#mac and i will be dehydrated and delusional | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jamesdwannabe · 3 years

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I’ve been doing research and I highly suggest this book for anyone who feels like me and like you’re dead and in heaven! What I’ve gathered so far is past lives/reincarnation is real. It’s a magical gift from god that some of us go on to heaven when we die, while others get to experience life after life as someone else! Our obsession with the past…it’s all part of DID and otherkin which is actually our former lives wanting to come out and live life again.

We all get trapped in purgatory, though. When we die, we either go on to heaven or we go to purgatory. I died in the jail the first time I went cause I was already dehydrated for two days and they refused me food and I never drank any water. I hopped up the third day feeling great and I forced them to give me food and then I was able to finally reach my family and get bonded out.

The second time I went to jail was purgatory. I’d love to talk to y’all cause I’m currently working on a book about my life and all the abuse I faced, such as my childhood and adult abuse and relationship abuse, but also my terrible time spent in jail and all the transphobia I’ve faced because all of these things lead to my DID and bipolar disorder and my psychosis where I was delusional and hallucinating, thinking all kinds of things but mostly that I was John the Baptist on a mission from God to cleanse all the troubled souls and hell maybe I was at the time.

Anyone who knows the Bible well that can help provide me with information, anyone suffering any type of mental illness, anyone who wakes up everyday thinking they’re dead or in purgatory or any trans people who are experiencing what I am as in you’re suddenly showing symptoms of HRT but you’ve never taken T or estrogen a day in your life…and finally anyone at all who has any type of information and would like to be featured in my book/in a documentary I’ll one day make…please message me either HERE ON TUMBLR or DISCORD.

I’ll post all my social media so you can keep up with me but just know I get too many snaps a day to check there so tumblr, discord, or even insta and Twitter is a better platform to reach me than Snapchat but please still follow cause it’s my main base to post updates!

Again, if you reach out, it’s already assumed you’re giving me full permission to use your story but I will ask what name you prefer I use. If you’re using an alias then both first and last names are fine, but if you prefer your real name, please only give me your first name.

I will also pay you for any real and good and truthful information you send me, but I don’t have a bank account right now, so payment will come later once I’m allowed to leave my house and doordash again. I’ll pay you all a price I set later.

Please, only serious information. Even if you’re alive still and on earth, if you have any legit scientific articles or books that pertain to this line the heaven and hell afterlife book…I’ll pay for information. And if you don’t want to be paid in money, I can pay by shouting you out on all my socials since I have a large following, or I can send you books or clothes or anything you want. Just send me the link to what you want and I’ll deliver I promise!!

But no addresses please. Please have any gifts/resources sent to your local post office!

Thank you and as my girl tonya up in LCJ and Mr. Truman would say…good morning, good evening, and good night!

Love always,

🐐💕

Socials:

tumblrs: here (jamesdwannabe) or yourboyharrington or dudesofrp (still under construction but y’all send me rp recs, shoutouts, promos, or just rp related asks please im bored 🤣)

Discord: charliework #1346 (this is mainly where i rp so if you wanna continue our rp if we were partners before please message me again so I know who is still active in the community and for those wanting to rp with me now I’m always looking for 1x1s so please hmu for that too and again this is the main way to reach me if you have information for my book either your own story or books/articles about being dead, heaven and hell, purgatory, DID and bipolar disorder, or transphobia and abuse and just anything else I’ve posted about 💕)

Snapchat: coltwise or biggaymacdaddy (ill update this with more snaps cause im making a cooking channel and I also am making snaps for all my alters i only got mac so far and im gonna make james soon and i also have a daily prayers one I read the Bible at and take any prayer requests 🙏🏻 y’all have but i can’t remember the username but its either dailyprayers05 or dailyprayers55 but I think it’s 05. I’ll update all of this later fam)

Instagram: wisteriagrowshere (im gonna make alter accounts too eventually lol but i don’t use insta as much)

Tiktok: only got one and it’s relivingmyhorrors

Twitter: I’ll update this later since I deleted the app and don’t remember my username lol

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harryandmolly · 4 years

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fear and loathing in mandeville canyon *2*

summary: Shawn & Lilly, derailed, detoured, but maybe not destroyed

warnings: language, going going but not quite gone

wc: 3.2k

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He forgot about how pink she is.

