quinn

vent blog

he/ask/it/bat. tboy

dni if ur T.R.A.S.H. or dont believe in transandrophobia or are pro-ana/mia/sh/any of that. also fuck off if youre anti recovery, anti kin, pro/neu endo, or radqueer

this blog might contain vents about sh or suicide. please block if youre uncomfortable.

i am otherkin.

i cried for a mother i could never have. my mother was never that. she never felt as if she knew how to 'mother', she never felt as if she understood what it was like to 'child', either. i held onto hope that she would understand, but the time for that never came, and the hope was crushed.

i didn't feel as if i mourned for my mother, for her, for a person. i mourned for the concept of mother. for the love i could have had, had a pin dropped, had something, anything, gone differently, had she maybe been granted the time to learn. to understand. had i maybe been granted the time to find someone who could be something better for me.

but now i can't have any of that. no matter how many empty promises of love come my way, no matter how many husks of figures pass me by, there will never be something as grounding, anchoring, loving as she couldve been. wouldve been. and was, to some effect. because although she didn't understand, she was all i had.

and today, i went outside.

i realized that as i had been taken from my mom, i was given to the earth. for there was no human who could hear my sorrows and could understand. there was nothing that could fill the gaping hole in me like the earth my mother, her mother, and all the mothers before her, rose from.

i told mother nature of my pain, i watched the limbs of the bushes dance and the trees up high in the distance wave to me and the sun beat down on my skin and the grass crush under my feet. i called her "mommy", and the wind spoke through the bushes, in an ambiguous response. one that didn't stand out to me as a call to me, nor comfort, but certainly not one of hatred. quiet acceptance, i suppose?

if only the way i hear her could be put into words.

if only the way i hear her could truly soothe my fragile human mind and heart.

but i was simultaneously alone and together, and that counted. that helped, that soothed. but didn't fill the void. not really.

little chocolates and peppermints in drawers and purses

getting an allowance, however meager

silly songs being sung to me

ladles of hot soup to soothe my throat when im sick

my full name being called from across the house

warm baths and bath toys and getting my long hair washed

the hope of a house that didn't smell like cigarettes

cereal and cartoons

playing outside and laying in the grass

bedtime stories and being tucked in

getting my hair brushed until its silky smooth, and feeling pretty without it feeling bad

holding someones hand when crossing the street