a life to be had

I’m Mark S., and this is a fictionkin blog. I’m not roleplaying - please don’t interact with me as roleplay.

I need to stop engaging in discourse because I don’t know how to separate myself from it. Everything feels personal. Everything I say I say from experience. I worry people can tell because I feel so much love and rage and grief and hope so intensely.

I wish I could explain how it feels to be told you aren’t a person. How it feels to be told, over and over, that you don’t matter, that you’re nothing. That you only exist to be used. To watch people defend someone who assaulted you.

Being a fictionkin adult is so isolating, in a way I wasn’t fully expecting. I’m in my late 20s. I’ll probably never tell a soul in real life.

I’ve been sitting outside and drinking my coffee in the morning. Sometimes the sky is Lumon blue, like it is today. It feels unreal.

I don’t want to exist in the mind of someone else. That this is hell, sometimes, but it’s my hell. That this is the life I have and it’s all I have. To hear people say I should have walked out that door, into the mind and body of someone else, to let a person I don’t know live?

I think I always knew. When I would feel like I was holding my breath underwater the entire time. When I knew Lumon’s hallways were familiar to me. I had been there.

Trying to put the feelings of betrayal into words is almost impossible. I wish people could understand what that is like. I don’t really have the words.

This feels more vulnerable than I anticipated. I feel everything so intensely right now, and I want to talk about it, and yet I feel like someone is going to find out, is going to know.

One of the hardest parts of this is carrying my body’s trauma and seeing and feeling this trauma, too. They both mix together sometimes - maybe that’s somehow easier, I don’t know.

I can remember, vividly, the moment I took Helly’s hand and turned to run. I can hear the alarms. I can smell blood in the air, I can feel my heart pounding.