNAPPED and was like, “GIRL LISTEN TO ME. WHEN I ASK YOU IF YOU’RE HURT, I’M TALKING ABOUT BRUISES OR CUTS OR SCRATCHES. I AIN’T TALKING ABOUT NO MOTHERFUCKING HEADACHE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? NOW ARE YOU OR ARE YOU NOT HURT?” And the girl said no and they took her out of there.

I have never. NEVER. Wanted to fuck a woman so bad. That sergeant turned me the fuck ON.

As for the crazy old bitch, they decontaminated her, put a bag over her face because she was spitting on everyone, and left her ass in the corner. After she got maced, she was quiet as a church mouse for a few hours — long enough for me to get some fucking sleep in the nurses office. But THEN when morning came, she started her shit AGAIN. So a chief finally arrived and told the officers in the control center to expedite her fucking case and get her to the crisis center ASAP. They finally came and got this bitch a few hours later, and she said something like, “this isn’t funny! This isn’t funny!!!” And while she was being wheeled away i said, “yes it is!” And she was like, “no it’s not!!!” And finally… she was gone…

As for me? I had to remain on suicide watch, in the control center, on the floor with just my blanket, waiting an extra day for me to be transferred back to the west tower. Another beautiful and kind officer walked up to me while i was laying on the floor and asked if i was okay, and i explained my situation. She said, “oh honey, you’ve been laying on this hard floor since i left my last shift and you’re still here. Let me see what i can do for you. Go grab an extra mattress for now to have some more cushion.”

She then spoke to the other officers and looked over my paperwork. There were three other people ahead of me waiting to be transferred to the west tower as well, so that meant that i would’ve very likely been laying on their floor for a few more days until there was room for me. However, this lady said, “you know what? Drop the other three people and expedite her to the west tower.” She hustled to get me back to the psych ward where i was, and put me first above the others.

A few hours after that, she said, “okay, don’t get comfortable now, i’m about to transfer you back!” And oh my god… as soon as I was taken back to #WestTowerBestTower, i asked if i could have my old cell back, and another officer said, “girl of course!” And i was like, “thank you ma’am! Whooo don’t y’all EVER transfer me to one of those ghetto ass towers again lmao,” and as soon as the doors opened, all of my old cellmates were in the day room and they saw me coming back. I went RUNNING to give them all hugs and shit, and everyone went into my cell to ask me what happened and to hear the HORROR stories that i endured in the south tower… they were all so happy to see me but they thought i had been released the whole time lmao.

So yeah. Like they say. #WestTowerBestTower. You KNOW it was fucking crazy when you BEG to be put back in a different cell… I initially asked for a single cell because y’all know i’m an isolated person, but they didn’t have any. But i wasn’t going to complain. A cell with 8 people that I became comfortable and friends with vs. a cell with 64 people… yeah i snatched that shit.

End note: the day before i was released, we were in the day room when we saw “jail SWAT” running past us to go handle an emergency. Guess who they came back with, strapped to a chair, with a spit bag over her face…

Das Ende…

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Okay forgive me y’all but this is gonna be another long one, but it may or may not be of interest to read. Not necessarily traumaposting or writing anything triggering lmao. Just another wild experience of my time in jail.

But anyway. Another instance which proved just how overpopulated and understaffed the jail was, especially in the west tower/psych ward? Once word got around that I actually studied and researched psychology, I was not only the undercover cop, but I was also the designated psych doctor. When someone was having a crisis, when a fight broke out, when someone was suicidal or homicidal or trying to hurt themselves or someone else, guess who was the first responder? The first crisis that went down when i first got there, a woman had just been transferred in my cell too. She told me her story — she’s been in and out of jail and behavioral health for three years, and now she’s back in there because she was an addict and caught with drug paraphernalia.

That sweet old lady who called me a cop, we called her “mama”, told her to speak to me at first. So i spent an hour talking to this woman from both a professional psychological perspective and a personal perspective. Then, when it was time to rec out (let us out of our cells to go in the day room and watch tv and shit), she had a complete meltdown. A million times worse than the breakdown i had when they tried to transfer me to general population with all those people.

She started screaming and crying that she was suicidal. She was pressing the emergency call buttons so hard i thought they’d break. And NO FUCKING OFFICER RESPONDED. We had to wait FIFTEEN FUCKING MINUTES until an officer walked past our tank glass windows, urgently try and flag her down to let her know that someone was having an IMMINENT EMERGENCY, and THAT’S when she came running in and calling for backup and told the girl to pack her bag because they were about to take her to the suicide pod, strip her naked, and lock her in a room like that until she was no longer deemed a threat. She was crying so bad that we could hear her screaming that she was going to overdose and slit her wrists through the thick ass cell doors. I remember one of the officers responded with, “no, we are NOT going to do that!” And that was that.

