You tell your therapist you’re exhausted and he says you’ve gotta strike while you’re hot. You tell a friend you’re just tired, and they say, isn’t this what you wanted. It takes a minute for it to sink in. You’re not allowed to complain anymore. It’s the first thing you learn. You’re in the bubble now. Your bubble. The bubble. You don’t like bubbles.
No asks. Just a thank you for the most clear and devastating description of the way fame (however it comes) objectifies, dehumanizes, and traumatizes. No one asks for this.
Ugh…. It’s not malice though, is it? The price of being published? You laid yourself bare on the pages and now everyone “knows you.” Or, thinks they do. Your stories, compelling and honest - changing the names to protect the innocent and the guilty, but not protecting you. Opening you up - public. And you, you try to remain private. Aware of what you need.
I don’t know you - I know your stories. I know your words. Even here, what right do I have to comment? This is your space. I’m nothing more than a stranger in the ether. Still, I think I get it. And because of that, I respond - sending light and gratitude. Grateful that I too, live alone with my dog, in a community.
Fuck. I just told someone that if I could start over I'd use a pseudonym and never share personal info. (I guess that is impossible with nonfiction when the haters are trying to discredit you )
But yeah. I've experienced maybe 1% of the shit you have and I can't even imagine.
But I'll never ask you for shit except to pet Woody. I was gonna text last week but we both hate texts. Twitter sucks so bad I'm fucking texting people now.
I'm sorry, Lauren. You didn't ask for this or deserve it.
I love you, in a safe way, from the before times, just as you are, and need nothing from you. The end. PS I smile when I think of you because you are dear.
"They'll fucking consume you and call it a favor". You are not a commodity. You're a writer with a very clear voice that a lot of people are grateful for.
Dude. Sincerely hope you never read comments. But, this blog basically confirms exactly what I'd imagined the bubble must be like. Fuck, dude. Sending you good vibes and good weed.
No asks. Just a thank you for the most clear and devastating description of the way fame (however it comes) objectifies, dehumanizes, and traumatizes. No one asks for this.
I'm glad you have Woody.
Ugh…. It’s not malice though, is it? The price of being published? You laid yourself bare on the pages and now everyone “knows you.” Or, thinks they do. Your stories, compelling and honest - changing the names to protect the innocent and the guilty, but not protecting you. Opening you up - public. And you, you try to remain private. Aware of what you need.
I don’t know you - I know your stories. I know your words. Even here, what right do I have to comment? This is your space. I’m nothing more than a stranger in the ether. Still, I think I get it. And because of that, I respond - sending light and gratitude. Grateful that I too, live alone with my dog, in a community.
Fuck. I just told someone that if I could start over I'd use a pseudonym and never share personal info. (I guess that is impossible with nonfiction when the haters are trying to discredit you )
But yeah. I've experienced maybe 1% of the shit you have and I can't even imagine.
But I'll never ask you for shit except to pet Woody. I was gonna text last week but we both hate texts. Twitter sucks so bad I'm fucking texting people now.
I'm sorry, Lauren. You didn't ask for this or deserve it.
Excellent piece. Sorry it's like that -- we ought to all have better manners but sadly we mostly don't. May you find balance and keep it.
This is incredible writing & also I hate your therapist.
I love you, in a safe way, from the before times, just as you are, and need nothing from you. The end. PS I smile when I think of you because you are dear.
Fuck the bubble.
I would hug you if that's something you'd want.
"They'll fucking consume you and call it a favor". You are not a commodity. You're a writer with a very clear voice that a lot of people are grateful for.
This piece is So fucking real, powerful, incredible. Thank you.
“Something like a trophy.” Brilliant.
Feels like you're channeling John Lennon . . . ♥️
Dude. Sincerely hope you never read comments. But, this blog basically confirms exactly what I'd imagined the bubble must be like. Fuck, dude. Sending you good vibes and good weed.
You have an amazing talent with words.
No wonder you’re exhausted!