Bored, Clever, and Obsessive

Hello. My name's Diana. 21. Please don't be afraid to ask me anything at all. I am obsessed with Doctor Who, Sherlock, James Bond, Merlin, Victorian fashion, Alexander Mcqueen, cinematography, and Ben Whishaw. I mourn the death of daydreams with books. Happy reading.

Stress relief procedure for college applications:
1) Bake delicious lemon-cream-cheese cupcakes
2) carefully pipe out ‘Fuck’ in chocolate ten times
3) set your letters atop your cupcakes and literally eat your feelings
4) bring five boxes of said cupcakes to class with you to share the misery
5) Cry.
I’m so sorry to whoever’s picture this is!!!!!!!! I found it on my desktop and i have no idea where/when it’s from, but I can’t stop laughing…

I’m so sorry to whoever’s picture this is!!!!!!!! I found it on my desktop and i have no idea where/when it’s from, but I can’t stop laughing…

So….I may or may not have gotten really annoyed with college applications and cut up all the brochures they sent me to make this….maybe.

Fuck, I promise….last teen angst post…(goes and hides in a corner)

Would pride allow us:
-Diana Cadello

Please, please, please,
We beg you,
Be there for us.
When we finally realize
That our parents are not gods,
That we care about things desperately,
When we’re drowning
And the bubbles are bursting one
By one,
Be there for us.
Don’t try to fix us –
Just be there for us.
Please don’t forget what we stand to loose
And what we stand to gain.
Please don’t brand us unreasonable;
Don’t disregard our pain
As though you never felt it,
As though you never stayed up all night
With a blanket curled around your shoulders–
Lights out –
Glistening tracks down your face,
Still trying to understand why you’re crying.
Don’t act as though you were never lost,
Never wiped the tears away only to find the thought of another day
Pretending you’re not held together by willpower,
Hello-kitty bandages,
And a broken smile,
Is too much to face.
Be there for us.
Our problems may not come with numbers
You can pick apart;
They may not come with scars
You can x-ray and diagnose,
But they come with pain.
The pain of needles on your skin
And the pain of loathing and uncertainty
As you drive them in.
You may not remember
What it felt like to find the world is not kind,
Does not love you,
That your dreams
Are a dime a dozen.
You may not remember
Precisely when you gave up on
Prince charming
And a palace
And a happily ever after.
But please,
Remember that
It is real,
We are hurting and lost and defiant and
It is real.
It hurts and keeps on hurting.
And every time you tell us to ‘grow up,’
We have another apology to make,
Another bruise to heal,
As our world crumbles down around us
And we tear apart our own certainties,
Our hands bruised and broken and shivering.
It hurts,
Wondering how we shall ever
Build ourselves up without you
To keep us steady,
To keep us sure,
To keep us loved.
Be there for us.
Respect us in our ignorance,
Our doubts,
Our obsessions like fireflies
To show us we are people in our own right;
Don’t try to fix us,
But be there for us
As we pick up the pieces and
Find our own ways to put them back together,
Find our own ways to walk again,
To run,
To persevere,
To love.
Be there for us,
And convince us
The person we’re struggling to build
Is worth more than the person we’ve left behind.

Soooooo….just finished His Last Vow. I haven’t read the original stories in a while, so my memory’s fuzzy, but I did just finish Laurie R. King’s adaptations and…..well. Did Mark Gatiss just steal half the episode from her? Or am I crazy?

I am a teenage writer who would like someone to write with online/critique/discuss writing stuff with. My favorite authors are Neil Gaimen, David Mitchell, Tolkien, Conan Doyle, among many. Please do message me if you’re interested.

Every story needs a good, old-fashioned villain. That’s all I am. My own villain.

Faery-tales versus Fairy Tales

It’s the anti-fairy-tales I like now - the James Bond stories. Irene Adler in Sherlock - where nothing’s really good in the traditional sense, but there’s something of a fairy-tale in there somewhere. Something of impossible loveliness we crave.
When I was little - hell, even a few years ago - the stories I read had sappy plots where the girl got the boy and the curtain fell on a white wedding. Now, though, after far too long of looking far too hard at humanity and coming up lacking, my view of life has changed. Instead of trying to convince myself that fairy-tales can exist in the real word, I find myself trying to believe that the things faery-tales stand for - love, adventure, luck, beauty - can exist in a world where the fairy-tales themselves are impossible.
Both view are equally difficult to justify, both can hurt just as much, and in a way I suppose I could give them neat little names: Optimism and pessimism. Either way, for anyone else who’s having trouble believing that there’s a prince out there waiting for you, it may be easier to imagine that you can be happy without a prince. That you don’t need perfection to love.

The Existential Crisis: AKA-Teenage Angst or the Unacknowledged Mid-Life Crisis. A Summary.

This is when you reilize your heros are human. And it hurts, because then you have to admit that this is all there is for you. Humanity. And who wants to limit themselves to that? The pain. The suffering. The wars we fight over greed and selfishness.
Every day we are taught that we should be good people, but we are never told what that is. Perhaps because they don’t exist? Because there is no separation? Because there is just humans, good and evil and loving and cruel? Because every hero has a dark side, even if we don’t want to admit it. Because sometimes we applaud evil - sometimes we applaud slaughter (war) and terror (revolutions) and torture (pressure) - and sometimes we condemn good - love (heartbreak), passion (starving artists), caring (weakness). So what, then, is living? How can we live if our highest point may be hell? If, in the end, there may be no difference between the two? If the world is as we perceive it, and good and evil nothing but illusions we would be fools to trust in?
I suppose, then, living must be the process of shaping for yourself a ‘humanity’ you can bear to be a part of.
And this realization is perhaps the greatest tragedy of all. The loss of innocence.
It is what society calls adolescence. Depression. Teenage Angst.
It is what I call the mid-life crisis everyone ignores. Pain of the sort that is so strong it defines you. paralyzing. Hopeless. And, because that is what I have been taught, it is also nothing to worry myself over. ‘Depression,’ as people jokingly say, is just ‘all in your head.’ It’s funny, how people seem to think it’s easier to deal with if it’s not real. How do you kill an idea? Especially if part of you doesn’t want to?
Only the weak, the mentally unstable, the Failures fall prey to depression, to something no one can see.
This, then, is the teenage condition. Forever isolated by the social lie that their feelings are insignificant, their pain - perhaps the worst cross humanity has to bear - simply a display of their own weakness.
Has society so repressed the terrifying revelations of the teenage mind - have past generations blinded themselves so thoroughly - that we refuse to even acknowledge that the loss of innocence is a tragedy? Are teenagers considered immoral because we dare open our eyes and realize how futile it all is?
Oscar Wilde wrote that the books the world calls immoral are those that show the word its own shame.
We are the shame of the world. Until we close our eyes again.