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So, @foofybabykitten gave me a prompt over on DA, "A young woman was born with the ability to read minds, she hears everyone's secrets, their lies, and because of that she ostracizes herself from everyone. When she meets a girl who doesn't think about her as a piece of meat, or a pity case, or even a freak, no she only wants to... baby her?"

 

I feel like I did a good job with this one, I didn't compromise a lot of things, I did take out some words that had merit for the tone of the story, but I felt that someone reading it might feel negatively reading them and changed or softened them where I could. This story hurt a lot to write because it made me think about my own feelings of being insecure about what other's really think of me and I struggled greatly with it until I finished it. Overall I think I did justice to the prompt and like the finished product very much. I hope you enjoy it @foofybabykitten and I sincerely thank you for allowing me the opportunity to use your wonderful idea!

 

A Second Thought

By: RambleLamb

 

...tear that pussy up...

 

...fuck that pretty little mouth...

 

...cum all over your tits...

 

...rape you to death, jungle bunny...

 

....cut your fucking throat...

 

...cunt...

 

...dyke...

 

Ugh.

 

You know that feeling you get when you overhear someone's thoughts about you and no matter how hot or how long the shower is you just don't feel clean enough? No, I suppose you wouldn't, would you? I do, and I can tell you that it's just the absolute goddamned worst.

 

When I was born I was "blessed" with a "gift". Those quotation marks are used because what I have is neither a blessing nor a gift. I can read people's thoughts. I know, it sounds like some superhero nonsense, but it's true, I hear what people are thinking ALL. THE. TIME. As a baby I didn't stop crying until I was about three, like constant crying, only stopping because I passed out from a day spent crying because I could hear people's voices when they weren't talking and it scared me. I could hear my parents thinking about what a mistake it was to have me, I could hear my mother mentally weighing the option of smothering me with a pillow or drowning me in the tub because she was so exhausted. I could hear my father thinking about abandoning my mother and I to go live with his girlfriend. Thanks to my "gift", I could understand thoughts even though I didn't understand language, neat, huh?

 

I learned at a disgustingly young age that a lot of people are fucking disgusting human beings. Teachers, preachers, young, old, blood relatives, strangers on the street, so many people wanted to do terrible things and I heard them all. One time, when I was maybe four, my mother took me to the grocery store and there was a man in the dairy section that just kept repeating "kill". Nothing else, no specific target for his thought, just the one word. The weird thing was that he wasn't even thinking it in an angry way, it was calm and constant like he was repeating a number he didn't want to forget. When we passed by him I stared at him and he smiled and waved at me like a totally normal human being would to a small child, but his thoughts didn't change and it scared me so badly that we had to leave the store because I couldn't stop crying.

 

Depression became my defining character trait pretty early on. Once you know that a shocking amount of people that see you think the most hateful and racist shit about you it kinda fucks you up. I stopped crying after a while, just becoming so overwhelmed with sadness that I couldn't even cope with the emotions anymore, retreating into myself and basically just becoming a husk of a person that went through the motions of her day to day life but thought about killing herself almost exclusively.

 

Do you have any idea what it feels like to be sitting in a pizza parlor on your sixth birthday, family and classmates that your mother had to invite because you're a mute little weirdo that everyone avoids standing around the table singing "Happy Birthday" to you and smiling but you know they're thinking how they'd rather be anywhere else than at "Freaky Frankie's" birthday party? How fucked up is it that kids, little fucking children are thinking about hurting you because you're weird to them? What would you do if you could hear the thoughts of the various sexual predators in the establishment wondering what kind of panties you're wearing?

 

I started cutting myself before my seventh birthday, I'd heard so many people thinking about self harm that it became a thing I couldn't stop thinking about. I actually glommed onto a girl in my class because her older sister came to pick her up one day and she was thinking about where on her thigh she could cut so her mother wouldn't find out. She'd been date raped at a party and had to get an abortion without anyone finding out and the guy that had assaulted her had taken pictures and was threatening her with them so she'd prostitute herself to him just to keep her friends and family from knowing what had happened. When she eventually killed herself I knew she was going to do it days beforehand but didn't say anything because she was so sad and hurting so badly that I wanted her to find the freedom she was seeking.

 

I didn't get control of my ability until high school, maybe it was puberty or something, I don't really know, but it became a thing that I could not always have on and that helped me immensely. Having quiet in a room full of people shouldn't have been cause for celebration, but I started smiling and allowing myself to be happy for the first time in my life, started being more sociable, and actually made a few friends.

