Discover Top Posts Tagged with #swanktastic

Bro your OCs and art are incredible

bro thank u!!!

#answered #swanktastic

I followed you for being so goddamn spicy in that selfie my gay heart

did you just thirst follow a homestuck blog

#dia answers #swanktastic

15 questions tag

tagged by @mirukuyu and @helpfuldilemma

1. are you named after someone?

her...

2. last time you cried

oh it was on august 12th!!!

3. any kids?

not yet!

4. do you use sarcasm?

i make an effort not to.

5. what is the first thing you notice about someone?

it’s actually usually their hair and skin tone and height. i take a look at the big picture before anything else.

6. what’s your eye color

brown

7. scary movies or happy endings?

BOTH!!!

8. special talents?

spelling,

9. birthplace?

yes.. i was born...

10. hobbies?

watching rugrats!!!!!!!

11. do you/have you played any sports?

i played water polo but i think soccer has become more of the gig of the day

12. pets?

howardd!!!!!!!

13. height?

5′3″

14. favorite subject in school

mathhh and science

15. dream job?

librariannnn

i tag: @realmsofchaos @taketheringtolohac @brekf1st @thetaabster1 @blueborg @deathswretch @cheeseburger-enthusiast @swanktastic @self-insert-ninja-turtle @sheetghostkerosine

#realmsofchaos #taketheringtolohac #brekf1st #thetaabster1 #blueborg #deathswretch #cheeseburger enthusiast #swanktastic #self insert ninja turtle #sheetghostkerosine #mirukuyu #helpfuldilemma

What did it mean that you don't matter

Alright, I popped out the laptop for this one. *cracks knuckles*

So, to understand this, first you gotta understand that I grew up with parents that emphasized that everything I did was gonna be seen by other people and that I needed to behave quietly and in a confined manner in order to attain respect. Now, this is true to an extent, but it was taken too far. So, I grew up Mormon. At church, I sang songs about Jesus, and I learned about how he saved us all and because of him, families are forever, as long as a man and his wife get sealed in the temple. But I also grew up gay. Okay, but I actually did not know I was gay until I was roughly 14. So, before I knew I was gay, I went out and protested gay marriage with my parents. They were the people standing outside with signs and stuff. However, they didn’t yell “fag!” or anything like that. Actually, their homophobia was insidious in its disguise as quiet moral conservatism. It was a look of mild disgust or discomfort, accompanied with an averted gaze. It was polite hatred. And that was how I learned to behave. Everything must be polite. When I tried to hold hands with my friends, if my mom saw me, she would pull me aside and snap at me in private, telling me that I looked lesbian and that I needed to behave better. It ran deeper than gayhood however.

Growing up, I was team captain of the swim team and the water polo team. I was a 4.0 student. I went to seminary every morning at 5am. I was a highly ranked player in our school orchestra. I was Ms. Perfect.

Everything I did was to make my parents and me look good. I grew up latina in a mostly white neighborhood after we moved out of the hood part of Anaheim. When I was in elementary school, I had people asking me if I was legally in the country. When I was in high school, I had two separate teachers accuse me of cheating because I was doing too well. I assume they meant for someone of my background. My mom was a maid, and until recently, yes, she was not a citizen. My dad was an engineer, and when I was in high school, he lost his job, so that meant our family had no money. Basically, our family was part of the piss poor part of the population, and because of that, I think they thought I was supposed to not do as well in school. And statistically, I shouldn’t have.

The reason I got this far was because when I got depressed and I would ask my parents if I could stay home, my dad would start yelling at me. To give you more of an idea of what my parents apparently expected me to turn out like, when I got sick one time in high school and I was puking, my dad came into the bathroom to yell at me if I was pregnant. I wasn’t. I, of course, had a boyfriend. Because I was Mormon, I wasn’t allowed to date until I was 16, and that was fine by me because I wasn’t really interested in boys. I had a crush on a friend of mine, but I didn’t tell her until 7 years later. But, boys were interested in me, so when Joey came, who had been waiting until I turned 16 to ask me out, when he asked, I just said yes. I mean, it was any girl’s dream, right? Plus, it made me look like my life was together. Plus, he was on the swim team, and he was conventionally good-looking. I think my dad thought I had slept with him, but I didn’t even like kissing him. I only did it if he asked, and I wouldn’t enjoy it.

At family gatherings, my mom would brag about me to all the aunts, about how I was a straight-A student and I had such a good-looking boyfriend and I was captain of the swim team. I looked so good on paper.

Which is probably why when I tried to tell her I was depressed, she shut me down.

Fast forward and one night I get so overwhelmed by everything that I kinda want to end it all. I’m not with the person I like and according to the church rules (which I was deeply devoted to at the time), if I act on the fact that I like her, I’ll be subjected to a certain damnation. I want to rest and stop going to school, but when I do, my dad yells at me, and sometimes I get scared he is going to hit me. It’s best that I do what he says and keep going to school. But there was something deeper. I hated being myself. It wasn’t that I wanted to be someone else. I just wanted to stop.

That was the first night I overdosed on Tylenol, and I remember I lay there, and my body got so cold, and I got so scared. I was feeling really sleepy too though, and I couldn’t fight it, and I considered calling for help but then I decided that yeah, this is what I wanted, and I let go… and I woke up the next morning. Nothing changed.

