why-i-write:

aileuromania:

nightquill:

okay, this is about to get a little weighty, you guys, so heed the tags and walk away now if you’re feeling soft-hearted today. 
—-
This right here is the sole reason I am alive. I don’t like to talk about the severity of my depression, because as it’s never been officially diagnosed, I constantly feel like a fraud. I’m not on anti-depressants, I’m not seeing a psychologist, because my GP didn’t believe me when I told him how I was feeling about my life… But that’s a whole ‘nother story, and thankfully due to the events of the last few weeks, I am now (finally) getting the professional help I require. But I digress. 
Those of you who have dealt with depression, or had suicidal thoughts that are triggered by other mental health issues, can relate to the ‘dark moments’. It’s a horribly unimaginative metaphor, but it’s most accurate. There is no light. Reality is a crushing force that is bleak and dark and horrifyingly overwhelming. Death would be a release and you long with the deepest passions to simply not exist. In those moments, that is when I think of my characters. 
Without me, they will die. Until I publish some kind of work featuring all 83 (at last count) of my Original Characters, they will die. Not only do they die, but they cease to exist. Four-score beautiful, unique, glorious people, who each carry their own message, and each serve their own very important purpose, just snuffed out like so many candles. No one will remember them. There will be no generation of children whose hearts ache at the mention of their name (Harry Potter, Bilbo Baggins, Jon Snow). There will be no friends or family who will care to fondly remember the names of my babies when I am dead. When I die, the focus will be on me, on my loss, not of the loss of 83 other perfect beings.
So, I’m alive. I haul my own ass out of those dark moments every single day. I get up. I open the curtains and I sit behind my computer and I create. I don’t always write publishing-quality stuff but I write, every day. Until my characters can find a home that’s not just my head, I will be alive. They keep me alive, in this perfect symbiosis, so that fifty, ninety, two hundred years from now, a small child might pick up my book and fall in love with my characters and breathe life into them once more. 

I remember when I was first wallowing in the black way back in my teens telling myself that I wouldn’t kill myself until a/ after my mother had died, as I didn’t want to cause her any pain, and b/ I had my first novel published. Mum’s gone now, and I have other people and creatures in my life that help keep me going, but that novel has never been published. Heck, it’s never been written.
Yet I wonder if this kind of thinking is part of what keeps me from writing them. If I die, the characters I have created - and not just the WoW or SWTOR ones I’ve posted drabbles and fanfics of here, but my original work people - Rilin and Cardi, Timothy and Miriam, Antoinette Vella and Nicola Preston. What happens to them and their stories if I kill myself? While their stories remain untold, I can’t endanger them by endangering myself.
To try to explain this to those who haven’t been there staring into the abyss; whatever gets you through that dark night of the soul is worthwhile. Whatever keeps you breathing and not sharpening that knife, or taking those pills is amazing. Whatever works to keep you going is good.

I just wanted to let you guys know… I’m ALWAYS here if you want to talk. Message me on my personal Tumblr and we can talk about writing! (: Which always makes things better. It really touches me that you’re willing to share this. THIS is why I love my followers, and THIS is why I made this blog. Thank you guys so much. ♥
Rachel

why-i-write:

aileuromania:

nightquill:

okay, this is about to get a little weighty, you guys, so heed the tags and walk away now if you’re feeling soft-hearted today. 

—-

This right here is the sole reason I am alive. I don’t like to talk about the severity of my depression, because as it’s never been officially diagnosed, I constantly feel like a fraud. I’m not on anti-depressants, I’m not seeing a psychologist, because my GP didn’t believe me when I told him how I was feeling about my life… But that’s a whole ‘nother story, and thankfully due to the events of the last few weeks, I am now (finally) getting the professional help I require. But I digress. 

Those of you who have dealt with depression, or had suicidal thoughts that are triggered by other mental health issues, can relate to the ‘dark moments’. It’s a horribly unimaginative metaphor, but it’s most accurate. There is no light. Reality is a crushing force that is bleak and dark and horrifyingly overwhelming. Death would be a release and you long with the deepest passions to simply not exist. In those moments, that is when I think of my characters. 

