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Monday, November 7, 2016


OUM
Graveyards have always brought me peace. As I write here, knowing no one will read it unless compelled by the ghost of their teenage selves, I can't help but think that that, at least, has not changed.

I write here to lay to rest dark teenage me. All her fear, her depression, her romanticizing poison, her sacrifice for everyone but self... Let it fall back into the earth to recycle into what it once was: self-preservation, empathy, and imagination.

We think and dream so much of growing up, of transformation, of realizing potential. We never want to listen when they tell us it's an ongoing process, one we have to work through every day.

I started writing this blog when I was eleven years old. I am 23 now, and I can say that there is no such thing as growing up without reflection and release of what no longer serves us.

If you find any truth to this, may it serve you.
If you find no truth in it, then let it fall to the ground with the leaves.
Go safely on your journey, friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SUTNAM~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Friday, January 22, 2016


There are worse things than being alone. I wish I knew how to say it better.
But loneliness isn't the worst feeling--the absence of feeling is.

You hate the person you love. You hate the person you become. It never seems to matter how perfectly everything started. No matter what, you seem to find yourself either going along with every little inane thing they do or say to avoid an argument or you build sanctuaries for yourself away from them: little bubbles of peace and fecundity to revitalize yourself. You take longer and longer to get home from work or school. You stop at the library or the coffee shop on the way. You read adventure novels and magazines and sip coffee you barely taste. Slowly. Always slowly. because you know when you get home, you'll drown in gray. It won' be their fault. They'll just be gadding on about Fallout or Facebook. But his voice has become the house of your stagnation. You're suffocating on your own claustrophobia. You'll get out whether you mean to or not.

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Monday, August 17, 2015


Oh, this place! The center for Weeabu's before there were weeabus.

At the risk of sounding like a basic white bitch, I wish we all could just get along. I hate it when people are in pain--and someone always is.

Baltimore is one of the most segregated cities in the country. Most people in the city have had some history of terrible mental disorders, especially among the poor. Because of the institutional racism of the '50s, '60s, and '70s, it hit the black and Hispanic population the hardest. The constant drug problems (Baltimore is heroin central) did not help. Now, there is a lot of built up resentment in the black community and some racism and/or "colorblindness" on both sides.

It all adds up into one sickening, tangled mess of tension and resolved issues.

I don't know anything about being black or gay or poor or starving or homeless. But I have watched people let their hatred boil them alive. Some people get off on anger.

I love you
Belinda

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