Thinking about drawing myself as a pony, but unsure of what I’d look like. Thoughts?

It’s a vikingpony btw

According to sources, people with higher intelligences tend to stay up later, tending to be night owls. They tend to be more skeptical, sarcastic, and generally are more loners.

THIS IS ME.

When someone finds out another person’s deepest, darkest secret, how is it possible to see them the same way again? Good or bad - they’ve changed.

I found out today that a good friend of mine has wanted to be a woman for years. He’s more comfortable living a female lifestyle, but that’s all he knows. He’s too shy and scared to branch out, to even see what he is or where he fits in the world. So he’s miserable - stuck trying to please others and appear what most people deem “normal”.

I’m incredibly accepting and understanding of his situation. One of my best friends’ is a pansexual cross-dresser that is gender fluid. So I know exactly what’s going on with my friend.

I want him to figure himself out, to be happy with himself and be exactly what he is without worrying. However, I no longer see him the way I did yesterday. He fooled even me.

It’s not a bad thing, me seeing him differently. This is going to sound rather stupid - but I kinda miss his other side. Granted, it wasn’t his real self and was fabricated so he could “fit” with society. Maybe it was just easier because I knew (thought I knew anyway) exactly what he was about. Now everything is up in the air.

I am happy however, that I know. Because while that fabricated version of him is gone, a new one is here and I feel even closer to him as a friend than before.

Saying all this is unfair because he’s the same person is a load of bull. I KNOW he’s the same person. But going on like nothing has changed isn’t fair to either of us. That’d be just as fabricated. Just as false.

Anyway, that’s my rambling for the day. I’m out.

I haven’t been this utterly lost since I was just a teenage girl living with my insane mom. I don’t have my anti-anxiety meds, so I’m going through withdrawl - which is making my anxiety twice as hard on me. I feel lost, confused, depressed.

I’m so dizzy.

I’ve had to call into work three times last week. I’m sure if I do so again, I’ll be fired, but just the thought of going to work tomorrow morning is getting me freaked out. I can’t stand it. My throat is closing up on itself. I can’t breathe.

I wish life wasn’t so difficult for me. I wish i could get up and go to work - no matter  how hard it seems - like a normal person. Instead, I get so freaked I’m hiding under my covers, dreading having to talk to anyone, t go anywhere, to deal with life. Anxiety has a way of screwing me over. Whatever progress I’ve made since I’ve been on my meds is now threatening to crumble again because I don’t have them anymore.

I don’t know what to do. I wish I had someone to lean on. I have my fiance, and he does what he can, but he’s not superman. I feel bad for him cause he tries so hard to make me feel better.

I’m so lost.

I wish I could say this was a happy letter. That this was a recount of all the wonderful things you have done for me - sheltered me, fed me, taught me all the basics - but it’s not.

From the moment I came home with you from the hospital - you were my guide. You were my teacher. I trusted you.

When you told me that my step father was my real father, I was too young to know the difference. When I found out otherwise when I was 12, I let it go. You, for whatever reason, thought you were protecting me. I got it. I let it go.

When you got divorced from said step father and ran around the town slutting it up, I got mad a few times, but I certainly never got you in trouble. I never called the cops when you left your 12 year old alone all night, night after night, as you slept over at your boyfriend’s place. I let it go.

When I entered into a bad relationship - on your examples I might add - with a 19 year old when I was 14, you got angry. I came to my senses and broke it off - but not before you extorted 5,000 dollars from his family for “deflowering your little girl”. I still believe what you did was wrong, but I didn’t tell you otherwise. I trusted you. I was angry, but I let it go.

I never saw a cent, anyway. You bought a car, a computer, and spent the rest on stuff you didn’t need.

When I caught you on the phone with your friend, telling her about my sexual experiences with this male who coerced me, I cried, begging you to never tell a soul. It was my body, my experience, my choice to tell anyone or no one. MY CHOICE. You promised. So I let that one go.

Now I’m 22. I left your home, and we for the most part mended our relationship. You ask me for money I don’t have. You say I owe you.

“For what?” I ask.

“How far back do you want to go?” You answer.

No, mother. How far back do YOU want to go? That $5000 should just about cover it. And you already spent it. But oh well, I let that go.

Until yesterday. I found out, 8 years after the fact, that you had told my entire family and all your friends about my sleeping with that boy. That I was following in your footsteps. That I’m a bad daughter and a slut.

You told them he touched me, that you got money for it. You were so proud that you got money for it. None of which you thought you should give me - the girl who went through the ordeal.

This whole time… these 8 long years… my entire family has known. What I thought was a secret, what I thought was hidden and mine alone to share. It was private. I was so embarrassed at finding out that my closest aunt knew… but then she told me my uncle knew as well. A sick feeling goes through my stomach as I remember this. The uncle I respect, look up to, and see as a father figure. He’s known this entire time. Because of you, mom. You broke your promise, which in turn broke my heart.

So this time, I’m not letting it go. I’m letting -you- go.

You fed me, clothed me, taught me the basics. All of which you seem to think I owe you. But that was your job, mom. You should feel rewarded for how I turned out. But you don’t. You want me to make you money. So I’m letting you go.

Thanks for everything, good and horrible. Bye, and I hope the door hits your ass on the way out.

We’re even.

1. Work at Wendy’s.
2. Wear uniform.
3. Get cups from work - place them over arms and on other body parts.
4. Put Wendy’s box over torso.
5. Walk up to random people.
6. Say in a dramatic voice: “I am a sophisticated fast food robot from the future, sent back to serve America… one sammich at a time.”
7. Get REALLY WEIRD LOOKS.

Hi all!

I’m back from another unwanted hiatus. Here’s what happened:

• I got a job (Wendy’s)
• It was my 5 year anniversary to my fiance
• I’m getting married in August so I’ve been busy with that.
• I’ve been writing like crazy, trying to finish this novel before Script Frenzy starts.

So there’s that. Sorry for being gone so much.

So here’s what’s up with my projects: In between my time writing novels and screenplays, I have a side project lined up for everyone. It’s going to be an online (and FREE) novel in the form of blog entries. It will be posted in REAL TIME. That means if the character in the story is writing in his blog two days after the last one, I will post it two days after the last one. Make sense?

If anyone is interested in this idea, please send me a message letting me know so I can put it higher up on my to-do list.

Love you guys!

Stay classy, Tumblr.