It sounds so stupid, even in his head. Of course she’s kind of pink. She’s pale and gingery. It’s just jarring to see her skin like this again, glowing in the kitchen in the dappled morning sunlight.

He announces himself with a clearing of his throat and peels his interested gaze away from the way her rosy toes bounce to an invisible beat against the kitchen floor. She looks over her shoulder.

More pink.

“Morning,” he grunts, edging around the other side of the counter to head for the fridge.

“Hi.”

Her voice is soft and a little rough. He forces himself not to look at her. He busies himself instead with digging an apple out of the fruit drawer.

“How’s the room?” he asks, a safe entrance point.

“Oh, it’s good. It’s nice.”

He aches. They’re so awkward. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. He tried to steel himself for this, he knew they couldn’t just fall back into what they were before. But how do you prepare for the awkwardness of being strangers with your best friend?

“Good. Cool. Yeah, I thought the balcony would be good. I mean, y’know, for yoga.”

She nods, then looks back down at the pan of eggs she’s cooking. She’s swirling her spatula, cooking them over a very low heat like Gordon Ramsey. He’s never watched her cook eggs before. When they were together, they usually Postmated breakfast. He doesn’t really know why.

She looks tired, despite his assumption that she slept from early last night until just now. She looks as tired as he feels, having gotten around the four hours that’s become all but normal to him recently. He has too much going on in his head to expect any restorative sleep. There aren’t enough waking hours in the day, so his body made more.

Lilly looks up at him so suddenly he stops, mouth open, the apple hovering near his lips, unmoving. He feels his heart stutter in his chest.

Her eyes drop. She swallows and seems to refocus on her breakfast. Shawn tries not to feel disappointed. After all, he disappointed her first.

“I’ll be around outside if you need me,” he offers, hoping to god he doesn’t look like a kicked puppy as he wanders off, watching her gaze remain steady on the eggs like he didn’t say anything at all.

Shawn slips the phone back into his pocket. It’s not doing him any good right now. He’s not sure what is. He glances down at his guitar disdainfully, then back up to squint through the afternoon sun at the winding gardens.

He’s been outside almost all day. A part of him wonders if he’s subconsciously surrendering the space to her, in case she really doesn’t want him in it. A bigger part of him thinks he just doesn’t want her to hear this shit he’s working on.

Every time he thinks of a lyric and decides to sing it out loud, he almost convulses with disgust. Nothing sounds right or feels right. He likes the melody -- loves it, actually. He hasn’t written anything worth a damn in the last few weeks, and possibly before, and this had him hoping he was getting back on track with his album. But now he’s stuck. Beyond stuck. He’s exhausted and stressed enough to half-believe he’s lost any songwriting talent he ever had.

He wonders what Lilly’s doing. He’s afraid to check. He doesn’t want to hover or annoy her. His stomach turns at the idea of her disliking him any more than she already does. The truth is, he craves her company more than anything else about her. He misses plucking at a guitar at one end of a couch with her feet in his lap while she wrote on her laptop. He even misses FaceTime sessions when they were mostly silent, getting other shit done, but just wanted, needed to be with each other.

He wets his lips and slouches against the teak garden bench, sighing heavily as his mind races through a harried, scattered version of a summation of the last nine months. He can’t believe he let everything get so fucked up. Shawn picks at a loose thread on his gym shorts and wonders if there’s any chance at all that she might miss being around him, too.

He lifts the guitar back into his lap after a too-long self pity session. He clears his throat and shifts to get comfortable. As he does, he senses something that makes him look over his shoulder, just in time to catch the flutter of a curtain closing from one of the living rooms with floor-to-ceiling windows that face the backyard.

He turns back to the guitar.

