Aaaaaand of course what is a quirky art blog run by a freshly graduated artist with identity and mental health problems BUT a BLOG?!?!?!?
this is going to be a healthy mix between writing like a story and writing like the shit I post on Tumblr when I'm spiraling. so: semi-scripted, correct spelling and occasionally correct grammer, BUT the scripting will be coming from the heart and I'm not gonna act like my life has secret themes everywhere. I'm just chilling and putting my own life through a character study. some might call that rumination . . . which it is . . . but at least it's manic pixie rumination . . . or smth. end paragraph
In a week, I won't be a student anymore. Or, at least, I won't be a classic student. I'm sure learning of any kind makes you count as a learnee, but trying to get a bartending license isn't quite the same as being one of the 5% of college students with ADHD to actually get their degree. Though I'm sure mine was a lot easier to obtain than, say, a medical major. Still. BFA in animation is nothing to sneeze at!
I'm slowly getting ready and prepping for this summer. I've been calling it my "midlife crisis" because I'm already going to be surprised if I make it to 30, much less 46. So why not actually reward myself with some bullshit creative projects and a bit of actual fucking rave partying for once in my life? I wanna get as fucked up as I feel like, I've never gotten to do that and I really think I deserve it. Also drag and bullshit, but for a hot minute, mostly partying.
I've started a new project, it shouldn't take too long to make. It's an autobiography documentary about my baby's first trauma, my subsequent fall and recovery. It will be entirely recycled. During that time, I really kept to myself (since I considered venting/asking for help as inherently harmful to the people I loved - the doc will explain why), but I wrote EVERYTHING I was feeling down. Video scripts, goodbye letters, diary entries, songs, fanfics, youtube comments, scripts for skits or comics, recordings of myself breaking down. I had a lot of big feelings and a lot of really wise behavior, and it's all saved in little pieces literally everywhere. So this documentary is essentially going to be a reading of all of that, or at least just about. I'm planning on scraping through an old tablet for old scraps, but otherwise it's basically done at 55K words and counting. I do want to use my degree for something though, so I'm going to make the OST and visuals really experimental and fun. And, of course, I'm going to try to show that the story that is my life did have a happy end to that era. I want to make this to show others that there is a future after. Even if you don't feel like you deserve it, even if you think it could never happen. There is a future after.
Also, I want to finish up the first ep of Heart Stop soon. Crazy how trying to create this sequel got me back into watching anime. I've decided that all the nightcore music will be taken from the Pripara franchise (I'll be singing over it karaoke-style to make it less likely to get shot on sight by youtube policy), but after listening to the music enough times I started expanding to all pripara music, and now I'm watching the series. I've also started enjoying Kpop for the first time ever and getting back into project diva songs, so this really awokened something within me. Wish me luck as I fully transform into an anime girl, skinsuit and all.
Hey.
You're kinda used to this, aren't you? Writing letters to yourself. Telling your story over and over and over. You have this down to a science now.
You'll be out in a week. By this time next week, you won't be a student anymore. At least, not for a good while. Unless you count the bartending license as anything. You made that joke on your blog, which I guess we have now. That's fun.
How does it feel, knowing you got there? I know just as much as you that lasts can be really scary with us. Lasts bring up bad memories of preparing for the ultimate last. But I hope you can feel it even more than I can right now that this last is a really good one.
You've spent three and a half years, and one and a half years before that, and four years before that, and three years, and 6 years, and maybe technically another year before that if you count that dogshit preschool as education... Getting to this point. Learning and struggling and sobbing and literally jumping for joy. Maybe it makes more sense than you thought that you're dressing up in a white dress for this, huh? A graduation is just the educational equivalent of a wedding. And the workforce is like marriage, complete with unending misogyny!
I know you've been really thinking about it. Since you're making that docuography thing. Thinking about your life for honestly the first time in a while. Sure, you spent just about every day for the last four years trying to tell this story. But it's one thing to tell a story, and another to remember exactly who lived through it first. I know it's been hard to have such a good life now. I feel it too. Obviously. We've been feeling it since January. It's hard to live a good life with a brain that only thrives off of torture. And since we're preparing to actually move on, even more than emotionally, it's hard.
You know something funny? I can barely remember his face. These days it's never about him. It's just about how the process of growing is hard.
You've gone through a lot of lasts. Even the ones that ended up not being true lasts, they still felt like loss. But for the first time ever, you are graduating with a future all planned out. Even if that future is barely a list on your phone's sticky notes app. You have a future. You are a future. No matter what your brain says, or anyone else. You are a future.