I went back to school. And I forgot to mention, cuz I kinda forgot about her, but there used to be this girl Alyssa that hated me my freshman year. She tried to stab me one time, but she’s kindofa footnote in this story. A lot of people hated me. Jace Jenican was a dude that sorta yelled at me for stealing spots at a UC when someone like him so clearly deserved it. “Immigrants are stealing our spots at school!” First off, bitch, I was born here.

BUT ANYWAY, that’s what I would classify as my first suicide attempt. It was quiet, and no one noticed. It was polite.

Stuff is more of a blur after that. There was another, harsher suicide attempt while I was in high school, but still not bad enough to get me to the hospital. I tried to slit my wrists but I really didn’t have the stomach for it. I could only do surface cuts.

Then I got to college! I got accepted literally everywhere I applied. I was surprised though, to be honest. My sweet dudes, my self esteem was hella low that year. Yes, I had successfully broken up with Joey sophomore year, but I had kinda flitted from boy to boy and I had had a half-assed relationship with a girl named Grace, but it had only lasted like, a week, and I didn’t really feel that attracted to her. I think I just wanted someone to replace Maddy. I was salutatorian at my school (just under valedictorian), and the first thing my dad said to me when I told him was that he “didn’t think [I’d] get that far.”

So one day I’m sitting with my friend Hannah, and we’re talking about colleges, and I’m thinking about going to UCLA, but of course, since I’m a good Mormon Girl, I applied to BYU. Hannah and I had made loaded dice for a stats class, and as a joke, we made a list of the colleges we were accepted to, and decided to roll the die for what college we would go to. I put UCLA as 6, and BYU as 3. My die was supposed to land on 6. When I rolled it, it landed on 3- again, and again, and again. Hannah said that was impossible and tested hers, which was set for 5. It landed on 3- again, and again, and again. Finally I said, “OKAY I GET IT,” and the die were fixed. So I went to BYU.

At BYU I learned how racist white people could really be. And I won’t get into that. That was only my freshman year. I kept feeling this call to serve a mission, but I didn’t because I didn’t feel worthy. I started masturbating at 17, when I discovered lesbian porn. I remember the first time I saw it, it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. Something about it was so right to me. So I decided not to serve the mission. I wanted what little honesty I had left.

My second year was way better, but I was still closeted to my roommates. I had roommates that partied, and I loved it! I was their designated driver. That was also the year I came out to my parents in the form of a letter. When I showed up at home for the holidays, I saw in my mom’s eyes that she was considering turning me away, but she didn’t, and that’s what counts. Also, I considered animation as a major, but I also super wanted to transfer out of BYU.

So I did! Again, I got accepted to a UC, but my sister was going to a school in Hawaii, so I decided to go there. But something weird happened when I showed up. Like, suddenly everything caught up to me. I felt like I didn’t belong there, and I kept apologizing to God in my mind for taking up space there. That was the year of my most serious suicide attempt. I downed half a bottle of Tylenol and ended up catatonic on a beach. I don’t know how long I was there. Eventually, my parents found me, and they took me back to the hotel, and left me there as they carried on with their vacation. I remember waking up in the hotel room, and realizing that no one really gave a shit. I wanted to try again, but I wasn’t strong enough to move. My parents signed me up for a counselor and left me there with my sister. I was there for a week before I couldn’t take it, so I went back to BYU cuz my resignation from the school failed to go through. And when I got back for my third year, I ended up roommates with the girl I had been in love with for seven years. I told her I was gay, and she was disgusted with me, and started avoiding me. At the same time, the other roommate was spreading rumors of me being gay to the ward. So, I moved. My other roommates that year were awesome though. And I started going to a counselor at BYU. I also got into a polyamorous relationship, which was fun, until it wasn’t, so I left, and it fell apart without me. They really were all using me for emotional support and to vent about each other. Plus, I started falling for this boy named Austin.

Now, I’m on my fourth year. These have been my favorite roommates so far. And this has been my largest year of recovery. I’ve also spent a lot more time with Austin than I would have thought possible. The only issue is that he has a girlfriend, but she’s leaving on a mission. He’s also been super depressed lately. He really loves her.

So, it was at a point where I was getting overwhelmed by how I felt for Austin, and how I knew he felt that way for his girlfriend, that I begged Gaud to remind me that I don’t matter. I wanted to feel it. I wanted to know it, and I wanted to feel it. I wanted the disappointments to stop. But more than that. I wanted confirmation that no one really gave a shit what I did. That politeness didn’t really matter. That the fact that I lost my virginity out of wedlock wouldn’t damn me cuz honestly God most likely didn’t give a shit. That the fact that I liked kissing girls occasionally also didn’t matter, and wouldn’t damn me. That the fact that my parents nearly kicked me out and I would probably end up homeless at some point wouldn’t matter in the long run. I wanted proof that I don’t matter, because only then would I be free.

And thus Gaud spoke: “I promise you child, you are nothing but a miniscule speck of stardust, floating gently through a universe too vast to comprehend. Nothing matters, existence is an accident, our lives mean nothing against the backdrop of spacetime. Eat a snack and go stare up at the sky.”

Gaud looked me in the eye, and they understood me. And that was what I needed.

#biggest gaudiest patronuses #swanktastic