Shawn heads inside around dinner time. He can feel the heat settling in his shoulders and the bridge of skin across his nose and he knows he should’ve been wearing sunscreen. He also knows that nine months ago, Lilly would’ve ripped him a new one if he came back to her sunburnt, so he’s a little masochistically curious to see her reaction.

She’s in the kitchen again, almost exactly where he left her. Her hair is piled up in a bun that’s been picked at and hastily rebuilt all day. At some point she changed into a new pair of leggings and a workout tank. She looks like an Instagram ad for trendy healthy living in this kitchen. He allows himself half a smile.

He props the guitar up against the window seat and edges toward her like she’s a feral cat. Her eyes lift from the wide blonde-wooded butcher’s block that lives beside the sink. They narrow almost imperceptibly at the sight of him, all red and sweaty, he’s sure, and then drop back down to the box of Kraft mac and cheese she’s pouring into a boiling pot.

He’s gonna live on that look for days.

“Hey,” he grunts, realizing his voice is a little hoarse from abusing it all day, “How was your day?”

Shawn really hasn’t been inside at all. Or eaten basically anything. Or had any water. Unfortunately that’s not off-brand for him lately. But it means he hasn’t seen her since 9am.

He missed her.

She lifts and drops a shoulder, stirring the noodles so they don’t clump like he always used to forget to do. “It was fine.”

Shawn waits. She doesn’t owe him any more, but he hopes for it anyway.

She glances up at him. “Do you want half of this?”

He swears his growling empty stomach flops down onto his shoes. A combination of misplaced politeness and knee-jerk negative reaction to dairy drilled into him by Cez and Jocelyne have him shaking his head before he can think about it.

“That’s ok, I shouldn’t.”

Lilly snorts and Shawn goes stiff.

“Oh shut up and just take it.”

His chest deflates as he blinks, startled. He nods and nearly stumbles up to the bar to sit while she prepares it.

It takes him a strangely long time to notice that she’s playing music on her phone. He tilts his head and identifies it as a deep cut from Heavier Things by John Mayer. He wonders if he goes a little pinker.

She adds extra butter and shredded cheddar to the macaroni. He tries not to consider what eating this much shitty processed cheese for the first time in months will do to his body. He’s grateful that his bathroom is a whole house away from hers.

Lilly prepares their bowls in silence, holding up her trusty Old Bay seasoning as an offering that he politely refuses with a timid smile. If he’s not delusional from low blood sugar and dehydration, she smiles a little bit too.

Lilly rounds the counter to sit beside him at the bar. The whole right side of his body tingles in response to her closeness. His heart rate lifts, his fingers reach for his spoon to stir faster, needing something to do. And then just before she sits, her phone rings.

She checks the caller and looks up at him semi-apologetically.

“Sorry, it’s my mom.”

Lilly wanders away, phone to her ear, bowl in her hand.

Shawn drags his spoon through the cheese sauce she got so remarkably smooth. He eats every bite. It might be the best mac and cheese he’s ever had.

The master bedroom is located at the end of a long hallway that creaks and crackles charmingly with the age of the house. Shawn doesn’t really notice it when he’s walking from one end of it to the other, but he does when it’s her.

He’s feeling sorry for himself, his new not-favorite pastime, staring at his phone in partial darkness in the wide open sitting room adjacent to his bedroom. The sun set ten minutes ago, the world outside is blue. The white carpet below his bare, dirty feet is kind of blue too. His guitar sits in the corner, shunned and untouched.

The footsteps feel like a phantom sensation at first, but he doesn’t have long enough to think about it before she walks around the corner into the room. She doesn’t hesitate, she doesn’t slow down.

She’s in a heavy oversized sweater and sleep shorts holding a bottle of red and two glasses. She lifts an eyebrow and shrugs. Shawn wants to cry.

He nods at her and sits up, hoping he looks more welcoming than despondent. He tries a smile. She chuckles and sits at his feet, cross-legged, and opens the screw top bottle.