Without me, they will die. Until I publish some kind of work featuring all 83 (at last count) of my Original Characters, they will die. Not only do they die, but they cease to exist. Four-score beautiful, unique, glorious people, who each carry their own message, and each serve their own very important purpose, just snuffed out like so many candles. No one will remember them. There will be no generation of children whose hearts ache at the mention of their name (Harry Potter, Bilbo Baggins, Jon Snow). There will be no friends or family who will care to fondly remember the names of my babies when I am dead. When I die, the focus will be on me, on my loss, not of the loss of 83 other perfect beings.

So, I’m alive. I haul my own ass out of those dark moments every single day. I get up. I open the curtains and I sit behind my computer and I create. I don’t always write publishing-quality stuff but I write, every day. Until my characters can find a home that’s not just my head, I will be alive. They keep me alive, in this perfect symbiosis, so that fifty, ninety, two hundred years from now, a small child might pick up my book and fall in love with my characters and breathe life into them once more. 

I remember when I was first wallowing in the black way back in my teens telling myself that I wouldn’t kill myself until a/ after my mother had died, as I didn’t want to cause her any pain, and b/ I had my first novel published. Mum’s gone now, and I have other people and creatures in my life that help keep me going, but that novel has never been published. Heck, it’s never been written.

Yet I wonder if this kind of thinking is part of what keeps me from writing them. If I die, the characters I have created - and not just the WoW or SWTOR ones I’ve posted drabbles and fanfics of here, but my original work people - Rilin and Cardi, Timothy and Miriam, Antoinette Vella and Nicola Preston. What happens to them and their stories if I kill myself? While their stories remain untold, I can’t endanger them by endangering myself.

To try to explain this to those who haven’t been there staring into the abyss; whatever gets you through that dark night of the soul is worthwhile. Whatever keeps you breathing and not sharpening that knife, or taking those pills is amazing. Whatever works to keep you going is good.

I just wanted to let you guys know… I’m ALWAYS here if you want to talk. Message me on my personal Tumblr and we can talk about writing! (: Which always makes things better. It really touches me that you’re willing to share this. THIS is why I love my followers, and THIS is why I made this blog. Thank you guys so much. ♥
Rachel

357 notes

why-i-write:

#212 Because my characters are all lost, homeless, trapped in my mind. They’ve helped me through so much, it would be cruel not to give them a place to live.
Submitted by justahighfunctioningsociopath-d

why-i-write:

#212 Because my characters are all lost, homeless, trapped in my mind. They’ve helped me through so much, it would be cruel not to give them a place to live.

Submitted by justahighfunctioningsociopath-d

357 notes

why-i-write:

#210 To get the ideas out of my head so I can maybe get some sleep.
Submitted by myshipsaretitanics

why-i-write:

#210 To get the ideas out of my head so I can maybe get some sleep.

Submitted by myshipsaretitanics

141 notes

why-i-write:

#181 Because I can.
Submitted by emmathompson64

why-i-write:

#181 Because I can.

Submitted by emmathompson64

79 notes

why-i-write:

#95 Because if I can’t live forever, I want to create something that will.
Submitted by elizabitty022996

why-i-write:

#95 Because if I can’t live forever, I want to create something that will.

Submitted by elizabitty022996

53 notes

There’s got to be a less creepy way of advertising something like this…

There’s got to be a less creepy way of advertising something like this…

(Source: deadlyskeletonqueen)

94,623 notes

lesphantomoffleetstreet:

"People in musicals sing too much"

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"Boys who like musicals must be gay"

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"Musicals are repetitive"

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"Musicals last way too long"

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"Musicals are WAY too cheesy"

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"Musicals are just boring"

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"Musicals are childish"

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"People who like musicals are just sad lonely losers, and—"

image

22,745 notes

His mom was just the shiznit!

(Source: sandandglass)

500,827 notes

jordynslefteyebrow:

You run, hit, jump, fly, and flip like a girl? Keep doing it. It’s working.

30,514 notes