Post by Deleted on Dec 10, 2016 15:18:40 GMT -7
When I was a teenager, my sister and I were inseparable. We were both pretty introverted, our parents didn’t have much money so no one in school came mooching, they were too busy getting caught up in their own little melodramas and fights that neither of us wanted. We’d watch so many movies, go up into the hills and play hide and seek, geek out over all the nerdy little things that we loved (or both loved anyway, our attitude toward things we didn’t both like were kind of like ‘normal people’ reactions to hearing the stuff we liked), and by god, the food ate between us, never before had any chef anticipated such inhuman stomachs. Never once did she keep a secret, we talked about every little thing that happened each day...mostly because every day of our childhoods were so monotonous that we had little else to do outside what I already said.
They were good times...but not everything lasts forever unfortunately.
I forget how old I was when I mutated (yes, I'm a mutant, don't judge )...I think it was 14 or 15 when I was in secondary school. You can only imagine what it feels like, after days of burning headaches, to suddenly have thousands of tiny little animal minds chittering away in your head like an overstuffed bear tearing at the seams. It’s kinda like static, that traffic in the back of your mind full of stray thoughts and memories, but this wasn’t just noise, it was nails on a chalkboard washing through your head like acid, 24/7, never stopping, it felt like God put ants and bugs on the earth for the sole purpose of torturing me. The first day, I ended up a sobbing wreck in my school’s supply closet until my mom came for me, she was the only one who was able to get in without being on the receiving end of broom. That wasn’t even the worst thing I felt though...I didn’t find out until later that, in my blind pain and disorientation, I had tossed a mop at my sister and screamed at her to f*** off when she tried to help me. I could feel a lump in my throat as my mom told me, that oppressive weight on your shoulders and stomach that just makes you feel so utterly defeated, to the point of fighting it just so you can punch yourself for being such an idiot. Looking back, I think she probably would’ve gotten over it fine then, if I just told her the truth, but instead I locked myself away for a good 3 years saying I had a disease, which it was to me back then.
When I finally got my powers under some modicum of control, and decided to brave the outside world again, she was barely responsive. All she ever did, every single day of the week, of the year, was get up, have breakfast, then o into the garage and start tinkering with my dad's Computer or Skoda. It was almost therapeutic, it was the only time she seemed to do have anything other than a blank stare on her face, and I was afraid to do anything other than watch. My mom told me that she had been in a car accident and that she was having some severe PTSD from seeing the bodies, but I didn’t believe that for a second, I had always fooled myself into thinking it was my fault for not talking to her after the day I mutated, for not being there to talk to her, help her understand. I never stopped trying to reach her, to make up for my mistakes, I’d take her out, get her private counseling with the money I earned in part time jobs, take her back to the hills and mountains, buy her Ice-Cream, anything to get through to her! It wasn’t until we moved away and into the city a year later that she finally started to open up to me, and I learned that, while it wasn't my fault, I still bore some responsibility. As it turned out, some skinhead asshole decided he liked his white meat raw, and he spied my sister one day as she was walking home from a store. I’m never going to go into details, but I think you can imagine what he did to her.
I confronted my mother, and she told me that she lied to protect me, that I couldn’t handle the truth, that lies were better in that situation, just forget it ever happened, but I refused to accept that. I knew she was just making excuses for herself, trying so hard to make herself feel better so she didn’t have to face that reality, to the extent of forbidding my sister, the victim! From talking about it and seeing any help. I won't deny, despite knowing the truth, I still felt partly responsible because of what I said, if she knew the truth, maybe she would've come in to talk to me, to vent, instead of avoiding my room because she thought I could kill her just by being near her. Because of my Mother's lies, and because of my not being there for her due to my own lies, my sister suffered in silence for 3 years, and there was no retribution, no justice, no good done...until I tracked him down myself, anyway.
The point of that particular parable, for those whom are still reading (sorry for the length), is to illustrate why I’m starting this blog. In our world, lies are, more often than not, a plague, easily spread but capable of killing, maiming, or inflicting pain that many can only grasp the edges of. Empires of evil, corrupt tenures of power, wars and deaths of a countless number, all are, in some capacity, built upon lies, and whilst the official news of the world spread propaganda and pervert the facts for their own agenda, small indie journals, independent newspapers, and other souls fight to keep the truth alive, to keep the world from being blindfolded by opportunistic snakes. I’m starting this blog to try and give you the best news out there: detailed, thorough, and most importantly, above bias, with the only agenda being to provide knowledge and fact. I can’t guarantee that I’ll succeed, and chances are I’ll end up attracting one or two unsavory characters writing what I will, but I will most certainly try to serve the people as best I can. For the sake of my family, i won’t give my name, but you all can call me Mimir, and whilst I know this is kind of a strange introduction, I hope that anyone that sticks with me won’t have any regrets.
