#ttkm

They were always going to fall apart. From even a young age, they’re parents neglect and emotional abuse left cracks in their shell, only breaking them even more as they grew older, with little chips of paint and dust falling to the floor. Still they smiled, covered up the crack in their facade, and moved forward.  Every friend they ever had, ever trusted, had turned their back to them. Abandoned them. Betrayed them. Leaving nothing behind but a bad taste and dusty memories. A crack split and a piece of their shell fell to the floor every time, leaving tear tracks and debris in it’s wake. No matter how hard they’d fight and clutch onto a person, one by one they would leave. That’s just how it was. They always left.

All ties anyone has had with them were easier to break than a thin strand of a frayed string. One touch always tore it apart and left them to crumble. They’d walk away and leave the pieces for them to clean. It made sense that way. The pieces they were picking up were pieces of themselves, after all. 

They know, one day, they’ll shatter completely - or maybe they already have and their just clutching to the pieces that haven't quite fallen to the floor yet - and there’ll be nothing left to clean up the mess. 

But until then, they’ll pick themselves back up, piece by piece, and glue themselves back together with brilliant golden and silver hues, to make themselves seem stronger and brighter, if only for just a while. They’d fill their cracks with gold and flaunt them with a platinum smile while their sorrows were locked away beyond the glittering shell. 

Panicking. A swarm of angry wasps fluttering stinging wings through racing veins. The overbearing onslaught of noise, blaring into one ear and echoing, echoing, echoing. Not a moment of peace. Not a moment of silence.

Anger. Heat flushing through body, leaving behind blazing embers in it’s wake. Burning under thin layers of skin. Clenched teeth and painful eye rolls, nails digging crescent into fragile palms. Snippy sarcastic comments bitten tongues. Forced suppression of outbursts and violence. Body tensing and forced back into faux relaxation, deep breaths. No good.

Sound doesn’t stop. Every moment of silence returns with even more sound, voices melding, blaring, loud, loud, loud. Sharp pinpricks of sounds in ears. Hands covering ears, sound muffled to a wordless blur, but still too unbearably loud. Too much sound, too overwhelming. Panic. Must not break down.

Shaking. Unsure of whether the cause is caffeine, anger, or panic. Possibly all three. Probably all three. A feeling of sick circulating in stomach, twisting and churning to the form of discomfort. Chills spiral up arms and legs and down spine, freezing, but not really cold at all. Burning, not even warm.

Thoughts ruyn too fast to keep up, simple calm down tactics fail. Body reacts on its own. Flinch away from touch. Flinch away from sound. React. React and retaliate in anger, in fear, in hysteria. Panic.

Surrounded. Students crowding on every side. Too close, growing closer, still too close. Hushed whispers still too loud. No silence, no peace. Too much sound, too loud sound.

Deep breath. Nerves frazzled and frayed, exploding like fireworks beneath skin. Heave to leave, have to have silence. Cannot/ Can’t leave. No silence. Panic.

Heart rate too fast, breathing too shallow and harsh. Panic. Anxious actions; tensing, tapping pens, rubbing thumbs over pulse, shaking legs, clench and unclenching, twirling pencils, nostop. Can’t stop. Distractions. Need distractions. Overwhelmed. Too overwhelmed. Panic. Panic. Panic. Do not panic. Cannot panic. Too amny people, too crowded, too close. Go away, go away, go away.

Noise too loud, too loud, too loud. So loud. Panicking, freezing, burning. Make it stop. Silence. Peace. Panic. Still shaking. Can’t stop shaking. Stop shaking. Stop panicking. Can’t. Won’t. Stop.

When in a class, you always get essays that you have to write. It is the written law to the curriculum. An essay a quarter, as my teachers say. However, the topics and genres of the essay can differ - research, arguments, or the worst of all (in my opinion) personal narratives.

Writing about your life doesn’t sounds so bad, right? Well, not always. There are plenty of people, such as myself, who dislike writing about their lives. Sometimes, these “personal” narratives delve into private matters, or traumatic experiences, so even simply bad memories in general. Prompts such as “Name a significant event in your life who made you who you are” or “explain your worst memory” (both of which I’ve had) are two examples of prompts that could quite possibly make a student upset or uncomfortable.

Who wants to share their life story with a stranger, anyhow? Very few -  Of that, I can assure you. It’s things like this that make personal narratives terrible for school essays. Why should a teacher force a student to share with them their personal and private experiences? If a student so wants, they should be allotted a veto against it, or rework it to be about a character. No one should ever have to share their life with anyone if they don’t so wish. It’s a complete breach of privacy!

Personally, I’d be perfectly comfortable writing about a character, due to how many I’ve created over time, instead of writing about things I still have lingering, strong negative emotions from whenever I think about it. I should not be forced to relive those emotions or anxiety for any reason, especially not for school or nosy teachers. At all. Ever.

