#lissa talks

[my-dear-dr]

Happy 5 year anniversary to the time I got so impassioned defending Riker in an argument that I didn't look where I was going and fell down a flught of stairs

[kingofbodyrolls]

I wrote a book and published it.

And... I’m kinda terrified to tell you about it.

Not because it’s bad (it’s not), or because I’m not proud (oh trust me, I’m bursting with pride—like, “crying in the shower and whispering ‘we did it’” levels of proud). But because it’s personal. Raw. Like-heart-on-the-table-next-to-your-coffee-cup personal.

I didn’t write it for accolades. I didn’t write it to go viral. I wrote it for me. And for my inner child—who’s been tugging at my sleeve for years, asking softly, “Can we finally talk about it?”

So we did. Together, we turned silence into poems. Pain into petals. Trauma into tender truth.

And that’s exactly why I’ve been whispering about it instead of screaming it from the mountaintops—even though every cell in my body wants to scream it. Loud. Echo-y. With a fist to the sky.

But then that old ghost inside me asks: “Are you even allowed to take up space?”(And my body whispers “no,” but my spirit is learning to say “hell yes.”)

I know—deep down, beneath the fear and the people-pleasing—that this book might resonate with someone. Maybe with you. Because the truth is: I’m not alone in this. And neither are you.

But still... I’ve been gatekeeping my own book. Why? Because I’m scared. Scared of being seen. Scared of being misunderstood. Scared of what my parents might think (spoiler alert: it talks about childhood emotional trauma). Scared no one will read it. Scared someone will.

I keep thinking I’ve outrun the trauma loop—and then BAM, life throws me another plot twist. But I’m done shrinking. I’m done whispering.

This book is my love letter to myself—and maybe to you too. It’s something I can hold when I feel like I’m falling apart. A reminder that healing isn’t linear. That taking up space is brave. That “looking fine” isn’t the same as being fine. And that just because someone can’t find the words doesn’t mean the pain isn’t real.

I’ve thought about starting a blog, a website, maybe even a YouTube channel. But then I get stuck. Because when I do things for others, I lose myself. And I’ve already deleted one blog this year for that exact reason.

I want to create from a place of joy, not exhaustion. Of authenticity, not obligation. Of me—messy, magical, and still learning.

So.

This is me doing something that absolutely terrifies me: Sharing my book with you.

It feels like standing on a cliff’s edge, butterflies in my stomach throwing a rave, not knowing if I’ll fly or face-plant. But here’s the thing: I’m jumping anyway.

My book is called: “Water Your Garden and Watch Your Mind Bloom” a collection of poems inspired by nature to remind you—you are enough, you are strong, and you are healing.(Yes, the title is a little extra. So am I 😅)

It’s independently published. Environmentally friendly (print-on-demand!). Ships worldwide. Might take a little longer to arrive—but hey, good things are worth waiting for.

You can find it here: Amazon (UK) [link] Amazon (DE) [link] Amazon (US) [link] Barnes & Noble [link]

I’m not here to hustle you. I’m not here to sell a brand. I’m here to open a door.

If you think this book could help you—or someone you love—read it. Share it. Gift it. Let it be a starting point for a conversation we’ve all avoided for far too long.

Let’s stop being silent about childhood trauma, about mental health, about healing. This book is my beginning. Maybe it can be yours, too.

Here are a few pictures of the book and some poems inside. Some are inspired by nature. Some by BTS. All of them are rooted in the hope that we can grow something beautiful from the mess.

And if you do decide to support me—thank you. But more than anything, I hope you do it for you 💕

[kingofbodyrolls]

Why I left, and why I’m staying

Before we begin, a gentle warning: this post touches on some heavy topics—self-harm, suicide, childhood trauma, and mental health. If these are tender places for you, please take care of yourself first. You don’t have to read this. You come first. Always.