 

The funny thing about school is that you're provided these opportunities at the start of every new year or new school you attend wherein you can change the person you are and kids being about as deep as a puddle on a hot day will forget the old you existed, by and large, and adopt the new you as someone else entirely. I wasn't "Freaky Frankie" anymore, I was just "Frankie" or "Francine" when people weren't hip to my preferred nomenclature, and it was great for longer than it probably should have been.

 

I spent most of the time with my powers turned off, allowing myself to take people at face value and found that the world had done a complete one eighty for me. I no longer feared people because when they smiled at me and said nice things there wasn't any underlying thought process to be heard that betrayed that outward presentation. Girls talked to me about boys and we'd laugh about how cute someone's butt was and go to the movies and have sleepovers. Boys would talk to me like I was a person and occasionally compliment me on my appearance. The scars on my legs were still there, but I didn't feel the need to add to them because I had friends and life was a thousand percent easier without a peek behind everyone's curtain.

 

When my dad killed my mom and then himself it surprised everyone, but the one person it shouldn't have surprised, the person that should have heard the warnings rattling around inside his brain, ended up being the most surprised. I blamed myself for what happened, hated myself for being too much of a coward to use what I had to change the course of events and protect my parents from what happened. Apparently they'd gotten into a fight over my dad cheating on my mom and the fight escalated to a point where he'd smashed her face into the cast iron tub in the bathroom. We couldn't even have a viewing for her because of how badly her head was damaged.

 

When the principal had come to get me from class I listened to his thoughts. I'd been practicing in the library or at the bus stop, quieter places with less people to distract my focus and creating that background din that drove me crazy, honing my power to focus just on one person and hear only their thoughts instead of having overlapping voices from every direction cascading over my brain.

 

...goddamned tragedy...

 

...orphan...

 

...murdered...

 

...tits like her mother...

 

...should hug her...

 

I didn't make it more than two feet from my desk before I fell to my knees and started bawling uncontrollably, screaming in pain and rage like some kind of lunatic, which everyone assumed I was now because I knew something terrible had happened without anyone telling me.

 

I spiraled pretty far out of control in the years after my parent's death. I lost the focus I'd built up to keep my power from being stuck in the "ON" position and went back to crying day and night, the angry and hateful thoughts of the world around me serving as my only companion, pushing my own thoughts from my mind and infiltrating my personality and making me question which thoughts were from other people and which were my own. I felt like my identity had been taken over, that I'd become the things people were thinking about.

 

When I walked from my house to the train station in my pajamas I was the racial slurs people thought, I was probably high on crack and going to sell my body for more because that's all a young black girl like me was good for. When I walked down the stairs to the train platform I was that crazy N word without shoes on that shouldn't be acknowledged because I was probably high and homeless and would just beg for money and when I stood at the edge of the platform and heard the train coming I was-

 

Oh my God, don't do it, sweetie

 

The arms were around my waist and pulling me back from the edge.

 

Such a beautiful young woman

 

I was sitting on the ground in those arms.

 

Who hurt you?

 

I was crying in those arms.

 

You're safe now.

 

The only thoughts in that moment, in that train station full of people taking video with their phones and talking about what had happened were the first truly positive thoughts I'd heard in my entire life. When I looked up at the face that owned those arms and those thoughts I saw a beautiful young woman smiling down at me, her green eyes gleaming with tears threatening to come pouring out at any moment.

 

I've got you, Frankie.

 

I was surprised to hear my name in her mind, but her smile reassured me and she passed knowledge through our eyes as we looked at each other, letting me know that we were sharing something that no one else could possibly understand.

 

Go with the people that come for you and I promise I'll find you after.

 

She nodded softly to me and helped me to my feet just as several security officers came to collect me, leading me away from her, through the sea of onlookers.

 

My name is Gabrielle. Don't be afraid, sweetie. I-

 

...probably going to delay the trains...

 

...fucking crazy bitch...

 

...goddamn crackhead...

 

Her thoughts disappeared as the thoughts of all the other people in the station swarmed around my mind and I lost sight of her in the crowd. Everything started to gray out and become fuzzy, the thoughts becoming muffled like I was hearing them through a thin hotel wall and I stumbled and fell but was caught and lifted off my feet and then there were no thoughts for me or from anyone else.

 

When I woke up I was at the hospital and the world came flooding back all at once, my brain burning with the thoughts of people mourning, people worrying, people far away being happy as they looked at their new baby. I shut my eyes tightly and forced the world out, blood dripping from my nose and onto the paper gown I was wearing. Silence returned and I lay limply in the bed staring up at the ceiling, feeling the searing pain of all the thoughts hammering against my defenses in their attempt to have me acknowledge them.

