Cordelia's Notebook

I'm Cordelia (or DD), a writer, poet, gamer, and regrettably trapped in my flesh prison. Here's my writing, poetry, and the occasional photo. Visit https://daringdanger.carrd.co/ for story links. Header is the chapter art for chapter 6 of my original story, Home Means Nevada, drawn by @vevletaire

[daringdangerwrites]

Here's a universal truth, humans are liars, you'll be lied to by everyone in your life, even your closest friends. How you handle it is up to you.

[daringdangerwrites]

I'm poison. I destroy everything I touch. I'm not evil, or bad, or broken. Just poison. Just alone. Always.

[daringdangerwrites]

I'm not sure I want to be alive anymore.

[daringdangerwrites]

Sometimes I really get the call to burn it all down, and vanish to a new city without a trace.

[daringdangerwrites]

Dude my life has felt so empty as of late. I'm so out of it I'm not even mad I'm not writing. And Believe me I am an expert at being mad about that. It doesn't even feel like I'm depressed, I've just gone full automaton. I don't feel anything. I don't feel human.

[daringdangerwrites]

I'm ending my D&D campaign of 5 years next Friday, so that's a massive anxiety on my mind this week. Like, what the fuccccck

[daringdangerwrites]

IT HAPPENED AGAIN

Another Thing I made up for Home Means Nevada is real.

This is from CHAPTER ONE! I wrote this in April 2021. This can't. Keep. Happening. If it does the United States collapses in 2028 FYI

[daringdangerwrites]

A chain exists on my ankle for anothers comfort. I protest a lot, call out a lot I know.

Some time ago I said I'd continue to do this, exist this way, as a strange, final act of love for someone.

I don't love that person anymore. But I realize I do care about the promises I make. Most of the people I made that promise to are ghosts, and the rest are different.

But I really care about my loyalty. So here I am dragging my chain along as a memento mori for friendships past.

Death and loss are things to be respected. The past not forgotten. The people who created my chain are gone. But it's wearer isn't.

Memento mori, remember death. I will march on and the promise that forged my chains is a part of me.

And to those long gone. Am I keeping my word well enough? Are you proud of me?

I hope you're proud.

[daringdangerwrites]

I think I may never move past what happened to me. I've been angry and envious so long. Any interruption in those emotions is replaced by ennui. It'll be two years this year and I'm still broken. I'm still uncomfortable in my own skin. I'm still unsafe in my own head.

The ball and chain on my ankle is all I have left.

[daringdangerwrites]

And anyone who knows what happened would probably assume by reading this "oh DD hasn't changed or tried to improve herself at all." And I hate that idea the most. I've had so much to forgive. No one more than myself. I'm not delusional about my part in what happened.

What I'm talking about is the lies that surround it all. That people would rather do anything but communicate with me. The mental hoops people go through to not communicate. That's why I'm still angry 18 months later.

It's true. I'm the one with OCD and depression that made me act in a way that hurt people and myself. But I'm not evil. My heart isn't black, and you can't paint it that way. I'm kind, generous, willing to be vulnerable, to listen to communicate.

I'll peel your goddamn paint off of myself with dirty fingernails till I die with this chain around my ankle.

[daringdangerwrites]

And I'm fucking afraid to be myself now. I second guess everything I do, because I have OCD and it's super convinced everything I do could hurt someone.

I was closed off before but now I'm a homebody who's closed herself completely in save for work and the occasional dark room party. And I just wallflower at those because my OCD tells me I can't do anything else.

And I hate being alone at home. I have ugly unromantic depression and my house is cluttered and unfucking pleasant because of it.

I'm afraid to have friends now. Afraid to express myself fully to the ones I have. Afraid to be the goddamn human firework I'm supposed to be.

But at least I've got my fucking chains right? I

[daringdangerwrites]

I think I may never move past what happened to me. I've been angry and envious so long. Any interruption in those emotions is replaced by ennui. It'll be two years this year and I'm still broken. I'm still uncomfortable in my own skin. I'm still unsafe in my own head.

The ball and chain on my ankle is all I have left.

[daringdangerwrites]

And anyone who knows what happened would probably assume by reading this "oh DD hasn't changed or tried to improve herself at all." And I hate that idea the most. I've had so much to forgive. No one more than myself. I'm not delusional about my part in what happened.

What I'm talking about is the lies that surround it all. That people would rather do anything but communicate with me. The mental hoops people go through to not communicate. That's why I'm still angry 18 months later.

It's true. I'm the one with OCD and depression that made me act in a way that hurt people and myself. But I'm not evil. My heart isn't black, and you can't paint it that way. I'm kind, generous, willing to be vulnerable, to listen to communicate.

I'll peel your goddamn paint off of myself with dirty fingernails till I die with this chain around my ankle.

[daringdangerwrites]

I think I may never move past what happened to me. I've been angry and envious so long. Any interruption in those emotions is replaced by ennui. It'll be two years this year and I'm still broken. I'm still uncomfortable in my own skin. I'm still unsafe in my own head.

The ball and chain on my ankle is all I have left.

[daringdangerwrites]

I'm so happy I have you, and I'm so bad with saying it. The one place I belong is with you, in bed where my curves seem to magically link up with yours. Where we connect like puzzle pieces and my hand rests on your side. In those times where I can feel your heart beating I feel like I have purpose. I know your footsteps and your smell. I know the spices you like to cook with.

When I lament this world for having no place for me, no meaning, no use... I hope you know that I mean to say everything sucks, except you.

Except you.

[daringdangerwrites]

Hey party people. CHANGES TO MY EXISTING STORIES: -Halfway to Nowhere (Hilda) the existing 5 chapter have received an editing pass. These changes are live on FF.net and AO3. I will not be updating the Wattpad version. -Love's Gross: Once the new version is fully uploaded to royalroad, I will also update the AO3 version. -Seventeen Forever (Twelve Forever): Un-Archive locked on AO3.

[daringdangerwrites]

Hello readers, I've decided to republish Love's Gross onto RoyalRoad. It's a short story I wrote in 2023 based on events from a TTRPG campaign I was in at the time. To celebrate its' migration, I've done a fresh editing pass as well. The first chapter is currently available, and I'm slowly scheduling the rest. https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/147922/loves-gross

[loveridden1999]

i miss my ex bestfriend & everyone else that i have ever loved but don't want any of them back either

[loveridden1999]

what the fuck man

[daringdangerwrites]

Here's a real Rosetta stone post for you. So I recently noticed a spelling error in one of the Home Means Nevada title cards.

Long story short this is the corrected one. Now here's where this gets funny.

The original is also correct- in Dutch. The artist who made this speaks Dutch natively, hence the mistake. We Americanized the Dutch word Succes, by adding an extra S. Why?

[furashuban]

Shelves of Furashu

Bonnie's works and all.

Carrd is up to date + it's got a slightly new look!

[daringdangerwrites]

dang, good job. I gotta learn how to make a good caard someday