The breaking

I wish I could say there was one reason I left, one singular thing that cracked me open and made me disappear. But life isn’t that neat, is it? It was everything, all at once—the weight of low engagement, the endless comparisons, the silent echoes in the spaces where I hoped for connection. It was the exhaustion of always lifting others while I crumbled beneath my own hands, the way I’d pour and pour and pour until my cup was bone-dry.

I’ve never been good at putting myself first. So I did something drastic. I erased myself. I deleted my blog. And even though I know I needed to do it, even though I was drowning—it still stings. Because I know I disappointed people. Because I felt like I failed.

But sometimes, you have to lose yourself to find yourself again.

The staying (or at least, the blog is)

Fifteen years. That’s how long my original blog existed (RIP, old friend). It was a part of me, woven into my story. And even when I stepped away, I still felt the pull—the whisper of unfinished business. I missed the good parts, the warmth, the shared love for stories. And most of all, I felt like I owed it to you—to the people who found pieces of themselves in my words—to keep those stories alive, even if I wasn’t always here to tend to them.

I don’t know if I’ll be active. I don’t know if I’ll post new things. The same reasons that made me leave still sit heavy on my chest sometimes. But I’ve learned something in all of this: healing isn’t a straight path. It isn’t a neat little checklist where you wake up one day and—boom!—all better. It’s messy. It’s cyclical. Some days I feel invincible, and some days I feel like a ghost haunting my own life.

I’m staying, but I’m staying on my own terms.

The healing

Here’s the scariest part: I don’t really know who I am. I don’t know where I begin and where my trauma ends. For so long, I’ve been a collection of survival tactics, stitched together with coping mechanisms and old wounds. I’ve been the person who tries to fix everything—people, situations, the cracks in the universe itself—because maybe if I can make others happy, I can be happy too.

But that’s not how healing works.

And I want to heal. I want to love without needing to be needed. I want to give without emptying myself. I want to exist simply because I deserve to exist—not because I think I have to prove my worth to anyone.

In my time away, I rediscovered something that’s been a lifeline: poetry. I wrote my pain into verses, shaped my grief into something tangible, something outside of me. And somewhere in that process, I found a little light. Enough light to choose to stay. Enough light to call my doctor that day instead of following through with a plan I had convinced myself was necessary. Enough light to realize that I don’t actually want to die—I just want the pain to stop.

And now, I want to live. Fully, wholly, authentically. I want to love my husband and my kids the way I needed to be loved as a child. I want to keep giving—but from a place of joy, not from a place of depletion. I want to share, not because I need validation, but because I already know I am enough.

So if I pop in and out, know that it’s not because I don’t care. It’s because I am taking care. Of myself. Of the little girl inside me who deserved softness, but never got it. Of the future version of me who deserves to be whole.

To you, with Love

If you’ve read this far—thank you. Truly.

If you are struggling, if you carry trauma, if your mind feels like a storm you can’t escape—please, please know: you are not alone. Even in a crowded room, even when it feels like no one sees you—I promise, someone does. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I am here (or on Discord, same username).

Please, take care of yourself. Please stay.

The world needs your light.

And I will be back 🌻☀️

[my-dear-dr]

I legitimately nearly died last month buT I SURVIVED AND GOT TO SEE GARASHIR GO CANON LIFE IS WORTH LIIIVIIINNGGGGG

[kingofbodyrolls]

It’s just not the same…

Being on here… it’s just not the same anymore.Don’t get me wrong—I still love it. Deeply. The way you love an old sweater that’s gone soft and frayed at the edges. But it’s different now. I don’t really interact with other writers anymore. I barely read fics (unless you count the endless stack of books about trauma, psychology, and autism—my current hyperfixation lol). There are no tag games lighting up my dash, no silly little messages waiting in my inbox like they used to.

And I know I’m not the only one feeling this weird quiet—this “Tumblr just isn’t the same anymore” ache. Part of me knows I could change that. I could dive back in—read more, dust off my fic library, leave comments and hype people up like the old days (god, I miss that). But that’s hard now. Because I’ve realized… I used to do all that partly for validation. And when you notice that, suddenly it’s hard to know how to exist here—do I do too much? Too little? Nothing at all? I wish I could just be without thinking about how it feels to be seen. But I guess that’s not very human either.

