It’s not going well. So far it’s day 8 and I only have written 1654 words in total. I feel like I’m trying too hard. My story feels too overdramatic, but then again that’s what teenagers are like. This time I had actually set up a plan of things that are going to happen throughout the story, but I don’t know how to get there. I’m too worried if the words I wrote are any good. Which shouldn’t matter, because the whole thing about NaNoWriMo is that you just write. Wheter it’s good or bad. I just don’t know if I can do it. You can read the first part below.
This site saved my life. In class I feel so empty. I am there just to be there. It doesn’t matter what I say. My voice is never heard. That’s why I sit in the back of the class. Only doodling new sketches for my newest fandom. In these sketches I feel alive. I feel like I matter. I want to thank tumblr for giving meaning to my life. It’s like only tumblr understands what I’m going through.
#dramaqueen # anxiety #tumblr #fandom #sketches #unfff so sexy #tbh
I know right! Unf, what were to do without tumblr? I wore my Loki shirt to school today and people couldn’t help to talk about it behind my back. I don’t give a shit, because I had 40 reblogs on tumblr. Bitches be jealous! Tumblr made it okay to be myself. By the way, your blog is amazeballs.
#bitches be jealous #loki #bow to loki mortals #be yourself
The reply comes only minutes after I’d posted my messages. I feel sorry for my random outburst of desperation, but my guilt fades after reading that reply. Instantly I go to the blog of the replier. I try not to reblog everything as images of The Avengers, The Legend of Korra, Sherlock and Japanese anime catch my eye. It’s so stupid if I try to copy this entire blog. Which posts shall I reblog? It’s not that easy to just name a few. I must come off as such a loser if I keep reblogging them. What will that person think of me? It’s obvious the sympathy won’t last very long. But look at this cool cosplay! Is it selfmade? If only I could make that. That would be so cool. An image of a tan girl in a tight blue shirt, pigtails, tribal armcuffs and an open skirt with fake animalfur is displayed on my laptop. I decide to save it in my inspiration folder. My third inspiration folder, because the other ones already have like 1000 images. Cats, comics, Japanese heroes, game screenshots and book quotes are just a grasp of the information those folders contain.
It’s silly how a few gifs on a site can make me smile. It probably is silly to you. You who laugh at me for liking something you don’t. You call me childish, ugly, a whore. That last name is rather ironic, because you fucked more guys than I’ll ever know. Still, I’m always lying when I say I don’t care. Words can hurt. I remember holding a knife in my hand and focusing on my wrists. I remember the screams my mother gave when she caught me. She grisped the knife out of my hand before I could do any fatal damage. The only drop of blood that fell on the carpet was hers. She had accidentely cut her finger in trying to rescue me from any harm.
Obviously I was grounded for weeks, but the worst part was that she only made me go on my laptop for like two hours. I tried telling her that I had to make an essay, but she would seriously stand behind me and check what I was doing like every few minutes or so. It was so annoying. You can imagine that excuse didn’t last very long. I about died in those weeks. No life, no laptop, no one who understood.
Because that’s the thing. People on this website understand me. They like the same things I do and know that it’s the coolest thing in the world. They know what it’s like to be laughed at for doing your thing and share their experiences on the net. Tumblr is my safe haven. Tumblr is my life.
A new message on my dashboard wakes me from my thoughts. CaptainThoreal is the sender. Shit, did this person see that I reblogged like half of her blog? Oh my god, I’m such a nerd. Why couldn’t I just stop? I’m like the biggest stalker in the universe. That guy in class that jerks off to all the Facebookfriends of cheerleaders isn’t even as bad as me.
Hey dude, are you okay? Don’t let the posers win. It’s so not worth it. I really meant it when I said your blog was cool. You’re way too cool for them!
A smile forms on my face. I don’t know this person. I’ve never met this person. Hell, I just saw this person’s blog for the first time. Yet I feel accepted. I’m okay again. My purple nailpolish chipped fingers rush to the keyboard. “Thanks for making me feel like I’m worth it,” I want to type. My right pinky hits the backspace button. That’s so lame.
Thanks, I’m okay again. You’re right they can’t bring us down. Haters gonna hate! Btw, omg! I saw your Sherlock fanart. Did you draw that yourself? I’m loving it. Sherlockfans unite. Sherlock and Watson are like a married couple, aren’t they? Heh, one true pairing for sure.
I look at the right corner on the screen. What?! It’s already 2 at morning? I could’ve sworn it was twelve o’clock when I started browsing tumblr. I sigh. Tomorrow school starts at 8.30 am. Of course of all courses I have to have math tomorrow. Jamie will sit behind me. At least then I won’t have to look at him goggling Mrs. Frederickson’s boobs. I’ll probably just have my backpack to lay on the seat next to me. Usually I try to sit in the back, but in this class all the seats were taken. I hate it when you’re at the front and you feel all the eyes burn in your back. As if they’re trying to kill you with their looks. They’re probably laughing at me or throwing notes with badly drawn dicks on them. Of course Mrs. Frederickson doesn’t notice. She’s the only one too occupied with her class to notice anything. It’s the worst when you can’t see others faces, but you know they are mocking you. It’s not a matter of if, just a matter of when and how.
The last thing I do before I go to bed is follow CaptainThoreal’s blog. I don’t think I’ll speak to him (or her?) again. By tomorrow this person won’t even know who I am. It won’t mean anything. Just another conversation with a stranger. When I’ve put on my Full Metal Alchemist shirt, brushed my teeth and hugged my plush alpaca to try to get to sleep I still think of the words. Someone actually cared for me.