So after that incident and the obvious failure of the officers to respond to emergencies, I became the designated psychologist to handle crises. People would either come to me themselves to talk, or a friend/cellmate would come get me and explain that someone in their cell was having an emergency, I had to deal with motherfuckers screaming at the top of their lungs and telling me to get the fuck out (i’m ngl once their got crunk with me like that i left them alone and let them kill themselves if they wanted to lmfao). I had to break up fights and make each person explain their side of the story and make us all talk it out logically and make who was in the wrong apologize. Sometimes i’d get commissary items as a “thank you” for helping someone.

It just felt so surreal because this is what i’m choosing to do for the rest of my life. Right now, i’m just a psychology student. But once i graduate and become a licensed practitioner and shit, i’n gonna have to put up with this shit every day. I’ve helped resolve many mental health crises in the past, but those were sporadic and over time. Not like 30 in a 2 and a half week timeframe.

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Y’all know those little wooden coffins I used to decorate/use for voodoo/make LED lamps out of/and even a nursery bed for gardening? (examples shown below; pardon the drugs)? Well — no I’m not thinking about nailing it to my mom’s door or putting it on her pillow as an omen of death — I’m thinking about decorating another one (I got even more gems of awesome designs and I HAVE to use them for this project) and using it as a mini purse/wallet. Just to carry around my trinkets and makeup and money. It’s gonna be awesome I promise. Just walking around with a bespoke mini decked out coffin at all times. The cashier tells me my total at the store and I whip out a coffin and hand them my card and they quit that moment.

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Ok i’m about to do it but instead of painting the inside i’m thinking about taking these doll dresses and gluing them to the inside like the typical casket lining

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I love urs more <3

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I just got done painting it! It’s black on the outside and pink on the inside! Next i have to cut up the doll dresses to make the inside coffin lining and then decorate the outside with gems!

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My mind is forever beautiful. I just have to do the lining on the inside, add those heart charms lined across the outside of the coffin, and i’m done

[deadfaced-deactivated20231025]

I’m about to order Popeyes for dinner tonight because when i was first called down for court they put me in a holding cell with like 6 other people and me and this one girl were talking and apparently she was in there for getting high and burglarizing a Popeyes and stealing some jalapeños and a stereo system and i told her about my prison girlfriend who was also in there for burglary and how we were gonna live together and meet up at my place to do drugs and fuck and drink and she was like, “be careful with dating people you meet in prison and inviting them into your home, especially if they have burglary charges…” and i was like, “oh shit… you right… damn, we gonna have to meet up at Popeyes then…” and she was like, “you got jokes…” and I couldn’t stop laughing

[deadfaced-deactivated20231025]

When she told me why she was in there all i could think about was this

[deadfaced-deactivated20231025]

That spicy Popeyes chicken sandwich with the bacon and cheese… the fact that she only got away with jalapeños and a stereo system is beyond me

[hun43rd-deactivated20231218]

IF YOU CAN SEE THAT I’M THE ONE WHO UNDERSTANDS YOU BEEN HERE ALL ALONG SO WHY CAN’T YOU SEEEEE YOU BELONG WITH MEEEE

[deadfaced-deactivated20231025]

DJ Crystal Meth admiring Da Vinci’s artwork from atop my dresser

[deadfaced-deactivated20231025]

A black hole on my bed…

[adderallcasuall]

I’m so glad I regained access to THIS blog I KNOW I got some old ass psychotic posts on here y’all gonna love once I dig em up. In the meantime, feel free to browse through my tags and shit and see the kind of blog I ran when I was 15-16 years old and mostly innocent!

[goobra]

[zelda]

[faengelia]

[biipolarpriincess]

[tyler-w0lf]

[sunflowerbutch]

2020 discourse predictions:

- in the interest of “REAL” historical accuracy it’s decided that you can’t be a lesbian unless you have proof of some greek ancestry, since the words “lesbian” comes from “lesbos.” helpful and condescending posts suggest “if you don’t have the blood of sappho flowing through you, that’s okay! you’re valid! you’re just not a daughter of lesbos or under the protection of artemis, and shouldn’t steal the word lesbian from real lesbians. might i suggest a more accurate term, like quangle?” (quangle is the new substitute for lesbian they invent in february)

- essential oils

- somebody gets called out for pretending to live on a farm for notes, they’re actually from like some pnw suburb, they don’t even HAVE the horse whose supposed gallbladder surgery they crowdfunded

- children are a privileged class. in fact, they’re our oppressors

- somebody starts an honest-to-god pyramid scheme and recruits exclusively through tumblr. at its peak, 40% of tumblr’s userbase are now “company consultants” selling bottles of Charged Zodiac Water. this will eventually result in the site being shut down, but not for another two years or so

- taylor swift makes a post on instagram hinting that she’ll be “coming out” soon. swifties elated until she “comes out” as a libertarian