Category: Writing
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What’s the story behind your nickname?
When me and my siblings were kids, it was usually our maternal grandmother who would babysit us since she lived a short walk away.
She had a small rose garden (probably wouldn’t count as a garden, really), and I loved it. I thought the white roses were beautiful, although yellow became my preference over time. But back then, something about them seemed angelic to me. It felt special and safe. Safe was especially important.
It is somewhere I can associate happy memories with from my childhood. I don’t have many. So I’ve never forgotten it.
But why bloody? Because there’s a lot of darkness that lurks behind those memories. A lot.
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Family outsiders are usually black sheep. I call myself the black swan. At least allow me control over that. -
Sketchbook 2024 x -
Apologies to anyone I’ve been rude to today. I try to keep family drama away from the Internet at their request (they, though, despite being told to by my mental team, refuse to keep my interaction with my father to a minimum) but weeks of having my asshole father here has been truly awful. All the signs of stress and severe anxiety are back – talking and whimpering in my sleep, shaking, dissociation, mild acts of self-harm like banging my head against the wall, etc.
I’ve tried to deal with it by taking up my old hobbies, which is the one good thing to come out of this. But it is still hard.
Thank you for reading.
Bloody Roses 