 

Frankie, are you okay?

 

Gabrielle's mental voice slipped through without anyone else joining it and I opened my eyes to see her standing there. She truly was lovely. Her caramel colored skin was as warm and calming to look at as her mental voice was to listen to. She smiled with her slightly crooked smile and looked down at her folded hands that were rubbing each other softly and then back up at me with those emerald orbs.

 

I promised to find you.

 

I opened my mouth to speak but she put her finger to her lips and softly shushed me, the light sound sending a pleasant tingle up my back to the base of my skull.

 

May I hold your hand?

 

She looked at me with an inquisitive look that let me know she somehow knew I could hear her thoughts, her face taking on the expression to match the question her mental voice was asking. I nodded softly.

 

Gabrielle approached the bed and pulled the chair beside it over so she could sit even with the top part of my body and reached out and gently took my hand in hers.

 

I'm what's known as an Empath, Frankie. Do you know what that is?

 

I shook my head slowly.

 

That's okay, sweetie. Basically, it means I can feel what other people feel, their emotions come through to me when I make physical contact with them and I can help them when those feelings are bad or hurtful. Do you understand?

 

I nodded.

 

Normally I have to touch someone to feel their feelings, but you, you were radiating pain and anguish from you in waves from a block away and it hurt me so badly to feel all of your pain that I ran to you and made it to you before you could do what you were planning on doing.

 

The tears formed in my eyes as I looked at her, a complete stranger that cared enough about me because of my pain that she ran to me to save my life. I leaned over and hugged her as tightly as I could, the tears falling freely from me now as I began to sob.

 

Her arms wrapped around me and she rubbed my back in small circles.

 

I'm so sorry that you've suffered so much because of your gift, Frankie, but I'm so thankful that I found you in time.

 

She started crying with me, and we held each other and cried until the nurse came to inform us that visiting hours were over.

 

Gabrielle came to visit me every day and we never said a single word to each other, she would hold my hand and think her thoughts to me and I would feel better day by day, visit by visit. When I was with her it was only her thoughts in my mind, all the negativity that surrounded me, the animosity, objectification and disdain was replaced by sweetness, tenderness and this sense of calm that I'd never felt before. I was truly at peace when she was with me and even though we never spoke the words, we loved each other.

 

When I got released she was there to take me home but as she held my hand while the nurse pushed me down the hall in the wheelchair she knew that I didn't want to go home.

 

You can stay with me for as long as you like.

 

Her thumb gently caressed the top of my hand assuring me that she was there to take care of me.

 

Gabrielle's apartment was a palace compared to my own and she smiled at me as we walked in, thinking words of thanks as she set my things down, having taken me to my place to pack a bag. She led me by the hand around the kitchen and living room and mentally gave me the nickel tour before guiding me to the couch where she sat with me facing her and held my hand with both of hers.

 

Frankie, I need to explain something to you and I'm hopeful that you'll allow me to do so fully without being afraid.

 

I looked into her lovely and loving eyes and swallowed hard before nodding.

 

I love you, that is to say that I'm in love with you. You're the person I was meant to be with and I know this because the odds of someone that can read minds ending up with someone that can feel other people's emotions is astronomical, not to mention the fact that someone like me is exactly what someone like you needs in their life, right?

 

I nodded and allowed myself to smile at her.

 

I feel that you feel that I'm different for you. I know that you feel safe with me because you're thoughts are your own when you're with me and not filled with other people's, right?

 

I nodded again.

 

I feel that you feel loved and protected for the first time in your life because the intensity of your calm is as strong when you're with me as your pain was on that train platform.

 

I nodded again.

 

I feel that you feel love for me, sometimes it's romantic but more often than not it's something more akin to the love a child has for a parent. You love that I'm here to keep you safe and to take care of you and to never have negative thoughts about you, only ones of love.

 

I wiped a tear from my eye and nodded once more.

 

I'd like for you to focus on those feelings and let them fill you up completely. Feel calm and safe and loved. Feel love for me and feel only happiness and peace.

 

I closed my eyes and did as she asked, thinking about her smile and the warmth of her hands on mine, thinking about her arms around me in the hospital and on the train platform, the love coming through her embrace and creating an impenetrable barrier that none of the bad things in the world could get through. She squeezed my hand gently.

