those days are dead

Mom, my depression is a shape shifter.
One day it is as small as a firefly in the palm of a bear,
The next, it’s the bear.
On those days I play dead until the bear leaves me alone.
I call the bad days: “the Dark Days.”
Mom says, “Try lighting candles.”
When I see a candle, I see the flesh of a church, the flicker of a flame,
Sparks of a memory younger than noon.
I am standing beside her open casket.
It is the moment I learn every person I ever come to know will someday die.
Besides Mom, I’m not afraid of the dark.
Perhaps, that’s part of the problem.
Mom says, “I thought the problem was that you can’t get out of bed.”
I can’t.
Anxiety holds me a hostage inside of my house, inside of my head.
Mom says, “Where did anxiety come from?”
Anxiety is the cousin visiting from out-of-town depression felt obligated to bring to the party.
Mom, I am the party.
Only I am a party I don’t want to be at.
Mom says, “Why don’t you try going to actual parties, see your friends?”
Sure, I make plans. I make plans but I don’t want to go.
I make plans because I know I should want to go. I know sometimes I would have wanted to go.
It’s just not that fun having fun when you don’t want to have fun, Mom.
You see, Mom, each night insomnia sweeps me up in his arms dips me in the kitchen in the small glow of the stove-light.
Insomnia has this romantic way of making the moon feel like perfect company.
Mom says, “Try counting sheep.”
But my mind can only count reasons to stay awake;
So I go for walks; but my stuttering kneecaps clank like silver spoons held in strong arms with loose wrists.
They ring in my ears like clumsy church bells reminding me I am sleepwalking on an ocean of happiness I cannot baptize myself in.
Mom says, “Happy is a decision.”
But my happy is as hollow as a pin pricked egg.
My happy is a high fever that will break.
Mom says I am so good at making something out of nothing and then flat-out asks me if I am afraid of dying.
No.
I am afraid of living.
Mom, I am lonely.
I think I learned that when Dad left how to turn the anger into lonely —
The lonely into busy;
So when I tell you, “I’ve been super busy lately,” I mean I’ve been falling asleep watching Sports Center on the couch
To avoid confronting the empty side of my bed.
But my depression always drags me back to my bed
Until my bones are the forgotten fossils of a skeleton sunken city,
My mouth a bone yard of teeth broken from biting down on themselves.
The hollow auditorium of my chest swoons with echoes of a heartbeat,
But I am a careless tourist here.
I will never truly know everywhere I have been.
Mom still doesn’t understand.
Mom! Can’t you see that neither can I?
—  “Explaining My Depression to My Mother: A Conversation” by Sabrina Benaim
Trans Day Of Revenge
G.L.O.S.S.
Trans Day Of Revenge

PUT THROUGH HELL
TORN APART
CHICKS WITH DICKS KILL FROM THE HEART
UNTAMED WOMEN
SCARRED BY MEN
WE BREAK THE CYCLE WITH REVENGE

TRANS DAY OF REVENGE!
TRANS DAY OF REVENGE!
TRANS DAY OF REVENGE!

REMEMBER THOSE
DEAD AND GONE
BUT DON’T LET THE MEDIA SET US UP FOR HARM
HRC, SELFISH FUCKS
YUPPIE GAYS THREW US UNDER THE BUS

TRANS DAY OF REVENGE!
TRANS DAY OF REVENGE!
TRANS DAY OF REVENGE!

BLACK TRANS WOMEN
DRAPED IN WHITE SHEETS
BEATEN TO DEATH
HARASSED BY POLICE
HOMELESS ELDERS
WANDER THE STREETS
TRANS DAY OF REVENGE
NOT AS WEAK AS WE SEEM

2

To those that celebrate Day of the Dead, I hope you guys have a lovely time with your friends and family. Last year I drew Ezequiel so I figured it was only fair to draw Benjamin this year. He’s usually hyper on all the sugary sweet food he chows down but once he’s chill, he likes to just sit down and have chat with his grandma. (And snitch on all the bad stuff Ezequiel’s been doing) 

(Official) Schedule Change

So I know I’ve been EXTREMELY inconsistent with my uploading–mainly because I never know when I’m going to get the motivation and time to actually complete something that I feel can be posted.
I’m hoping to change that now that everything’s a bit back to normal for me in my home and school life–

Please note that I’m at school all week and have to go 10+ hours straight working in a computer lab on Mondays and Wednesdays, so I’m generally dead during those days from lack of sleep and exhaustion.


As of today, here is my somewhat-hopefully official schedule:

Monday: Main Comic

Tuesday:  Ask Blog responses

Wednesday: Side projects (if any are ready)

Thursday:  Ask Blog responses

Friday: Main Comic

Saturday: N/A

Sunday: N/A or Potential Drawpile and/or Stream


Now, I might not keep to this religiously, but I’m going to try my BEST to keep to it. If there’s ever a day I skip something, it’s because either something happened to me offline (health-wise, as I have a slew of medical stuff wrong with me) or I’m resting.

