strange and lonely

The Walls Would Sing To Me.

When I was young, the walls of my bedroom would sing to me at night. I found the mysterious phenomenon soothing, and looked forward to it every night.

At eight years old, I mentioned it to my parents, and they brought me to a doctor, who concluded I had a wild imagination. This reassured my parents, and prompted me to keep quiet about it in the future.

A few years later, my father had a heart attack in his sleep while my mom was away on a business trip. That night, I woke up suddenly and quickly noticed the absence of the walls’ singing. The silence felt weird, wrong.

It was broken by a lone, strangely familiar voice.

“Young giant, your father is in trouble,” the voice was whispered. It was breathy, like silk against silk, the voice of one of the singers.

Something tickled the skin right below my ear, then dropped down to my arm. When it reached my index finger, I brought my hand to my face so I could see my mysterious companion.

A small, black spider sat on the pad of my finger. Before I could make a move to shake it off, it spoke again.

“You father is very ill. He needs a healer,” the spider insisted in the same delicate whisper before launching itself off my finger into the darkness of my bedroom.

Sure enough, when I went to check on my dad, I was unable to wake him. Later, the doctor told me that my dad would have died if I hadn’t woken up when I did.

The next day, I whispered thanks to the spider that sang in my walls. They hummed in response, and I grinned, happy with my new friends.

My father died from another heart attack when I was seventeen, prompting my mother to spiral into mental decline until her hospitalization a year later. After that, I sunk into a deep depression and ended up in an abusive relationship.

I eventually told the spiders all about my suffering, and they murmured with sympathy from their perches in the walls. A large, brown spider dropped down from the ceiling onto the pillow beside my bruised face and asked me if I would bring my boyfriend over that evening.

“We will take care of you, young giant,” it promised.

So that’s what I did. He came over and settled himself before the TV. I stood at the stove in the kitchen, barely paying attention to my cooking as I waited eagerly to see what the spiders had in store.

He started screaming as the pasta finished. He had stopped by the time I had drained it and added the sauce. I ate my meal happily as I waiting for the police to arrive.

They said he died of a brain aneurism. Tragic, they said. Yes, I agreed, very tragic.

That night, I slept soundly, lulled by the gentle music as my friends sang from their homes in the walls.


clexa role reversal au → as a film

Lexa is born on the Ark, a strange lonely girl who wears ancient wedding dresses and reads whatever paper books she can get her hands on. Lexa is seventeen when she’s thrown in the skybox for second degree murder, and nearly eighteen when she’s sent to the ground in an ancient dropship. 

Clarke is born on the ground, training for her conclave since she was a child. She’s sixteen when she’s given the flame, and two years later she’s known as the most ruthless Commander they’ve ever had, the Wanheda. Everything changes when she sees a strange object fall from the sky, leaving behind a fiery contrail before landing in the woods several miles away.

But you know the rest of the story. More or less.


natsume yuujinchou go #05 || When I was lost, you saved me.

Is the forbidden technique you were speaking of that circle? Whoever forbid it was right. Whoever forbid it was kind. Ever since I went inside that circle and saw a human’s eyes for the first time. Ever since I saw her eyes. For some reason, it’s been so hard for me to leave. But even if I stay here, I feel so strangely sad and lonely…

I don’t want to admit it
I don’t want to accept it
But some of the best memories
And actually most memories I’ve had are not with the people who’ve stayed
Not with the people I now spend time with
Not with the people who now care for me
But with the people who’ve left
The people who’ve hurt me
Scarred me
Killed me
I have the most memories with them
And I don’t exactly know how to feel about that..

- Thoughtful (D.B.)


Surrealism Series: Pt. 01 by Erin Graboski

How many times do we have to hear whitewashing defended with “Well the source material was full of racist stereotypes” so they cast a white person instead.

Hollywood is adapting old properties left and right and instead of reworking characters that are people of color and updating them to give them the respect that wasn’t granted to them decades ago they’re just not bothering with it at all. Like you’re literally saying “We don’t know how to write poc without being racist so we’re not going to try.”

The Dahmers

Joyce and Lionel Dahmer had an extremely disturbed relationship with each other, although outwardly they could maintain a semblance of normality; underneath the cheerful smiles in photographs lurked terrible insecurities and indifference. Jeffrey recalls his father as being distant and unreachable much of the time, and Joyce was prone to anxiety-induced fits and huge displays of temper. The birth of his brother, David, further isolated Jeffrey as it was obvious who his parents favored. He developed into a strange, lonely child fascinated with dead animals.

As Jeffrey grew older, his parents marriage worsened. They resorted to splitting the house exactly in half, each residing on their own side; Lionel installed a security system that would alert him if his wife was trying to enter his half.

In 1978, when Jeffrey was eighteen, the Dahmer’s decided to divorce; the lawyer who handled their case described it as the most acrimonious separation of his career. They fought bitterly for custody of David and eventually abandoned him at the house, with just a gallon of milk to subsist on.

When a friend of mine complains about being single and goes on to tell me how she really needs to have a man in her life:


So, I think I really need to break down to you guys, what exactly has been going on with me. This bit of information has been eating at me for quite some time now. Here’s something you all should understand that throughout my entire life, I have always felt lonely, strange, and misunderstood. Friends have always been difficult for me to make, they still are despite the fact I have always desperately wanted to make connections with people. I’ve spent my whole life having family and peers whisper to eachother behind my back about my apparent strangeness. Some thought I might have been academically slow ( despite teachers constantly praising me, but what did they know) My whole being has been nothing but people observing me from the sidelines, judging and wondering why I even exist in the first place. Hell I’ve once overheard a bully say “ Why is she even here? What is even her point?” Those are words that have never ever left me.  I’ve gone through life wondering why I was so lonely, and why I seemed so different from everyone else. Wondering why I felt like I constantly had to come into everyone else's world but no one once thought to come into mine. Up until two months ago, nothing ever made much sense to me.  It started with me doing research for a character of mine who a friend had come to notice might have been autistic. So I looked more into it as I didn’t actually know anything about autism. As things started matching up with this character, I began to realize I was reading about myself. I began asking more about autism with a friend who has it, trying to site reliable resources. As I began to read, everything began to make so much more sense to me. But I needed more. I called my eldest sister, someone who knew me best, having raised me. I asked her about autism and if it was something she had ever considered about me, to which she replied yes. She had always believed that her second oldest son was a lot like how I was growing up and had come to realize I might have had ASD when he himself was diagnosed with it quite recently. We talked for a long time about many tell tells I exhibited and still do. Things I never noticed or realized I do because they were so…natural to me. I believe without a doubt that ASD is part of who I am and why I am the way I am and that’s why iI feel like I need to finally say something. I am so tired of feeling misunderstood and I feel like this an important factor to understanding me as a person. Learning that ASD is a very likely factor in my life has helped me understand myself much better and it’s been validating having support from an autism community but I still…feel quite lost and lonely. Because I can’t change this part about me, it’s with me forever and I’m so scared I’m falling apart because of it. But I’m strong because I’ve made it so far living in constant confusion. But It was important for me to write this because living your whole life being misunderstood by others, I need to finally feel like am actually understood.