The Disastrous Emancipation of a Teen Named Ravynn Gall

Ok, so to begin the day, I feel fucked. As always, 24/7. Let me just let everyone in on a big secret: school sucks and it won’t get much better.

I’m a big Dungeons & Dragons fan, if that matters, and I love anime. Let’s get the basics you need to memorize down: homosexual androsexual homoramantic androromantic, D&D, anime, I hear voices, I’m often subject to unentitled anger, and everyone makes me wanna break down, but it’s mostly the voices in my head.

My parents, at a young age, were not very supportive of my mental health. I said I heard voices and they asked if I was trying to fit in. Yeah, totally. Hearing voices makes you fit out. As if life as a teenager weren’t already sunshine and daisies, of course I want to inform everyone that I’ve imagined you injured countless times. And I’m not being gruesome. Mental health disorders are a real thing.

Now, back to mom and dad. My mom let me get a therapist in middle school. I said I heard voices and was classified as “vivid imagination”. Ok, but should 11 year olds be seeing gruesome disasters? Now, to confirm, I’m actually now 20.

Now, later, when I turn 16, I beg my mom to finally let me see another shrink. After seeing said shrink I lie to said shrinky dink and never tell him I saw him dying in my head throughout multiple therapy sessions, and that I talk to myself and probably have a mild case of split personality and probably a lot of anger issues. After my ex finally got me to go to a mental asylum (stress center)last year, and breaking down and telling them I hear voices, see images of bloody dead bodies, talk to myself, have anger issues, and that I was mostly sent by my ex, Nikolas Rester (he’s good at heart, but honestly fuck that guy), I was diagnosed risperidone, a bipolar/schizophrenia medication which basically dampens my emotions, helps with voices (mostly), and puts me to sleep (to be taken before sleep).The funny thing is, after telling them everything my shrink and apparently two or three other shrinks still have no diagnosis for me.

Basically put, I am self-diagnosed as a “special case”, and also because my shrinks say so. In other words, I’m that jealous boyfriend who is jealous because the voices tell me to be, and I, a self-diagnosed dumbass, and also skeptic, refuse to trust people.

Let’s just say my parents were the beginning of it. Refusing to let me have medication or treatment. Luckily my mother approved of my risperidone. With me and my father, we basically rarely associate. I love him, don’t get me wrong, but honestly I feel awkward around him. I’m a mother’s boy. I literally would go ask my mom to play video games because I knew she would be less likely to say no. That’s one benefit of being an adult: I still live with my parents, but at least I get video game freedoms.

Now, the other reason for my traumas? Did I mention my hookups on Grindr that went nowhere and my shitty exes? My old bones in the closet? Of course not, but let’s be honest: everyone loves the juicy details. Let’s be really honest about some shit. I lost track of the amount of bad hookups I’ve had. Some were later friends, and luckily one exchanged weed and edibles (my favorite hookup if I were to be honest).

I tried dating men my age. Gen Z’s are honestly the worst. Cheating, lying, immature, doesn’t have a job, texts his ex still, still has nudes of his ex; I broke up with one guy because he wouldn’t let me give him blowjobs, and one guy who didn’t like rimjobs. I stooped low, as some may say, or as I say, I had high standards and, personally, if you want my honesty, you’re not worth it if you’re not in it for the long run.

But let’s get down to the actual hard facts. Some may hate me for this, but I decided to look for mates… elsewhere. Outside my generational area, outside my loophole; basically I was looking to what I’d honestly always been attracted to: maturity. If you want my type, it’s not tall, blonde, and muscular. My type is bear, hairy, jealous, loving, cuddly, dad bods. Shout out to my high school, since it gave me my taste in men, and yes, by that I mean teachers.

In middle school, I was inspired to write because of a crush. Ok, that might sound weird, but in all honesty it’s not a bad reason. Everyone needs their driving force. Learn the laws of physics, dweeb.

I was crushing on my teacher, as we all did in his class. Everyone liked him. Now, just so that I don’t have to name name’s, let’s call him Russel. Mr. Crowe was a very nice and intelligent man. I enjoyed every day of middle school because I got to see him. But let’s save the details for a bit later. If I’m having write a full autobiography I will start with my trauma (part one of many)when I want to relive my trauma. And lucky for you that means you’ll be learning everything soon enough!

So, my tale begins in middle school. And away we go! Beam me up Scotty and all that shit.