“Please stop looking at me like I might slap you at any moment.”

Shawn clicks his tongue nervously. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

She ignores his comment and passes up his glass by the stem. He’s careful to take it by the bowl despite how badly he wants to touch her fingers. She sits back with her own and looks up at him steadily for the first time since she got here.

“Cheers. We’re lucky. Really lucky.”

Shawn matches the way she raises her glass, then he drinks, raking a hand through his sticky hair.

She’s right, of course. He realizes he hasn’t thought about it much since he got back to LA. Getting to her and then getting her safe was his singular focus, which as he thinks about it now, is extraordinary privilege. He feels gross all of a sudden for how little consideration he’s given everything, everyone else.

Another failing to choke down.

“Are you ok?”

Shawn blinks. He looks down at her. She’s staring up at him, head tilted like a cocker spaniel, glass sitting between her fingers. He looks at them instead of her face.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

Another lie to choke down.

Lilly takes a big sip. “You look like you’re doing the self-flagellation thing.”

“What self-flagellation thing?”

He doesn’t know if it’s more bullishness or true curiosity driving him to ask.

“You’ve got this look on your face like you’re recreating the “Stitches” video in your own head.”

It startles him into laughing. She doesn’t laugh with him.

“I don’t know. I feel like I should be ok. I don’t have a reason not to be.”

She seems to consider him for a few moments. She takes another sip. Shawn looks down. His glass is empty. Lilly notices and refills it.

“Not like I do, you mean?”

That feeling in Shawn’s chest that first showed up when he confronted her at her house is back. It’s like a tiny pebble is clogging an artery, or something. Everything feels a little stuck and he’s not even mad because he probably deserves it.

He exhales a shaky breath and brings his hand through his hair again. “I dunno.”

This second wishy-washy answer isn’t what she wanted. She hardens. “I want you to know, I want you to understand that I was fine. I am fine. I do appreciate the rescue but I didn’t need… closure.”

The pebble fucking grows.

“Closure?” he nearly chokes.

“That feels like the only sane reason you insisted on coming to see me.”

It’s pointed. Her pretty gunmetal blue eyes are solid. Her lips have gone tight around the corners. It’s a clear warning.

His eyes drift shut in a heavy blink. He takes another sip.

“I feel like… for as often as I’ve thought about talking to you about this, I should know what I want to say. But I still don’t.”

Lilly sighs and drains her glass, refilling it. “Keep drinking, you’ll figure it out.”

Shawn looks down at his and finishes it. Lilly refills it.

He studies the way her legs fold beneath her, and the white casts of stretch marks visible against her inner thighs, the ones he used to trace with his tongue, nose, fingers. He recognizes the sweater she’s wearing. It’s so big it pools around her wrists even where she’s rolled it up. She got it in college at Goodwill for $5. It used to be her favorite piece of clothing. He wonders if it’s been replaced.

With a lurch of his already sensitive stomach, he wonders if he has, too.

“Have you dated anyone?”

Her nose wrinkles distastefully and he sees the misstep he’s made too late, like a pile of dogshit.

“Seriously?”

“Sorry, sorry. Fuck. You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s not my business.”

She raises her eyes to the ceiling and shakes her head. He feels thoroughly chastised. He thinks maybe she’ll just get up and walk away. He dreads that and craves the punishment of it in equal measure.

“It’s not that.”

His brow furrows. She can still surprise him.

“What is it?” he whispers.

Her nose twitches. “I just… I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t interested. I didn’t want anyone else.”

He goes so warm all over, a sensation he distantly remembers but is sure he doesn’t deserve.

After a moment, Shawn climbs down from his chair and takes the bottle, filling his glass. He sits in front of her. It’s not six feet away, it’s not even close. He’ll move if she asks.

“I thought I had to know why. It was the thing that had me a heartbeat away from calling you a dozen times. I thought if you could just tell me why you loved her more, I could get over it faster,” she muses.

Shawn holds his breath while she speaks to her dwindling glass.

