it's personal discussion

ἀμετακίνητος - solid, unbending; a person that is constant, stable, dependable

soli deo gloria.

Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord...

I think I speak for all of us when I say that I am a person who struggles with openness and trasparency, yet can expose their deepest, darkest secrets in writing to potentially millions of strangers with little to no trepidation.

I want to become comfortable with speaking my mind, with or without an audience. I am determined to be authentic, accurate, and loving in everything I establish here - without apology and without needing to offer an explanation.

The academic world which shall entrap me for the next decade of my life rarely allows the free thought it professes to adore, instead valuing the view of the tops of our heads from necks bent forward in subjugation. I understand their reasoning, but also know that the old ways are not necessarily the best ways and that for the greater good of all people, we must question what we have been taught. I will not be made to fear.

feel free to comment, ask questions, counteract, counterattack, or express.

YO, WHO IS THIS?

nicknames: Ev. Evvy. King-Sized Sour Patch Kid. The Jane Goodall. Lady Thor. The Viking. Pumpkin Pie.
age: old enough to vote.
location: the sun. no hyperbole here.
i would describe myself as... observant, overthinking, directionally challenged, strong, insufferable, goofy, unmistakable

PINK...

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter that it’s been almost two years. It doesn’t matter that you’re nowhere near the place or the people. It doesn’t matter that consciously, a voice in your head knows that you are in no danger. None of it matters, because in one instant you’re back there. Just as paralyzed, just as terrified, just as broken. The scar tissue tears afresh and the wound is new again.

Everything had been hot, feverish, sickly; spores growing in humid darkness; the stench of urine in city streets; pus squirting from infected sores; sweat and sandpaper and maggots writhing in steaming summer compost.

Yet I was only cold and empty. Drained. Frozen. In my last grasps for control and autonomy, my dying wish was to be nothing like you.