 

Good girl. Now, I want you to picture yourself getting smaller and smaller, keep imagining the world getting bigger around you and just when you start to feel afraid that everything around you is too big I want you to imagine me holding you in my arms and keeping you safe from anything that might hurt you.

 

I saw myself getting smaller, but not staying the same, I was getting younger and shrinking as the years melted off of me. I drifted backward through time, back to the girl that lost her parents and then her mind, back to the girl that celebrated her birthday in a pizza parlor full of people that feared her or wanted to fuck her, back to the girl that had to leave the grocery store because she was afraid, and finally back to the baby that never stopped crying because the world around her was full of terrible thoughts that only she could hear but had no one to protect her from. The tears were flowing freely now as that sorrow began to fill me up, and then she was picking me up and cradling me in her arms, and the baby I'd become stopped crying and looked up at the face of its protector.

 

Open your eyes, baby.

 

I opened my eyes and saw her smiling face, her eyes red from crying along with me and she leaned forward and kissed my forehead.

 

I'd like to make that a reality for you. I'd like to be the arms that you lay in and the face you look up to, I'd like to be the mommy that that baby needs and has needed for her entire life.

 

She stood up slowly and helped me to my feet, leading me from the living room and down the hall to the door at the end of it.

 

I won't make you do anything you don't want to, sweetie, but I promise I'll be here to take care of you.

 

Her hand went to the doorknob and turned it slowly before lightly pushing the door inward and allowing the room beyond to become visible. The wood floor was covered with a large white rug, the thick shag looking so soft and inviting. The walls were a soft lavender with cream colored curtains on the window. In the right corner was a dark mahogany rocking chair, a small pink chest to the left of it, the lid open with brightly colored toys of various sizes and materials piled up inside. To the left of that was a large mahogany crib with the side rails down, the light purple bedding within lay invitingly below a carousel shaped mobile with pastel animals of various types dangling motionless.

 

I'd like this to be your room.

 

Her hand gently squeezed mine as she moved into the room, not pulling me with her, but allowing me to make my way into the room at my own pace, my eyes moving around the room as I went in further. Next to the crib was an open closet, clothes hanging up inside creating a rainbow of bright and soft colors and materials and patterns. To the left of the closet was a dark mahogany changing table, a thick pad on the top and stacks of diapers and cubbies of diapering supplies beneath that. Her hand went to my back and softly rubbed it.

 

I can leave you alone to explore at your own pace or you can leave if you want, we can go back to the living room and save talking about this room for later, whatever makes you feel the most comfortable is what we'll do.

 

I stood there for a moment and allowed myself to feel the warmth of her hand through my shirt as it moved in its little circles. I slipped my shoes and socks off and walked onto the rug, feeling my feet swallowed up into the thick shag making my toes wiggle as a smile formed on my lips. I took a deep breath in through my nose, the soft scent of baby powder filling my nostrils and I felt calm wash over me. I turned slowly to her and stood silently as I looked down at the carpet and my wiggling toes.

 

She was smiling when I looked up at her and seeing that smile made me smile. I reached out and put my hand in hers and allowed my feelings to pass through to her. I let the feeling of finding the only thoughts that mattered in the world fill me up. I let the feeling of finding the only person I'd been able to be truly comfortable and accepted by fill me up. I let the feeling of finally being loved and loving someone fill me up and I let them go to her before I let go of her hand and moved my hand up to my face, fanning my fingers out wide as I put my thumb to my chin, signing "mommy" to her.

 

Gabrielle smiled and wiped tears from her eyes before she put her arms up to her chest and made a little cradle with them that she rocked to sign "baby" back to me before she opened her arms and welcomed me into them for a hug that cemented our bond and made us the family we were meant to be.  

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This story was absolutely beautiful. I'm nominating it for the Nobel prize.

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50 minutes ago, warpiper said:

This story was absolutely beautiful. I'm nominating it for the Nobel prize.

Whaaaaaat?! That's craziness! I am smiling and blushing so hard right now, thank you! :D

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Jesus fuck I'm actually crying.... 😭 Just wow just all the fucking feels.....

giphy.gif

 

I just want to scoop this sweet girl up and hold her..... Jesus kid I've had those thought and I haven't gone through even of fraction of that.....

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8 hours ago, RambleLamb said:

Normally I have to touch someone to feel their feelings, but you, you were radiating pain and anguish from you in waves from a block away and it hurt me so badly to feel all of your pain that I ran to you and made it to you before you could do what you were planning on doing.

This line here absolutely slays me.

