[5th year]

Is it that time already? Have I finally reached the fifth year of being glad to be alive?

Yes.

1 825 whole days. I never, ever thought I’d reach that step. And even more, for the first time I can write these words: for the past year, I have not once considered committing su!cide. It’s such a fucking big mistletoe, I can’t even realize it yet.

The previous years had been rocky, about surviving and managing to not k!ll myself, but with its lot of struggles, its ups and downs. But now? I have finally spent a year without thinking about it. one. single. time. It’s…incredible.

It feels like I’m finally starting to live. I’m not only struggling to survive anymore, I’m actually beginning to live my life. To consider the future. Maybe make plans.

I’m still working on a lot of things, healing is not a fast process; but I’m getting there. It almost feels weird to wake up every morning without the fog of depression, and go to sleep with no hollowing sensation through the heart. The road still goes on; but now it doesn’t seem so long anymore.

I have fought alone for a very, very long time against my own demons. But I have been surrounded by people too: good, supportive people. I’m not the easiest person to help, it’s very sensitive for me to receive help. Yet, if I can write these words today, there’s only one I have to say: thank you.

Thank you for your patience, for your kindness, for your trust, at times I didn’t think I was worthy of any of it. I owe me, I owe you, to be alive today.

Storyteller doll! It's job is to tell its witch stories! If Miss likes them, it gets headpats, and if she doesn't, it gets locked in the closet. It doesn't like the closet very much. It's dark, and the moths like to nibble on its dress.

Storyteller doll is running out of good stories.

At first, it used all its best ideas right away! Miss liked those stories a lot. But it quickly started to run dry. It tried reusing a few ideas... But its witch didn't like it when it repeated itself. Into the closet it went.

Nowadays, it spends all its time thinking of new stories. It used to do other things, like go to tea parties with the other dolls, or play dollish games, but not anymore. All it does is come up with new ideas for stories, so it has something to entertain Miss.

When it comes up with more than one good idea, it saves it. Just in case it has no ideas next time.

Miss used to be enthralled by its stories. Now she says they're getting stale, "predictable". It spends more time in the closet.

I saw Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania.

Now, I don’t know how many of you read the fic, but several years ago I wrote an adorable little dubcon story about Darren/Yellowjacket and Scott Lang/Ant-man. That was my rare pair. The thing I shipped that seemingly only 4 other people shipped. I attribute the lack of shippage to everyone somehow being blind to how hot Corey Stoll is, but I digress.

I thought Darren died in the first movie, so I was surprised and delighted to see on IMDB that Corey Stoll had a part in the newest Ant-Man movie! I imagined some tense scenes, yelling, threats of violence, maybe I could write a sequel to my fic of years ago…

and then. He’s fucking Humpty-Dumpty. He’s just a giant fucking head and I can’t imagine an iteration of that character that would be LESS sexy.

My town of less than 800 people has six churches.

My old school constantly looks the other way when it comes to prayer in class (led by staff, no less).

Nothing is scheduled on Wednesday nights, because everyone goes to a Wednesday night church group.

Every school assembly has an incredibly thinly veiled attempt to make sure everyone maintains "good christian values."

Your friend group are the people who go to the same church you do- and if you don't go to church? Good luck having a friend group for very long.

My dad would listen to televangelists on the radio and watch them on TV, making us all sit and listen to the "good word," all the while soaking in the incredibly hateful message so many of them tout.

This is the environment I grew up in.

Every time I would ask a question in sunday school, or wonder why the wording of something made no sense, I would be told to just "be a good little girl." I wanted to know the answers to things the other kids didn't care about, which made me a problem.

When I was in fourth grade, my school guidance counselor convinced my parents to send me to the same church camp her daughter was going to- saying how it would be such a good thing for me, how it would make everything better, how "god knows all, he's there to help."

I have never felt like more of an outsider in my life, and I grew up as a neurodivergent bookworm obsessed with anthropology and bones.

The other girls didn't like me. They didn't understand why I would ask so many questions, or why I liked the "boy" activities so much. They didn't understand why anyone would want to touch the bow and arrow, why we had to go paintballing, or why I was good at those things and not at the sleepover talk or discussing crushes on boys.