I spend a lot of my time reading - fanfiction, novels, short stories, and plenty of other such. I’ve come across writing that I strive to be like - captivating, well-written, immersive. And then, I’ve also come across some that were decent, okay at best. I’ve even found some that were a special brand of terrible, a special brand of cringe-worthy.

Now, these writing aren’t my problem; God knows my writing used to be just as bad. No, my frustrations come from cursing in these writings. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a conservative “Don’t curse, you’ll go to hell” down Southern mother who coddles her child so much it’s hard to believe that they haven’t suffocated, but there’s just some works… Over-used, wrongly used, using “substitute” words (effing, biznatch, biotch, betch, fruck, ect.); most of these grind my gears the wrong way. The machine gets stuck and my enjoyment drops down to a negative red level. Sound the alarms, call the police, I’m about to get my rant on.

I understand using substitutes on occasion, such as shoot or darn to keep the story PG, but when you curse a lot (or, rather, have the intention to) and use them constantly - adding the note that words are constantly changing as well - the story starts to become, well, annoying.

“What the fruck, you effing betch! I fricking had to do all this shite for you, biznatch!” is a soft-of example of what I’ve been reading. The overuse of curse words and substitutes in even one sentence takes away, heavily, from the story. It’s frustrating and keeps me from wanting to read further.

There comes a point, when you’ve said enough substitutes with the intention of cursing, that I only can give you one word of advice. Just do it. Just write the actual curse word and be done with it. There’s no need, ever, for you to be changing and word that much for any reason. If you write with the intention of having the curse words be visible, just do it. If you aren’t going to use the physical word, then don’t write with the intention of it. It doesn’t make you cool, or edgy, or random, nor does it make your writing any better.

There are circumstances, however, where parts of my rants don’t apply. Such as, characterts who are trying not to curse in front of children or parents and do it to avoid those circumstances. Or characters who refuse to curse, but need a word to signify their frustrations, so they use a substitute to get their point across. There are plenty of reasons why substitutes are, by most means, convenient. But that shouldn’t surpass the bounds of character’s thoughts or dialogue, either. No need for it to be so heavily used.

Its been a year now. A full year since the loss of the great inspiration and content creator known as Monty Oum had moved on to a better place. This year has been so full of ups and downs for me and even RoosterTeeth. I'm so, so proud of RoosterTeeth. They've grown so much in only a year and RWBY V3 came out stronger than ever. Your legacy lives on, Monty. Even though you are gone, you've left behind a lot of amazing ideas and people.

I've grown, too. I mean, I'm still bad at taking care of myself, but I've grown. Ive overcome the most of my depression and even though I haven't gotten far, I'm still creating. I still have the inspiration to keep going. Monty, you have been a huge contributor to my inspiration. Even if I fail to create something worthwhile to me, I'll keep creating. I won't stop.

I cant believe its only been a year. Time seems to have passed so quickly since then, and it feels as though years have gone by. Two, three, four… It's as if time itself has bent for you, Monty. It must have transcended itself in your honor, remembering all the time you stayed up instead of sleeping, reminding all of us to keep moving forward and not slow down. We all need to make the most of what time we have, because we'll never know when it will stop. I guess i should stop reading and start writing again. If i don't try, then how will I ever get better and create something worthwhile? How will I create something I can leave behind? What mark will I leave on this world if I don't make the mark at all?

I still battle with time, I suppose, and time is in the lead by a long shot. I'm young, yeah, but I'm old enough to start creating things to inspire others, just as you did I, Monty.

A year will never be enough time to move on, but it's enough for us to keep moving forward - in your honor and memory. It's going to be a long and hard battle with all of us, but I'm sure we’ll make it out on top. Me, RoosterTeeth, fans and even complete strangers; we’ll make it through.

The mark you've made on the world transcends beyond just RWBY, to you've inspirational tweets and awesome dance moves, and into the hearts of everyone who knew you or admired you.

Im still not going to say goodbye, as I still believe that, somehow, you are still guiding us with careful footsteps. I still believe that you’re alive in presence and in what you've left behind. You may be gone physically, but in spirit, you still guide us all. Thank you for that, Monty. Thank you for everything.

It’s days like these that I just don’t know what to do. I want to mourn and do nothing for the day, but I also want to work and create in honor of Monty Oum. He’s been such an inspiration and not a day goes by that I don’t look at my white board dedicated to him. I want to cry and be upset all day, but I know he’d rather I smile and Keep Moving Forward. I think he’d want me to worry more for myself rather than him. I wish I truly knew.

I’ve spent a lot of time doubting myself and comparing myself to others, but how will I make something great if I let that discourage me? Simple. I won’t. If I don’t work hard and see the world for the inspiration that it, in itself, is, then I’ll get nowhere and i’ll get there fast. If Monty could find inspiration in ketchup stains on a napkin, I can find them in the simple things in life. That’s a lot of hypothetical ifs, though. So, how about this: I will not be discouraged; I will work hard and make something worthwhile that I love; I will try to find the beauty and inspiration in the small things.