For anyone who needs a specific reason as to why I have these timed out like how I do:

  • The main comic varies between 2-4 hours to paint a page depending on complexity of scenery and working out the best way to present a scene to have as much significance and symbolism as possible.
    I have them set on both sides of the week because, generally, I’ll be able to finish a page in two days with no school and a page 4 days while in class or afterward.

  • Ask Blog responses might be just simple black and white clean sketches to other people but they’re not to me. I have to decide which one to answer first based on my motivation levels and work from there–and that’s actually much harder to do than it sounds.
    My goal is to maybe stream ask blog responses to help motivate me a bit more and include people in it–but that’ll be something to test later.

  • Side projects means literally anything in my reservoir that I’ve had for months upon months but never finished. There’s actually a LOT of side comics I need to line and color and post–but I just never have the energy to actively sit down and do them.

  • I need the weekend sometimes to myself to play games and just relax so I don’t explode. I hardly get any time to myself to just sit there and do nothing, so it’s nice to have some days off.

my sister used to joke about my inability to tell people i loved them. she told me that the day i managed to say those three words would be the day i dropped dead.

it wasn’t that i didn’t love enough. i loved so much that my throat closed up when i tried to translate what i felt into words. i loved so much that i could take the punches meant for you without flinching. i loved so much that i could sell my happiness to buy yours.

but i never could gather the courage to declare my love for anyone in my life. i never understood how people tossed the the words so casually at me when they knew i would always reply with, “thank you” or “i know.”

i was the all-or-nothing girl. i could never control the love i handed out, could never ration the endless supply. when i met you, it was inevitable that i would forget to be careful.

“i love you!” i screamed.

i screamed into the void between us, but didn’t hear an echo. i was convinced that if i kept throwing affection at you, you would eventually do the same for me.

my sister was right. the day i told you i loved you was the day you killed me.

the embarrassed expression on your face, the sigh that escaped from your mouth and the way that you touched me for the last time sunk into my blood-stream. the lethal blend reached my heart, and stopped its beating.

—  poison disguised as an eighteen-year old // s.g.

I’m so confused how people are upset about coco,
Like,its an animated movie about the day of the dead,
saying its a rip off of The Book of Life is like saying The Nightmare Before Christmas ripped off Rudolph the Red Nosed raindeer for being a stop motion Christmas movie

Explaining my depression to my mother: A conversation
Mom, my depression is a shapeshifter
One day it’s as small as a firefly in the palm of a bear
The next it’s the bear
On those days I play dead until the bear leaves me alone
I call the bad days “the Dark Days”
Mom says try lighting candles
But when I see a candle I see the flicker of a flame
Sparks of a memory younger than noon
I am standing beside her open casket
It is the moment that I learn everyone I will ever come to know will someday die
Besides Mom, I’m not afraid of the dark, perhaps that’s part of the problem
Mom says I thought the problem was that you can’t get out of bed
I can’t, anxiety holds me a hostage inside of my house inside of my head
Mom says where did anxiety come from
Anxiety is the cousin visiting from out of town that depression felt obligated to invite to the party
mom I am the party, only I’m a party I don’t want to be at
Mom says why don’t you try going to actual parties, see your friends
Sure I make plans, I make plans I don’t want to go to
I make plans because I know I should want to go I know sometimes I would have wanted to go
It’s just not that fun having fun when you don’t want to have fun Mom
You see Mom each night Insomnia sweeps me up in his arms dips me in the kitchen in the small glow of the stove-light
Insomnia has this romantic way of making the moon feel like perfect company
Mom says try counting sheep
But my mind can only count reasons to stay awake
So I go for walks, but my stuttering kneecaps clank like silver spoons held in strong arms with loose wrists
They ring in my ears like clumsy church bells reminding me that I am sleepwalking on an ocean of happiness that I cannot
Baptize myself in
Mom says happy is a decision
But my happy is as hollow as a pin pricked egg
My happy is a high fever that will break
Mom says I am so good at making something out of nothing and then flat out asks me if I am afraid of dying
No Mom I am afraid of living
Mom I am lonely
I think I learned that when Dad left how to turn the anger into lonely the lonely into busy
So when I say I’ve been super busy lately I mean I’ve been falling asleep on the couch watching SportsCenter
To avoid confronting the empty side of my bed
But my depression always drags me back to my bed
Until my bones are forgotten fossils of a skeleton sunken city
My mouth a bone yard of teeth broken from biting down on themselves
The hollow auditorium of my chest swoons with the echoes of a heartbeat
But I am just a careless tourist here
I will never truly know where I have been
Mom still doesn’t understand
Mom, can’t you see
That neither can I
—  Sabrina Benaim, “Explaining my depression to my mother”.