Feel free to comment below, anonymously or otherwise. Introduce yourself, give your views, ask me to cover something, whatever truth you need unearthed, I promise I’ll give it my best shot.
- Mimir
They were good times...but not everything lasts forever unfortunately.
I forget how old I was when I mutated (yes, I'm a mutant, don't judge )...I think it was 14 or 15 when I was in secondary school. You can only imagine what it feels like, after days of burning headaches, to suddenly have thousands of tiny little animal minds chittering away in your head like an overstuffed bear tearing at the seams. It’s kinda like static, that traffic in the back of your mind full of stray thoughts and memories, but this wasn’t just noise, it was nails on a chalkboard washing through your head like acid, 24/7, never stopping, it felt like God put ants and bugs on the earth for the sole purpose of torturing me. The first day, I ended up a sobbing wreck in my school’s supply closet until my mom came for me, she was the only one who was able to get in without being on the receiving end of broom. That wasn’t even the worst thing I felt though...I didn’t find out until later that, in my blind pain and disorientation, I had tossed a mop at my sister and screamed at her to f*** off when she tried to help me. I could feel a lump in my throat as my mom told me, that oppressive weight on your shoulders and stomach that just makes you feel so utterly defeated, to the point of fighting it just so you can punch yourself for being such an idiot. Looking back, I think she probably would’ve gotten over it fine then, if I just told her the truth, but instead I locked myself away for a good 3 years saying I had a disease, which it was to me back then.
When I finally got my powers under some modicum of control, and decided to brave the outside world again, she was barely responsive. All she ever did, every single day of the week, of the year, was get up, have breakfast, then o into the garage and start tinkering with my dad's Computer or Skoda. It was almost therapeutic, it was the only time she seemed to do have anything other than a blank stare on her face, and I was afraid to do anything other than watch. My mom told me that she had been in a car accident and that she was having some severe PTSD from seeing the bodies, but I didn’t believe that for a second, I had always fooled myself into thinking it was my fault for not talking to her after the day I mutated, for not being there to talk to her, help her understand. I never stopped trying to reach her, to make up for my mistakes, I’d take her out, get her private counseling with the money I earned in part time jobs, take her back to the hills and mountains, buy her Ice-Cream, anything to get through to her! It wasn’t until we moved away and into the city a year later that she finally started to open up to me, and I learned that, while it wasn't my fault, I still bore some responsibility. As it turned out, some skinhead asshole decided he liked his white meat raw, and he spied my sister one day as she was walking home from a store. I’m never going to go into details, but I think you can imagine what he did to her.
I confronted my mother, and she told me that she lied to protect me, that I couldn’t handle the truth, that lies were better in that situation, just forget it ever happened, but I refused to accept that. I knew she was just making excuses for herself, trying so hard to make herself feel better so she didn’t have to face that reality, to the extent of forbidding my sister, the victim! From talking about it and seeing any help. I won't deny, despite knowing the truth, I still felt partly responsible because of what I said, if she knew the truth, maybe she would've come in to talk to me, to vent, instead of avoiding my room because she thought I could kill her just by being near her. Because of my Mother's lies, and because of my not being there for her due to my own lies, my sister suffered in silence for 3 years, and there was no retribution, no justice, no good done...until I tracked him down myself, anyway.
The point of that particular parable, for those whom are still reading (sorry for the length), is to illustrate why I’m starting this blog. In our world, lies are, more often than not, a plague, easily spread but capable of killing, maiming, or inflicting pain that many can only grasp the edges of. Empires of evil, corrupt tenures of power, wars and deaths of a countless number, all are, in some capacity, built upon lies, and whilst the official news of the world spread propaganda and pervert the facts for their own agenda, small indie journals, independent newspapers, and other souls fight to keep the truth alive, to keep the world from being blindfolded by opportunistic snakes. I’m starting this blog to try and give you the best news out there: detailed, thorough, and most importantly, above bias, with the only agenda being to provide knowledge and fact. I can’t guarantee that I’ll succeed, and chances are I’ll end up attracting one or two unsavory characters writing what I will, but I will most certainly try to serve the people as best I can. For the sake of my family, i won’t give my name, but you all can call me Mimir, and whilst I know this is kind of a strange introduction, I hope that anyone that sticks with me won’t have any regrets.
Feel free to comment below, anonymously or otherwise. Introduce yourself, give your views, ask me to cover something, whatever truth you need unearthed, I promise I’ll give it my best shot.
- Mimir