“But more than that I wanted to hold onto my pride. I wanted my last words to you to be those, what I said before you left that night. That won, I guess.”

She’s quiet for almost a minute.

“Do you remember what I said?” she asks.

He says “yes” quietly and doesn’t add that those moments are seared indelibly in his memory -- her face, her breath, her tone, every word exactly as she delivered them. It’s the stuff of his regular nightmares.

She huffs and smiles, but it’s dark. “It didn’t even work. I never got to hate you, even as badly as I wanted to. I think I’ve loved you too much to ever hate you.”

Shawn’s head feels light from the booze and the lack of oxygen he’s allowing it from refusing to breathe.

“I thought it was a curse, maybe. Especially because for a while I couldn’t even look at pictures of you with her. I’d get all panicked and distracted, even in public. But lately, like in the last… I dunno, three months? It got a lot easier. I don’t know why. There never seemed to be a trigger for healing, but it felt like it started finally after waiting around for it forever. And now we’re here and I don’t know what kind of mark this will leave.”

She’s speaking easily, matter-of-factly, but he thinks he knows her well enough to feel what’s beneath it. He could always tell exactly how she was feeling, even when she didn’t want him to.

Shawn clears his throat twice before attempting to speak, but his voice still sounds broken and shredded. “There was so much I wanted to say to you after I left. But… the biggest thing, the thing that bothered me the most, the part I fucking hated, is that you wondered if I felt like I was settling with you, that I was waiting around for her consciously when I was with you. I… I never felt that way. I wanted you. I was so crazy about you. I really fucking loved you.”

The past tense hurts to say out loud, like he’s spitting glass. Lying to her disgusts him, but he thinks it’s the first unselfish thing he’s done in months. She doesn’t want to hear that he still loves her. Even if he thinks he always will. It’s not the time. So he swallows it.

She looks interested, convinced maybe. She finishes her glass and pours herself more, topping up his glass with the rest of the bottle.

“I had myself convinced I didn’t need to hear that.”

A flare of unfamiliar pride glimmers in his chest. He did something good. He said something that helped. Maybe he’s not as miserable a bastard as he thought.

“It’s true,” he assures her, feeling bleary from the wine but absolutely certain.

“I think I knew,” she admits, stretching out her legs so her feet sit beside him. He forces himself not to look at her soft, shapely thighs, “Because… it was really good for a while.”

But she’s always surprising him. Out of seemingly nowhere, Lilly’s chin wobbles. She claps a hand over her mouth to cover a harsh, sobbing inhale. Shawn’s blood runs cold.

“Lilly,” he breathes, blinking quickly, “Lilly, I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes go sort of green when she cries. Shawn hates that he knows that. He wishes he knew everything about her but that.

Without thinking, without breathing, without another word, Shawn leans forward and gets as far as brushing his lips across hers before she springs back and stares at him like he’s just screamed in her face.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh god,” Shawn spews, “Oh god, fuck, I’m sorry. Oh fuck, I’m so sorry. Lil, fuck, shit, I didn’t-- oh god--”

As he garbles his way through apologies, Lilly leaps to her feet and leaves without another word. Shawn lurches in her direction like he wants to catch her but doesn’t fully commit. He hears himself continuing to mumble hopelessly until her quick footsteps are too far away to hear the creaking protests of the old house.

Shawn lets his body drop to the carpet beside the empty wine bottle. He releases a shaky breath and lifts the heels of his hands to his eyes, pressing in when the tears come. He doesn’t know why he’s crying. He shouldn’t be allowed. He should be forced to keep this feeling bottled up, to live with it -- live with knowing he made her uncomfortable. He forced himself on her. He kissed her when she didn’t want him to. There should be no relief from that.

But it only makes him cry harder.

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I can only hope you’ve been inundated with these links the last few days, but just in case you haven’t, here they are. Please visit them and give what you can, be it time, consideration, or money. Let’s affect some fucking change, shall we?

Minnesota Freedom Fund

George Floyd’s Family’s GoFundMe

Color of Change Petition

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