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The story is so loving and gentle, that's what the AB World will love.
They will love you both for that. For the idea @foofybabykitten and for implementing the idea @ RambleLamb

Your worries were completely unfounded.

Introducing sign language is really a good idea.
In German, it is the right index finger of the outstretched and this touched the right cheek from top to bottom twice gently strokes.

 

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Wow. That... I... wow. I'm not sure if I have words to express what I felt during this story. I didn't react quite as strongly as YourFNF, but that was just incredible. I can see how that would've been hard to write for somwone as emotional and empathetic as you, Lamby.

*Hugs*

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12 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Jesus fuck I'm actually crying.... 😭 Just wow just all the fucking feels.....

giphy.gif

 

I just want to scoop this sweet girl up and hold her..... Jesus kid I've had those thought and I haven't gone through even of fraction of that.....

I'm both very sad and very glad that this hit you so hard, it hit me hard and I'm glad I wasn't just being a wiener baby while writing it. :) *hugs*

10 hours ago, warpiper said:

This line here absolutely slays me.

Imagining someone that's hurting so badly that they're putting off that emotion to an Empath a block away makes me wonder whether that's an exaggeration or lowballing in this instance. I mean, Frankie has been through some serious shit and a block, even in a large city, ain't so big. It struck me as a nice illustration of something terrible, I'm glad it resonated with you. :)

10 hours ago, Nicole Kolibri said:

The story is so loving and gentle, that's what the AB World will love.
They will love you both for that. For the idea @foofybabykitten and for implementing the idea @ RambleLamb

Your worries were completely unfounded.

Introducing sign language is really a good idea.
In German, it is the right index finger of the outstretched and this touched the right cheek from top to bottom twice gently strokes.

 

Thank you! I wanted to have a RambleLamb twist somewhere at the end but not a bad one, I decided to make Gabrielle deaf to strengthen the concept of them communicating without words. Frankie may have turned mute from all her introversion and depression and Gabrielle can't hear, but they have this, literally, unspoken bond that is the strongest relationship either has experienced given their abilities. *shrug* It might have been a little corny to have her turn out to be deaf, but the sign language bit really struck a chord with me and I ran with it.

1 hour ago, Wannatripbaby said:

Wow. That... I... wow. I'm not sure if I have words to express what I felt during this story. I didn't react quite as strongly as YourFNF, but that was just incredible. I can see how that would've been hard to write for somwone as emotional and empathetic as you, Lamby.

*Hugs*

I'm really not all that empathic, I mostly try and steer clear of people because of my weirdness and social retardation. It was extremely hard to write until about the waking up in the hospital part, that's when I had the big happy in sight and allowed myself to relax. Frankie's character arc is actually probably just mine writing this story. Sadness, depression, attempted suicide, imagine being a baby, ????, profit.

At any rate, I'm glad you liked it! *hugs*

Now, where's @foofybabykittento tell me whether or not I succeeded in bringing the prompt to life?

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Ah sorry I didn't get to reading right away, yesterday was Valentines day so yea~ 🤭

Wow you really did an amazing job bringing my prompt to life, I'm kind of at a loss for words, like I have no idea how I can even express how this story made me feel; Frankie had a really saddening life and I was finding myself tearing up when she finally learned to block out everyone's thoughts and live normally for a while, only to be blind sided by her mother's murder and having all that progress into happiness and normalcy ripped from her. During the subway scene when Gabrielle is introduced I let out a big sigh of relief as I knew that Frankie was finally going to get a break and have some real happiness for once, speaking of Gabrielle I especially like how she was implemented with a power of her own; It made me feel that her and Frankie were like star crossed lovers destined to be together or something, like what are the chances that the kindest deaf empath meets the most depressed broken mind reader? one in a million!

In the end, of course my grand vision for my prompt didn't come true! 😝 but that's kind of the point, if I wanted a story to be a perfect replication of my expectations I should have just written it myself! I gave you an idea with the expectations that you would take inspiration and make the story your own unique, awesome, exquisite, marvelous story... and I for one, was not disappointed. 😘

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What a wonderful story.

Your writing is the best.

Thank you for sharing it.

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1 hour ago, foofybabykitten said:

Ah sorry I didn't get to reading right away, yesterday was Valentines day so yea~ 🤭

Wow you really did an amazing job bringing my prompt to life, I'm kind of at a loss for words, like I have no idea how I can even express how this story made me feel; Frankie had a really saddening life and I was finding myself tearing up when she finally learned to block out everyone's thoughts and live normally for a while, only to be blind sided by her mother's murder and having all that progress into happiness and normalcy ripped from her. During the subway scene when Gabrielle is introduced I let out a big sigh of relief as I knew that Frankie was finally going to get a break and have some real happiness for once, speaking of Gabrielle I especially like how she was implemented with a power of her own; It made me feel that her and Frankie were like star crossed lovers destined to be together or something, like what are the chances that the kindest deaf empath meets the most depressed broken mind reader? one in a million!