I miss my friends—the readers, the writers, the wild dreamers I connected with here. I miss the laughter, the chaos, the banter, the inside jokes only Tumblr could birth at 2 a.m. I know I fell out for a while. Deactivated. Struggled. Fucked up. (Still don’t really know what I did wrong, and maybe I never will.) And yeah, I still get a little pang when someone says they’ll read my story and never do—and now I’m that person too. Promising to read, but never finding the energy. I don’t like that version of me.

I wish—god, I wish—we could have that warm, messy, loud community again. The one that sent each other tag games and chaotic memes and random bursts of love. The one that hyped each other up for no reason other than joy.Because when we share the weight, it does get lighter. When we laugh, it echoes. Together, the burden softens. I just… don’t know, man. I’m frustrated. Nostalgic. Maybe a little hopeful, too?

Can we go back? Would anyone even want to? Or should we build something new—something gentler, slower, but still full of heart?

Anyway—in other news, I might be getting into a special unit at the hospital for suicide prevention. They offer up to ten free consultations, and even have events for friends and family (and, yep, my whole family’s coming, bless them). I also wrote a 15-page letter to my doctor (yes, fifteen 😅) about how exhausting it’s been to not be taken seriously—how masking makes me “look too okay” for the system to believe I’m not. He read it, and we actually had a really honest talk after. He seemed angry—not at me, but for me. I think he understood. I wasn’t gentle in that letter (lol understatement), but I needed to be raw. I needed him to know. And somehow, it helped.

So yeah. I’m here. Taking it slow. One day at a time. One small, shaky step after another. Trying to make peace with the quiet. Trying to make it soft.

Please be safe. Please be healthy. And if you’re still here, still scrolling—hi. I missed you.

Little question for you, if you’ve read this far: Do you think we can bring the old Tumblr magic back— or is it time to make something new, something softer, something ours again?

Do you think we can bring the old Tumblr magic back?

Let’s go back—revive the chaos, the tag games, the warmth.

Let’s build something new—slower, kinder, still full of heart.

Both—nostalgia and growth can coexist.

I’m just here for the vibes and reblogs tbh.

Voting ended onOct 22, 2025

[kingofbodyrolls]

Thank you.

Thank you for being here. For reading my stories, for sitting with my words, for meeting me in the quiet corners of this space. Thank you for making this place feel like home, even if only for a fleeting moment.

To my moots— you’ve been lights in the fog, flickers of warmth in cold hours. I’ve met some beautiful souls here, and I carry you with me— more deeply than you may ever know.

Even if we no longer speak, even if we drifted like tide and shore, please know: you mattered. You matter. The light you gave me— I hold it close, a lantern for the darker nights to come.

It’s hard to say goodbye to something that held my heart so tenderly. But lately, it feels like I’m only able to tell stories the way old scars speak— softly, painfully, in echoes. And I don’t know if this space is still the place where that kind of truth belongs.

I feel too much— always have. Everything rushes in like waves that never stop breaking. And the past, the hurt, it keeps finding me. So for now, I have to pause. Maybe indefinitely. Maybe not.

I wondered if I should just vanish quietly. Disappear into the silence, let the light dim without a word. But you deserved more than that.

Thank you for your time, for your tears, for your laughter. Thank you for letting me reach you, however briefly.

I’ll cradle the memories we made here with love that doesn’t fade.

Letting go of this blog hurts. Letting go of you hurts. Please know that.

I’m not deleting anything—my stories will remain. But I’ve let go of my Discord account. I need distance, and a little peace.

Thank you, truly. For everything.

You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not okay, but that’s okay.

Goodbye. With love— Always.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Hi.

TW/CW: mental health struggles, burnout, depression, suicidal ideation, healthcare frustration, self-doubt, creative block

Just popping in with an update. (Casual. Normal. Definitely not emotionally loaded at all.)