I'm excited for you. I've made so many stories for you to tell. And almost all of them aren't yours. Scars are beautiful, and so are tattoos. We've spoken about wanting to be someone that our kid self would be excited to be.
I hope you know. At the very least, I am so, so excited to be you.
I love you. I really, really do. I'm so happy we've lived long enough for me to say that and mean it.
Good luck sucker,
- College Cat.
It's been pretty smooth-sailing recently, all things considered. I've filled up my schedule with fun events, and filled up my email with application notifications that surely, if any of them are accepted, will just decimate all the fun events scheduled. Such is life.
I don't know if I'm just wonked out from going to a party for the first time last night, if my mind is fragile due to going through the big life changes, or if I'm suffering under the lethal combination of consuming both early 2000's fashionista guides AND watching Project Hail Mary two days ago (it's definitely that), but I feel really really good right now. Even if the most I'm doing is packing my car to slowly move out of my apartment, it's been really nice. I summer-cleaned out my closet into 3 boxes of clothes to donate or depop, I'm on the hunt for a new swimsuit now that none of mine fit anymore (I'm 45 lbs lighter than I was last year - mostly due to mental spiraling and unhealthy coping mechanisms, do NOT congratulate me on this). I'm casually working on
okay paragraph break because I just remembered this - I found the last two devices of my childhood to transfer into my docuography! One of them is my high school laptop that I was allowed to buy from the school for $25, the other is my green tablet. The green tablet is the device I was abused on. It is also where I did most of my original digital art (which was a serious creative coping mechanism) and where all of my original old ass fanfics crawl on like the little demons they are. I was going through those stories with my village brother, who knew me since middle school and shows up in the docuography a surprising amount, considering my partner I knew since freshman high school only showed up once.. I DID think I had a crush on him for a while though, so that's probably it. Anyway, we were going through them, and it was almost hilarious if it wasn't so embarrassing to realize I pretty much only ever wrote about the characters I liked being suicidal and either having to deal with that or like. failing attempts. I guess it's also really depressing to know how deeply it was in my head. But mostly embarrassing.
Don't get me wrong, I will always love my old stories. I will always love that suicidal 13 year old that needed a way to vent, and I'm unbelievably excited for the day when the mentally ill 13 year olds of the next generation latch onto my new stories like babes to a teet, but instead with hyperrealistic eyes and blood to my poor unstable main characters. But when the stories range from "RPF blorbo is beaten by his father and sings "Our Love Is God" from Heathers with his RPF partner and then fakes his death" to "y/n is a WelcomeToTheGame red room victim who survived and also just bumped into Markiplier" to "I have vivid nightmares about the time my 13-year-old RPF best friend jumped into traffic and killed himself" to "I haven't even found this one but I know it's around, what if we wrote angst of fucking Resident Enis, you know like the Musical thing, but I was a self-insert monster that tortured everyone" to "I'm sorry but way too many of these are about Markiplier, yes and also jacksepticeye" to "writing and reading suicidal septiplier with my best friend was what bonded us into becoming best friends, and now neither of us are cis OR straight so I think that's correlated somehow but jesus christ there are so many scraps of suicidal septiplier on this tablet, will I have the willpower to add this to the docuography" and doing that fucking blunette shit except I called them "the irishman" and "the american" and when I saw that again last night I screamed out loud in pure fear. Everything was SO cheesy but I thought it was the shit as a child, and as my brother reminded me, so did he.
also my painter creepypasta self-insert that I created as a 12 year old like 7 years before urbanspook could ever do it, hah suck it. Also suicidal homestuck oc. I just wrote homestuck as homsefuck yeah alright
anyway whatever mindset I was in at the beginning of this ramble has kinda faded, but the original thought still stands on wobbly overexerted legs. I'm doing . . . all of that, I'm starting bigger plans on the Imagine, Miss Winks children's book (I think I'd like to do the first one on the loneliness of being raised an only child, or of first learning that you will die - the books would be educational around emotional development and teaching children how to handle big feelings), I'm practicing wearing high heels with the hope to reach stiletto status someday. My brain has been worried recently about the concept that I could die any day now because what better shitty luck than to die after so much buildup, but that's a worry that I try my best to manage.
okay. I thought I lost all this writing but it managed to stay strong. love you guys. kickflip.