In the end, of course my grand vision for my prompt didn't come true! 😝 but that's kind of the point, if I wanted a story to be a perfect replication of my expectations I should have just written it myself! I gave you an idea with the expectations that you would take inspiration and make the story your own unique, awesome, exquisite, marvelous story... and I for one, was not disappointed. 😘

Yay! I completely forgot it was Valentine's day yesterday, sorry for bugging you! :P

I'm so very glad you liked it and I really appreciate you giving me the prompt, this one shot up to my top five stories I'm most proud of after I finished it and knowing it turned out to be an enjoyable read for not just you but for other people as well. Anytime you want to hook a sister up with some more prompts you go right ahead! ;)

41 minutes ago, Eagle0769 said:

What a wonderful story.

Your writing is the best.

Thank you for sharing it.

Thank you for reading it and for letting me know you liked it, it means a lot to me! :D

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10 hours ago, RambleLamb said:

I'm both very sad and very glad that this hit you so hard, it hit me hard and I'm glad I wasn't just being a wiener baby while writing it. :) *hugs*

 

I'm really not all that empathic, I mostly try and steer clear of people because of my weirdness and social retardation. It was extremely hard to write until about the waking up in the hospital part, that's when I had the big happy in sight and allowed myself to relax. Frankie's character arc is actually probably just mine writing this story. Sadness, depression, attempted suicide, imagine being a baby, ????, profit.

At any rate, I'm glad you liked it! *hugs*

Honestly all of my aggro and bluster comes from fear and pain. I want to punch and break shit because I feel powerless and don't know what to do with the hurt. And while I can feel strongly I've spent so much time walling off and compartmentalizing that feeling typically comes in sharp painful bursts.... Honestly in a lot of ways social and emotionally I'm stuck at the level of a 10-15 year old. I've just gotten more aware of it and learned to compensate as I've gotten older.... I don't know where I was going with this except to say, *laughs ruefully* I feel that....

*hugs*

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Just for the record, it took me 20 years to work through all the mess that held me back in my 20's.  But I'm here to say it can be done, if you get a good therapist and you're goal-oriented in how you interact with him/her.  I used to be angry all the time, trying desperately to wall shit off long enough to survive at a job, only to blow up and ragequit at the stupidest things.  

There's more mess than you want to know in my history, but for me, it's just that - history.  I don't wear it as a badge, I wear the badge of someone who reshaped themselves after going through all that mess and becoming a successful human being afterward.  Flawed?  Sure.  We all are.  But not fatally anymore.  :) 

PS:  The vignette was awesome.  You've got a hell of a lot of plot creativity in you.  I'd love to see you tackle a long-form piece.  

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2 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Honestly all of my aggro and bluster comes from fear and pain. I want to punch and break shit because I feel powerless and don't know what to do with the hurt. And while I can feel strongly I've spent so much time walling off and compartmentalizing that feeling typically comes in sharp painful bursts.... Honestly in a lot of ways social and emotionally I'm stuck at the level of a 10-15 year old. I've just gotten more aware of it and learned to compensate as I've gotten older.... I don't know where I was going with this except to say, *laughs ruefully* I feel that....

*hugs*

Handling ones emotions isn't easy, and lord knows I'm not the one to give advice on how to achieve it BUT I will say that something that's helped me in the past is remembering that I'm loved. I never had a dad and my mom turned out to be shit, I don't have any extended family and my shyness and awkwardness typically finds me lacking in the valued friendship department BUT I have a roommate that I've known for as long as I've known myself and I know that she loves me and I love her.

When you find yourself hurting and angry, think of someone that loves you for who you are, flaws and all and let go of that anger because love is a much lighter weight to shoulder than anger or pain. Also, if you sincerely can't think of someone that loves you, think of me because I find you to be quite sweet and smart and loquacious and while "love" is a strong word that I choose not to throw around willy nilly, I do think very highly of you and am quite fond of you. <3

*hugs for days*

2 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

Just for the record, it took me 20 years to work through all the mess that held me back in my 20's.  But I'm here to say it can be done, if you get a good therapist and you're goal-oriented in how you interact with him/her.  I used to be angry all the time, trying desperately to wall shit off long enough to survive at a job, only to blow up and ragequit at the stupidest things.  

