(no subject)

Many years ago, back before I really understood the full extent of Amanda Palmer's problematic nature, she started a thing on Twitter called "LOFNOTC". It stood for "Losers of Friday Night on Their Computers", and I happened to be there for the first one, as it delightfully spiraled out of control. There was wine, and excitement, and goofing off, and for a moment, all these lost little loners came together and had something more.

I checked in a few more times, but eventually, stopped being quite so much a part of Twitter, and stopped going. It may have been the last consistent web hangout I had --LOFNOTC was post-PieShop, and long since post 42Pub, and...there hasn't been a place since then. Except tonight, I stopped by Tailsteak's livestream, and in some ways...there was quiet melancholy music in the background, and people chatting and goofing off, and art happening. It was a glass of wine away from being 2009 again.

It's a thing I miss. I don't have a core online community anymore, and haven't in aaaaages. I have lots of online people I hang out with at varying points, some of whom know each other, but mostly my interactions are singular. Like the slow, painful, death of livejournal, it's not a thing I really know how to fix. Or, let's get real, I don't even know if it's a thing that should be fixed. The internet is changing, the ways people social are changing (I actually post to Facebook sometimes these days), and I don't even know if there's a space for small group drop-in social, like the Pie Shop used to be.

I don't really have any point to this post. Just meandery bullshit, to try and distract myself from the fact that I'm supposed to be cleaning my room.

~Sor
MOOP!

[Therapy] Six Word Horror Stories

Trigger Warning: Mentions of emotional, sexual abuse

Six word story:
"You broke me to fix yourself".

holy
fucking
shit

_holy_
_fucking_
_shit_

I didn't know there was a six word version of my relationship with my rapist. And the part that hurts the most is that it _isn't true_ because if it was true, I might've even been able to twist it all so that it was worth it. It doesn't matter that I bled myself dry for them, but it pains me that there wasn't even a benefit to doing so.

It's been...how long? It's been six and a half years since they and I broke up. It's been...hum. February senior year, three years and four months since the last time I saw them.

The longer I survive, the farther I get from the damage. Goddess grant me my scars, they mean I healed.

But I still think some days I'd prefer to not have any scars at all.

~Sor
MOOP!

Trigger Warnings go both ways: emotional, sexual abuse.