I’m trying. I really am. I know it might not look like it—and honestly, sometimes it feels like I’m failing in real time—but I am trying. I’m struggling more than I like to admit, and that’s just the truth of it. I have so much love for this space, but damn, it’s hard to exist here when I feel like I’ve burned bridges I can’t fix. I guess I’ll carry that pain with me like I do everything else. Please don’t feel bad for me—I’m very familiar with my own disappointment by now.

I’ve tried working on my remaining fics and… fuck, it’s hard. Everything feels forced, like I’m chasing a version of myself that isn’t showing up right now. And that frustrates me deeply, because I miss writing traumatic comedy fics 🥹 Maybe the spark will come back one day. I hope it does.

Right now, I’m focusing on my second book. Still not the fantasy novel (which I might scrap entirely because I don’t want to write something that feels like it already exists—even if that technically means there’s a market for it). Instead, I’m staying with poetry. Always poetry. Even though hardly anyone reads it (okay—a few of you do, and I see you). I’m hoping to publish it later this year. Hopefully. I’m trying to move slowly this time and not hyperfocus myself into the ground like I did with the first book.

This one is… rawer. And I can’t constantly tap into my worst, saddest feelings without completely wrecking myself, so it’s taking time. I’m layering in humor, anger, and a very specific fuck-you-ish energy. I’m excited to hold it in my hands someday—and also convinced no one will buy it 😂 (I do genuinely believe this, even though it also makes me sad. Two things can coexist.)

Mentally? Still kind of a dumpster fire. I am trying to get help, but the healthcare system in my country is… UGH. Apparently I’m not “sick enough” because I’m “too capable” 😭 as if they don’t see how many days it takes me to recover after socializing, or how often I just cry because I can’t do this shit anymore. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of asking for help and not getting it. Tired of researching everything myself while overstimulated, depressed, suicidal, and feeling like I’m drowning every single day.

Somehow, mental healthcare has become my accidental special interest—and weirdly, the thing keeping me afloat. I’m so angry about how gatekept it is that I’ve been playing with the idea of creating a free resource website focused on autism, ADHD, and C-PTSD, built entirely from everything I’ve learned on my own journey. No paywalls. No bullshit. Just help.

If you’ve made it this far—thank you. Truly. You’re a gem, and I adore you 🫂 I’m sorry for not being around more. I am still here. I still want to try. I just can’t promise consistency. If you want to talk to me, feel free to ask for my Discord—I’m almost always there.

I hope you got BTS tickets this year, and that good things find you wherever you are 💐 I’ll probably peek in from time to time. Thank you for continuing to support me, and—honestly—for giving me reasons to stay.

I am still working on Words on a Page and something for The Winter Collection, and I just finished a small drabble that I might post soon (I’m SCARED, cus it’s with Jungkook). I’m also slowly (very slowly) working through ideas for the reading library. Everything moves at a snail’s pace… except when my hyperfocus kicks in 🙃

Please be patient with me. I really am trying 🥹

I’ll leave you with a small poem from the book:

The world tells me to breathe deeper, but it is the weight of its demands that crushes my chest. I am not short of air. I am carrying too much. And now, I let myself set some of it down.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Hi, it’s me again 🫣

I know it’s been some time since the whole “want to go back to the old tumblr vibes” and I’m still there, lol. I’ve been having ideas and I’ve been trying to figure out how to go about it. I truly do miss it here.

Tumblr was part of the thing that kept me alive in some of my darkest times—-and I want to honor that, and bring that back. Also. I miss my friends and my moots 🥹

I’ve remade my discord in case you want to talk, or yell at me for being stupid and dramatic enough to delete it in the first place (oh how I wish I hadn't deleted it, but I’m older and wiser now). 

My username is still @kingofbodyrolls because I’m unoriginal like that.

Also.

If anyone wants to play ffxiv with me, hit me up! It’s basically my second home 😂

(I’m really trying to come back more, while still honoring my mental health, while also realizing that this might actually help make my mental health better, so I’m giving it a try okay. Please be kind (when are you not???))

See ya~ ✨