There's more mess than you want to know in my history, but for me, it's just that - history.  I don't wear it as a badge, I wear the badge of someone who reshaped themselves after going through all that mess and becoming a successful human being afterward.  Flawed?  Sure.  We all are.  But not fatally anymore.  :) 

PS:  The vignette was awesome.  You've got a hell of a lot of plot creativity in you.  I'd love to see you tackle a long-form piece.  

This is probably the man you should be listening to @YourFNF, he even has "Daddy" in his name! :P He's very wise and speaks from experience, learn from his words and find your path to happiness. :)

As far as the P.S. goes, I thank you very much. I have started two chapter driven stories, one was my very first story and I reached a pausing point with it and got high and wandered off, but I do intend to revisit it...probably. The second is more recent but with a similarly dismal prospect. I think my biggest struggles are with organization and attention to detail, or just attention in general. Short stories are great because I can get in and get out, it fits with my schedule and I'm not beholden to delivering a cohesive narrative spread over X number of chapters over X number of weeks/months/years.

Short stories are the perfect parallel to my interactions in the world. I like them short and to the point and to end when I get bored. Each story being something different gives me something to look forward to each time rather than struggling to keep a character interesting for chapter after chapter when I started wishing there was a way to kill them long ago.

TL;DR: Check out my two chapter stories when you get a chance, "A New Life Story" and "A.B.+D.L.=<3" and see if you still love the idea of me wielding plot like a drunken toddler for a hundred pages and eighty six pages respectively. I maintain that I'm still a shit writer, I have moments that I'm very proud of, times where I can see there's something there that can be grown into something good, but I've also seen moments where I'm formulaic and meandering and downright boring and that's why I don't read my own stories. I "read" them in my head while I'm writing them and that's it, I don't go back and read before posting, I don't read previous chapters of my long stories before moving onward, I just wing it and hope for the best, which, if I'm not mistaken, are hallmarks of a shit writer.

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10 hours ago, RambleLamb said:

I maintain that I'm still a shit writer, I have moments that I'm very proud of, times where I can see there's something there that can be grown into something good, but I've also seen moments where I'm formulaic and meandering and downright boring and that's why I don't read my own stories. I "read" them in my head while I'm writing them and that's it, I don't go back and read before posting, I don't read previous chapters of my long stories before moving onward, I just wing it and hope for the best, which, if I'm not mistaken, are hallmarks of a shit writer.

I only go back and read previous chapters when I'm doing a second draft.  It's 99% stream-of-consciousness for me - I see the movie in my head and I write it.  

Oh, and this board is littered with my unfinished work - or at least it was before the board crash.  

You're right about vignettes and short stories.  It's a wonderful way to accomplish an effect, or paint a picture, or invoke a feeling, without getting so involved in it that you can't get out.

It might just be time for me to post another short I did a while back. 

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11 minutes ago, WBDaddy said:

I only go back and read previous chapters when I'm doing a second draft.  It's 99% stream-of-consciousness for me - I see the movie in my head and I write it.  

Oh, and this board is littered with my unfinished work - or at least it was before the board crash.  

You're right about vignettes and short stories.  It's a wonderful way to accomplish an effect, or paint a picture, or invoke a feeling, without getting so involved in it that you can't get out.

It might just be time for me to post another short I did a while back. 

Yeah, second drafts aren't a thing I've ever done either. I'm productive and committed enough to put words to screen, but all that extra effort? Who am I, Hemingway?!

On the serious tip though, I believe I lack the stamina for long stories. I was super excited for both long stories I started, had ideas that excited me and places to go and scenes that seemed like they would be good to read but then the story didn't have murder or shapeshifting sex slaves or an AB Civil War documentary, and I bailed to go find things with those in them and then that led to something else and more ideas and then submitted prompts.

My point is, I'm a very simple creature, shiny things distract me and it's hard to keep up with a long story.

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16 minutes ago, RambleLamb said:

My point is, I'm a very simple creature, shiny things distract me and it's hard to keep up with a long story.

And my point is, all that nonsense about you being a "shit writer" ain't gonna fly around here, because you're not.  You have great ideas, colorful narration, excellent mechanics (spelling, grammar, punctuation, etc) - these are all hallmarks of a very good writer, not a shit one.  

