Quite possibly the best/worst fortune cookie fortune ever.
It’s amazing how often Donna is needed to tell the Doctor to stop. It makes me wonder what would have happened had she seen eleven during some episodes.
The Doctor doesn’t need a gaggle of women who basically step aside and let him do whatever beacause they have a fucking crush on him.
He needs someone to yell out “oi! Spaceman you stop it right now or i’ll slap you so hard you won’t need a tardis to see tomorrow!”
Or the quiet voice of reason that says “that’s enough, you can stop now.”
Anon. I’m going to share something personal with you today. And with all of tumblr, too.
Do you see this photo?
This is one of the few photos I have left of my mother and I. And the only one that’s digital, too.
I was about four years old in that photo. Shortly after that photo was taken, I was placed into foster care because of my mother’s mental conditions and her inability to care for me. Which was fine, it was the right thing to do.
She was taken overseas to a very good mental health clinic in Paris, which is where we came from.
My mother had a lot of problems. Among them were her multiple personality disorder and her bipolar. She stayed in hospital for most of my life, and battled depression and her suicidal tendencies. She went through a lot, including electro-shock therapy. Nothing seemed to help. She was a very lost and very hurt woman.
And one day, on Mother’s Day of 2008, my foster parents received a phone call at about 1am from the mental hospital my mother was staying in.
My mother had hung herself in the shower of her bathroom. Her mental illnesses, her lack of access to me and the things she’d suffered through her life had snapped her. And she was gone.
I was thirteen years old. Nobody told me until the sun had risen. I left my room, ready for school. And then I was sat down, and I was told.
And I was numb.
I felt nothing, for months. Months, and months, and months.
I was a very good student at school. I got distinctions, and straight A’s. And all of that kind of just… stopped.
The full extent of my loss didn’t hit me until years later, when I was sixteen.
And it hasn’t stopped hurting since.
I miss my mother every day. I barely got to know her, but I knew she loved me. And I ache every time I see someone walk by with their parents, or a little girl with her mother. It’s even cost me several relationships. It hurts. I can’t take it. Can’t do it.
You know the kind of woman my mother was? Kind. Smart. Thoughtful. She was a painter, and a lover of music. We lived in Australia when I was growing up, but she always loved France. In fact, it was her name. I recall my foster mother’s comment when she met her for the first time when she came back to Australia to visit me. She said how talking to my mother was like talking to your best friend. One you hadn’t seen in years. The joy in her voice, her smile.
I can’t even remember what she sounds like anymore.
Suicide? I’ve wanted to do it. Several times. It’s been tempting. Pressure builds inside your chest, and you can’t cry anymore. You feel nothing and it’s clearly just logical to end it because there’s no point living in a void anymore.
You feel like there’s no one else out there for you. You’re alone, and nobody understands.
Anon, let me tell you.
I understand. I’ve seen both sides of this coin. Nobody wins.
I know what it’s like to want to not exist. I spend half my days pretending to be mechanical because being human and alive is just too much of a burden sometimes. But I also know what it feels like to be left behind.
After the loss of my mother, I lost three more people to suicide. One was my uncle, and two others were good friends. One of them was one of my best friend.
I don’t know who you are, Anon. But I’d like to.
I’d like to know who you are so I can stop you from feeling this way. You’re not alone. And if you are? I’ll be the first to open my arms to you.
Death is not an answer, nor by any means a door to something greater.
Death is for those who have finished in this life. We are not meant to go before our time, and especially not alone.
I’m nineteen now. If my mother were still alive, she’d be thirty-eight.
It’s too young.
You’re too young.
To you, anon, and to everyone else out there who’s ever felt this way.
Stop. Breathe. Think.
Come to me, if you have to.
Go to someone. Anyone. Please.
You’re so much more than a statistic.
You’re worth so much more than tears.
You mean so much more than every person who has ever stamped you into the ground. Called you names. Failed to accept you because you don’t fit into their criteria of human. Spurned you, or ignored you.
I know this pain. And I know what happens when that pain consumes you.
Please. Don’t go.
I don’t know you. But your life means something.
I promise it means something.
A baby has sent their story in to Momma, and wanted to share it. Momma is very proud of you for having the courage to share your story.
A Letter To Anyone Going To an Unsupportive Family This Easter:
Momma heard that you might have a hard time for the next couple of days. You’re strong, and entitled to your opinion. no matter what they say, know that at least we love you.
You and M.O.D. can get through this fight together. He’s a pagan that’s going to sit through dinner with his relatives that have ties in the church, He wishes you a happy Eostre.
Try your best to stay calm in the face of adversity. It is a holiday, and should be pleasant for everyone. We are sorry that it may not be pleasant for you. If anything, you have the chocolate on sale to look forward to next week.
Stay strong. Stay kind. Love yourself, and be gentle. This is the beginning of spring. It is a new dawn, and a new beginning for all. Momma hopes that you will feel refreshed and clean in the coming season. We’re so, so proud of you.
STOP. SCROLLING. NOWWWWWWWWW.
The eraser on top is the Paper Mate Union Eraser.
I thought it wouldn’t work much, but… It erases ink.
And NOT JUST ballpoint pen ink, India Ink too.
If you make a mistake, this eraser can erase the whole thing and leave no trace AT ALL, although you do need to erase quite vigorously.
It’s only about 1-2 dollars.
The eraser pencil on the bottom is just that. It is an eraser that you can SHARPEN like a regular pencil. The brush on top is so that you don’t smear your art when you try to push off eraser crumbs. You sweep them off with the brush.
Even if you’re not an artist, signal boost please?
It’s a very cheap way to get around life.
WE CAN ALL STOP INVENTING EVERYTHING NOW NO MORE SCIENCE HAS GONE FAR ENOUGH I CAN DIE A HAPPY DEATH WITH THE KNOWLEDGE THAT THIS IS IN EXISTENCE