I’m staring to feel the need of cuts, craving the sight of my own blood as a punishment. The things that helped me before, are not working anymore.
I often catch myself degrading my whole being, like as I am an outsider. The memories he made me suffer through are not fading at all, as the doctor has said they will.
Everything is useless. I’m staring to think If It’s worth staying alive or not at all. This is not the usual kind of post, this is much longer and deeper this time.
I’m counting the days I should stay alive but my pen is getting useless day by day. My body feels like It’s rotting with every breath I take and every movement gets me closer to the edge.
His hands made wounds that will never heal, but get nastier and nastier everytime I see them. I wish I never wore a skirt. Especially not that day.
I’m begging for the world to end me in any way. Give me the sweet release of this lie, this false reality. I don’t want to live like this no more.
I’m waiting for the lovely day of my death, the freedom from this suffering. Heaven or Hell doesn’t exist. Hell surely don’t. There’s no worse place than Earth itself.
The sour taste the pills, lefr on my tounge never faided since that day.
i’m thinking about charlotte brontë spending her last years editing and publishing her sisters’ writings and about christopher tolkien dedicating his life to the protection and meticulous reconstruction his father’s life’s work and about johanna van gogh publishing the letters between vincent and theo that would propel vincent van gogh into fame because she knew how much her husband had loved his brother, and about how so often art isn’t just a reflection of the artist’s mind and skills but a testament to the fact that they were loved
I am simultaneously flabbergasted and unsurprised that people are unaware of the fact that US government agencies [cough FBI cough cough] and a lot of police precincts in the US have pretty detailed information about Romani families, including lists of our surnames.
I don’t even know how to feel right now..
A lot of states and cities used to make us register ourselves or get special licenses to live there. You could get fined in Pennsylvania for being Romani and traveling without a special permit. In New Jersey, you needed special permission to own a business if you were Romani.
It has long been a normal thing for us to have property confiscated and even outright stolen by the police under the assumption that property was stolen. We’ve been unlawfully detained. Like, a baby actually died because a Romani woman was unlawfully detained by police for like 3 days.
I guess I wanted to assume people knew this stuff because that is the reality we’ve had to deal with. Romani people in the US are used to this sort of thing, but at the same time I am not surprised that people are shocked by it because a lot of Americans don’t even know we live right next door to them.
like man everyone’s saying their condolences and are being like “RIP etika” but like maybe if a lot of people had stopped seeing him as just a meme instead of an actual human being none of this would happened. none of this would have escalated so fucking quickly.
saying stuff like “take care of your mental health” in light of stuff like this doesn’t really mean shit when it was a toxic culture (twitch and YouTube) and a fanbase who could have given less of a shit that led to all this in the first place