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2 hours ago, WBDaddy said:

And my point is, all that nonsense about you being a "shit writer" ain't gonna fly around here, because you're not.  You have great ideas, colorful narration, excellent mechanics (spelling, grammar, punctuation, etc) - these are all hallmarks of a very good writer, not a shit one.  

I second this sentiment. ♡

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No doubt this was one of your finer stories. I read some of the comments and like everyone else I felt the pain Frankie felt andcwas so happy she found someone to love and who loved her back. One aspect to the story that really touched me was that Frankie survived her pain. Although she tried to end it all help came just in time and after that low point life moved on and there was beauty and love for her as well. With almost 40 years in Law Enforcement, I have seen some bad things and suicide has always been one of the hardest for me to accept. Could be because I also had my own low moments or it could just be because I get to see first hand how such a thing effects everyone around them. I was so very pleased you could show that there is a better way to go when thinking such low thoughts. There is love and beauty. Sometimes we just have to look a little harder to find it or ask the right person. The important thing is that there is a better way than ending it all. I would have given this two likes if I could, I thought it was that good. I look forward to reading the next story. 

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3 hours ago, CDfm said:

No doubt this was one of your finer stories. I read some of the comments and like everyone else I felt the pain Frankie felt andcwas so happy she found someone to love and who loved her back. One aspect to the story that really touched me was that Frankie survived her pain. Although she tried to end it all help came just in time and after that low point life moved on and there was beauty and love for her as well. With almost 40 years in Law Enforcement, I have seen some bad things and suicide has always been one of the hardest for me to accept. Could be because I also had my own low moments or it could just be because I get to see first hand how such a thing effects everyone around them. I was so very pleased you could show that there is a better way to go when thinking such low thoughts. There is love and beauty. Sometimes we just have to look a little harder to find it or ask the right person. The important thing is that there is a better way than ending it all. I would have given this two likes if I could, I thought it was that good. I look forward to reading the next story. 

tumblr_mjrke7JXNs1rzkrxho3_250.gif

Listen, I am NOT the person to give advice to others about how to cope with depression or to pursue other avenues besides suicide, I've got two attempts under my belt and more self harm scars than I'd care to admit BUT in the course of writing this story I had to deal with a lot of my own personal demons and come out the other side and it was awful and I hated it but I did it. I'm in no way saying that I've gotten clear of my depression or that I won't self harm at some point or even try and kill myself again, what I am saying is that using the characters in my stories to work through my own shit has actually helped me out and if anyone reading this is struggling and looking for something to hold on to to keep them afloat, maybe look at something that brings you that same catharsis.

When I write, my characters are avatars of myself. I'm the suicidal girl, the monster that's been abused and just wants to lash out with violence, the not so secretly gay girl that has love for someone that she shouldn't, so on and so forth. When I kill a character I'm trying to kill that part of me, when I fuck that character up beyond all recognition I'm expressing my hatred for that part of me that I obviously can't remove from myself. It's not a perfect system, I do still hurt myself, but it has lessened with more writing.

TL;DR: It's not wrong to hurt yourself or even kill yourself, it's cowardly bullshit and will fuck up everyone around you, but you're the person that decides what is and isn't too much for you to handle. That said, suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem and that should be considered if/when you're having those thoughts and feelings.

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5 hours ago, RambleLamb said:

tumblr_mjrke7JXNs1rzkrxho3_250.gif

Listen, I am NOT the person to give advice to others about how to cope with depression or to pursue other avenues besides suicide, I've got two attempts under my belt and more self harm scars than I'd care to admit BUT in the course of writing this story I had to deal with a lot of my own personal demons and come out the other side and it was awful and I hated it but I did it. I'm in no way saying that I've gotten clear of my depression or that I won't self harm at some point or even try and kill myself again, what I am saying is that using the characters in my stories to work through my own shit has actually helped me out and if anyone reading this is struggling and looking for something to hold on to to keep them afloat, maybe look at something that brings you that same catharsis.

When I write, my characters are avatars of myself. I'm the suicidal girl, the monster that's been abused and just wants to lash out with violence, the not so secretly gay girl that has love for someone that she shouldn't, so on and so forth. When I kill a character I'm trying to kill that part of me, when I fuck that character up beyond all recognition I'm expressing my hatred for that part of me that I obviously can't remove from myself. It's not a perfect system, I do still hurt myself, but it has lessened with more writing.

TL;DR: It's not wrong to hurt yourself or even kill yourself, it's cowardly bullshit and will fuck up everyone around you, but you're the person that decides what is and isn't too much for you to handle. That said, suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem and that should be considered if/when you're having those thoughts and feelings.

*hugs*

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