Lame (BWWM)

The Fuck You Been?!

The last time I updated this story was in December, and when I say updated I mean published a chapter. I had started a chapter (Chapter 6) shortly after publishing Chapter 5. I was super inspired and ready to continuously update Lame, but then my life started getting, well, Lame.

Three days before I was supposed to start my second semester of my sophomore year of college, the school contacted me saying, "You need to pay for last semester pronto or you won't be able to start your second semester." I wasn't employed nor had any money, so I was motherfucking stuck. My anxiety got worse, my depression got worse, and I was ready to give up. 

I played the multi-millions library and won nothing, my parents were like "welp that sucks for you" and I sort of wanted to die. So I applied to some jobs and got a temporary full time job shipping orders. I was super happy because that meant that I could pay this stupid hold off (that the shitfuckhead school I was going to refused to fucking tell me about until the last minute [side note: i fucking asked these doodoo heads what the fuck the problem with my finacial aid was and they said i was good multiple times.] ) 

So I worked that temp job for about three weeks before my left foot was like, "Fuck all this walking. I'm hurt. I'm skressed." I was walking for eight hours straight in old morgue five days a week in a row. My foot was not having it. I told my rents how my foot was being lame and how my doctor said i more than likely have a stress fracture so my dad offered to pay off my school so that i didn't have to stress. At first I said fuck no, because my rents like to rub that shit in your face later on (really my mom), but then i had a dream that my uncle told me to take the deal (RIP Uncle Michael)

So I went to HR and told them what was up and the HR lady (who was super duper nice and sweet) was like "Well, can you do customer service for six hours a day?" I was like, "FUCK YEAH." (not really but i took the job)

Now I have a part time job interacting with customers (which I really like) and while i'm not getting paid a lot, I'm still getting paid. Well... my dad kept trying to have my school lower the whole 1,358 dollars of this hold, not understanding that everything he was asking them to do wouldn't apply to soemthing that I've already done.

It was frustrating and my parents kept badgering me about school and what I should be doing and I was like just please pay this shit off so i can go to a different school and so one day they finally fucking did and I thought life would be a tiny bit less stressful but no, my parents kept nagging and trying to control what I did with my school (aka my future) and they tried controlling how my older brother and sister in law did with their life and how they fed their kids and so that was a whole different stress on the family and they don't come around the house at all (but they love a block or two away so I walk to their place and see my fam and we cool)

My mom likes to get mad for no reason. She's not really doing a lot with herself (she just drives people around and gets on facebook and complains) I'm grateful that she drives us places and cooks stuff some times, but she gets mad at us for no reason. It's been like this forever while growing up. She likes taking her anger (that's more than likely really toward herself if that makes sense?) out on everyone else. 

Me going to my brother's house would make her angry and she would try controlling me going over there and suddenly my nephews weren't making me happy anymore, writing wasn't making me happy anymore, i couldn't think or feel and I just felt like dying.

I was ready to commit suicide about a month or two ago. I was ready to die. I really didn't want to be alive anymore. I said, "God, give me one sign not to kill myself the next time this happens and I won't." 

I usually don't get on tumblr anymore, but that same night after I pulled myself together and got ready for bed with my own death heavy on my mind, That one old school tumblr post came up on my dash. The one that says in big bold letters "If you're looking for a sign not to kill yourself, then this is it. Don't do it." and that's how I knew that I was supposed to be here on Earth and get help.

Cheesy and lame I know. But I was put on anti-depressants (which are just mood stabilizers) and they really fucking helped. Hooooly shit they helped me like no other. I'm super happy now and I let shit roll off of my back and I love myself and allow myself to be happy and to not care about my mom being a bitch most of the time.

But while I'm able to remember things better and be happy and love myself, I start losing my creativity. I haven't had a story idea in months, guys and it's so fucking shitty. I love writing and making silly, corny, romantic, horrific stories. That's the only thing I'm good at. And while this medicine makes me happy to be a human and to be alive and to be able to smell the fantastic scent of Watermelon Lemonade by Bath and Body Works, and to listen to that Red Vox album, and to hear Joel speak in Swedish for a whole stream, and to be able to realize that I love guys with beards and chubby guys and guys who are wimpy in stature and dorky guys and to be able to compliment girls because girls are super fucking pretty and they deserve to know it, this medicine has also left me unable to think of story ideas properly.

I've stopped taking it for now, and I get really excited when a story idea pops in my head. Even if it's a small one. I'll take them when I need them and I'll never leave them because they literally saved my fucking life, but It's going to take me a little bit to get more ideas and such for this story.

I'm working on it, guys. But thank you all so much for still reading and waiting. 

TL;DR:

My depression was super bad and I was going to kill myself, but I got meds for it which sucked my creativity away so I stopped taking them for now and ideas are slowly coming back. Thank you, I love you. Bless.