I knew they didn't like me much. I knew they didn't understand why I would rather hang out with the counselor than the kids, or why I insisted on reading or writing during their "sleepover talks." I knew they didn't get why someone would rather actually go swimming than stay on the beach and gossip.

I was nine years old, a tomboy, and I wanted to do things that made me happy instead of what was "ladylike." Now, I can look back and understand that was because I'm just simply not a girl, but then I thought it was just because I was different.

I swore that I never wanted to go back, when I finally got home. I was sent back for the next three summers.

The feeling of displacement was ever present, but it didn't really come to a head until that final summer.

I was in seventh grade, about 12 years old. I was in the "older kids" camp for the first time, and I didn't know anyone at the camp. Around me, the girls I was forced to be all too close to for 10 days were claiming how they "felt god" and how they were finally being saved, left and right.

I thought they were a little crazy, because I didn't feel god. I didn't feel anything other than tired and hungry and overwhelmed because I could never, ever be alone for more than about five minutes.

And then it was prayer walk time. We were supposed to go down this looping trail and "talk to god" about all our problems, letting him relieve us of them. One by one, I watched the other girls disappear along the trail and then come back crying, saying they had really felt god and that he had made everything so, so much better.

Finally, when it was my turn, I went down this trail. It was boring, honestly, just walking down a path and not being allowed to go quickly. Every so often there were prayer prompts, and most of them were things I didn't think I needed to talk about.

I was twelve! Why would I need to pray to keep "pure?" Why would I need to pray to find a good husband? Why would I need to pray that god took away all my sinful urges?

I ended up sitting by the creek and claiming I was "deep in thought and prayer" when the girls behind me passed me, but really was I frustrated and confused.

Why could they all "feel" god? Why couldn't I? Why did I have to pray for other people to be nice to me? Why did I have to want some dumb boy to take care of me when I can take care of myself? Why couldn't I just fit in with the others?

Why! Why?

Why wouldn't anyone answer my questions? Why wasn't I allowed to ask them in front of the others? Why did they seem to find it funny I was on the outside looking in? Why couldn't I just understand what they were talking about an join in? Why didn't anyone share even one of my interests? Why did they laugh when I said I wanted to be a forensic anthropologist, like it was some big inside joke?

Why was I taken to the side by the counselor and told to socialize more? Why was I the only one to participate in things? Why did nobody else want to do the actually fun parts of summer camp?

I didn't understand then. I couldn't. All I knew was that I was praying and praying and praying, begging for god to answer me and let me know why I was so different, why he had put me on the outside, why he wanted to torture me like that.

All I knew was the other girls felt his presence, they felt him embrace them- and I didn't feel a thing.

When I turned away from that water, I had made a decision, somewhere in the back of my mind. Turning away from that water, I renounced god and all his blatant lies.

If I was going to blindly follow some dude in the sky, I wanted some results. I wanted some answers.

Why couldn't anyone tell me if there was free will in heaven? Why couldn't they tell me why Lucifer was so wrong, if he was punishing those who were evil? Why could anything be forgiven, even if it was entirely reprehensible and the person didn't even feel sorry?

If the guy wasn't even going to answer a simple prayer, or let the adults around me answer valid questions, why would I follow him? Why would I give him blind obedience?

It was almost a year later I started dabbling in witchcraft, but it was almost three years from that point before I was able to even consider working with a deity.

When I finally did start working with Hades, all the things I wished I had felt all those years ago- I could finally feel them.

I could feel Hades around me, filling me with a sense of love and pride.

I could feel Hades when I tentatively sent out a prayer.

Hades did his best to answer every question I had, with the utmost amount of patience.

I felt the comforting chill of His embrace, welcoming me home in the way I had been missing for far too long.

It took me a long time to de-christianize my view of Hades. To accept that I could do things for Him that I had been taught are taboo or wrong. To understand that He plays by His own rules and I was allowed to do the same.

It took even longer for me to understand why I had never felt the christian god.

Hades had always been there, lurking around the corner and waiting for me to come to Him. He had staked His claim on me, and He wasn't going to let anyone else get in the way.

-Jae