Edema Rue

TW: self-harm

I don’t have a lot of classes anymore, but I do have a ceramics class. I haven’t taken the time to get to know many people, since I’m in a very different chapter of life than most of them, and I’m leaving this place behind in only a couple weeks. But there are a few special needs kids in my class, two of whom I’ve known for more than six years. One of them knows my name and says hi every time he sees me. He likes to tell people we’re friends, and I agree heartily. He also consistently complains about the dumb square hats we have to wear to graduate.

The other is lacking in some social skills. She’s sweet, and just normal enough that people don’t always realize her brain works differently. Today, she was critically commenting on the plate another student was making, offering unsolicited tips and judgement. The other student nodded and went along with it, and after a few minutes, was shaking a bottle of pink underglaze (similar to paint while also completely different). The lid wasn’t screwed on tightly enough, and it spilled over her arm and shirt.

This sweet girl, noticing a few moments later, asked what had happened to the student’s arm. The student, assuming that she meant the spilled underglaze, explained that it was nothing to worry about. My special needs friend shook her head, standing and crossing to the student. She flipped over the other girl’s arm, revealing a dozen thin red lines.

”No, there’s a pattern,” she insisted. “What happened?”

The girl mumbled some excuse, while another student and I shared a look behind the questioner’s back. A few minutes later, the bell rang, and we left.

That student doesn’t come to class often. It’s quite possible she has the class another period (or not at all) and comes to our class on her free time. I don’t know her name. I don’t know her story. I know she talks to another student who has gossip about everyone, and I know she laughs often. I don’t know how often she cries, or if her parents know, or if she has more than just scars. But that moment, the smile with another student at an innocent, naive question, has stuck in my mind. Is that the way we’re meant to react? Is the hurt we cause ourselves so ordinary that instead of commenting, we mock those who do?

Hurting oneself doesn’t give one access to a special club. It isn’t a badge that proves one’s pain is real. It is a private, dangerous struggle. It is a sign that help is needed. It’s a cry for help from someone who has lost their voice.

Be safe, okay? Not coddled, not afraid, but safe. Don’t run faster than you have strength: don’t handle everything until it kills you. Don’t judge people before you know their stories, and if you think someone is judging you, remember that they have a story of their own, that maybe their voice has been taken, and they are wishing desperately for a way to connect without hurting anyone. Be poised, be brave, be loving.

xo, eddie

Happy birthday girlie!

Ok g’s you know what time it is

today in a song/lyric?

I’m about a “if I were a rich man” from fiddler on the roof

Happy birthday Cheesy!! May it be a good one

Thank you, winter.

it is about storming time.

Yay, I got a ticket for a Sanderson signing at storycon in two weeks! I’ve gone to a signing with him before, but it was a lightning signing so just quick.  This one is traditional so I get one book personalized and up to three others signed. 

Hahahhahahahahhaha flow state unlocked

Happy birthday!!

Chat you know what time it is, what song describes the current mood?

I’m about a The Apparition by Sleep Token

stupid ticketmaster.

yeah no that’s all

Writing prompt!! Write something and share, if it’s too long to reply here put it somewhere else and ping me!

”I’m not new to nightmares. But now, they’re always about you.”

Dialogue that aches, part 1:

”They used to be best friends.”

There’s so much going on behind a line like that. They. People saw the pair, whoever they were, and recognized them as best friends. Never either without the other. From the outside, their relationship was obvious.

But there’s an inside too, which is where the real depth and hurt comes from. Not friends. Not classmates or coworkers or acquaintances. Best friends. They knew what music the other liked, knew how this person who was so precious to them picked the ham off their pizza and always typed their birthday in one day early, quietly saying that their thumb had slipped when asked why. They knew each other’s license plate numbers and class schedules, where the other worked and what time they got home. They walked into each other’s houses without knocking and knew which drawer had the silverware, which had plates, where the trash can was and which bathroom would always be clean. Best friends, startling and sharp in their magical ordinariness.

But then, there’s more to it than even that. Because best friends know each other longer and more thoroughly than even family. They can cry in one another’s laps, walk for an hour in the freezing rain, and talk about anything while the hours disappear into dust. They’ve got other friends, some days they don’t even see one another, but when their phone rings with that number, that name, nothing in the world will keep them from picking up. There’s nothing that can’t be laughed about and nothing too shameful to cry for. They can argue, they can make up. Best friends, startling and sharp and filled with dangerous secrets they wouldn’t dream of sharing.

They used to be best friends.

They are not best friends anymore.

But I still know how your car smells. I still remember when your brother was born, when your mom got divorced and then your dad died. I was at the wedding when your mom fell in love again. I remember when you were so sick you couldn’t walk and none of the doctors knew why. I remember watching you have a seizure and praying because I didn’t know what else to do. I remember when you moved five states away, and I remember your first kiss, the call we had that night. I was sitting on the freezer in my garage, almost numb from the cold but unwilling to let the moment end.

I still know the route to your old house by heart.

They used to be best friends.

I have your old birthday cards, ascending through the years.

They used to be best friends…

I’ve had best friends since you left, and I have best friends now, and I know their families, and I walk into their houses without knocking and drive their cars and let them cry into my lap.

No best friends are forever.

But that moment, that sight, that break where someone can look from the outside and see two halves that will never meet again and say, “they used to be best friends”, that is a moment worth treasuring. That is a moment that demands to be recounted.

We used to be best friends.

Favorite tropes #6 or #7 but probably #7

”I’m gonna get out of here someday. I promise.”

POV all the dogs in the neighborhood howl in unison whenever there are sirens but mine just looks at me and asks for pets

“Somewhere the atoms stopped fusing…I’m still your favorite regret; you’re still my weapon of choosing.”

—blood sport, Sleep Token

may I please request a description of everyone’s day in one song (specific lyrics are allowed)

Oh you guys, this is not okay.

I’m going to give someone a really bad paper cut.

Last year, I was out of the country when Hozier came to UT.

I also missed Conan Gray and Laufey.

This summer, I’ll be out of the country when Noah Kahan comes to UT.

and I’m MAD. literally bubbling cauldron of tapioca pudding mad.

do I come home a week early from volunteering at an orphanage for a concert? That feels very 1st world country problems of me but I like music

So I was going to make a big SU of my mistborn fancast (@Silver Phantom), but then I realized how little I actually have

EXCEPT

i want Jack Wolfe as Elend

It just…it just feels so right. 

I also think Ella Purnell (the voice actor for Jinx from Arcane) might be a kind of epic Vin.

No one seems quite right for Kelsier, if anyone has ideas please let me know. Everyone seems too old or too young or just not it.

Wait this is so hard. If anyone has more ideas please share with the class