For a long time it's just been me, my art, and my meds. But that was before my classmate Alfred dragged me to a coffee shop. That was before I talked to the anons. That was before the muddy waters of my depression started to clear.


1. Fog

I love your art!

OMG your art is so good!

Lol this is kind of weird but I think you’re really awesome. Keep on drawing!

I love this blog!

I want to met you, but I won’t be what you expect. You’ll be expecting some hipster with an art aesthetic. You know, bonsai trees on the windowsills and annotated poetry.  Not a post-depression screwup jacked on meds, somebody who hides scars under long sleeves. It was a miracle I actually got into somewhere as good as Himayura University, where one of your roommates majors in Psychology and the other’s going to be a sergeant in the army, and you’re probably the black sheep.

You’re probably done with this by now. I don’t blame you, everyone hates those depressed painter vibes.

That’s me, basically. I take classes that marginally interest me and manage to not fail them, and devote the rest of my time trying to make something of this Novocaine fog. I hate these meds so much, but without them I’ll be drowning myself in the bathtub, leaving Yao to find my cold, dead body.

Sorry. Is it too early to make morbid jokes?

Right now, the only thing keeping me from doing just that is my art. Someone in this world logs onto Tumblr every fucking day to admire my art blog, and I just don’t have the heart to kill myself if I’m making someone that happy.

These anons are saints, I swear. They make me devote my life to making work after work, pouring it into this endless digital void where it’ll rot until the end of time.

So I just posted one of my newer works, black cranes against a grayscale scene of Hiroshima’s ground zero. The anons are already flowing in.

everything u draw is so pretty! keep up the good work!! ;)

One of them always ends their message with a winky face… Though it seems like he or she forgot to anonymize it. Judging from his url, wait, no, and from the first picture on his blog he’s a porn guy. Those blogs are like public workers. You know they exist and you’ve seen them before, but you’ve never actually interacted with one.

But well, when you do, you treat them like anybody else, and tell him his cover’s blown.

So, uhh… IM? His url’s American-Beauty...

Thanks, that’s really sweet of you.

I tap the keys lightly. Should I tell him he didn’t anon it? Would he take that as me not, like, appreciating him or something? Would it be sort of stalkerish? This is so not what I’m force feeding myself antidepressants for... Questions like these should be for happy assholes who would probably find the cure to cancer or something... Like Gilbert. Wait, no he's already on his way to being a sergeant... That cheerful Indian dude, then.

Oh, screw it. Keep it simple, dumbass.

He replies a few minutes later.

wait wat do i know u??

oh yeah sorry youre the art blogger i follow. how did u find my url i anon my stuff

Now that I think about it, he seems like one of those guys who are either really clueless or really funny.

You forgot to anon your last ask thing. That was really nice of you.

I read it over and quickly type out some sort of clarification. What if he takes it the wrong way and thinks I'm some perv?

The supportive comment I mean.

This is really nerve-wracking. I don’t really talk to anyone unless I personally know them…

Oh, yeah, what should I call you?

It’s all a huge glob of socially anxious text. This is why I hate my life.

lol it’s fine i don't really talk to anyone here either. youre welcome

call me ame or something idc


He's really sunny... The kind of guy that everyone would smile at. Almost everyone, I haven't done so in a long time.

Yao, my roommate, walks over and whacks my head. "Aiya, the screen's bad for your eyes. Stop it."

"You're not my mom."

He nudges my head "I'm like your impromptu therapist."

"Not really..."

He kind of growls, in a frustrated sort of way. "Just... Do you want to go somewhere? Gilbert's bringing people over."

I live in a triple. Gilbert's the other roommate, and the most obnoxious German albino on the face of the earth. He'll insist that he's Prussian and drink the hell out of everyone on any given day. But then again... I really don't want to go out. Besides, I can probably sleep through it... I feel kind of tired.

I wave off Yao. "I can sleep it through. Or if not, I'll chew him out. Calligraphy pen blazing and all that."

"Alright then. Your choice."

He leaves and I flop onto my unmade bed. No point in making it look nice if I'm just going to mess it up again. I don't change, sweatpants and a Mechanical Poet hoodie are comfy enough. Instead, I burrow into my sheets. Don't wake me up, you little fuckers.

 A few hours later, or maybe only minutes, Gilbert busted through the door with a bunch of his friends in tow. I blink the sleepiness from my eyes and grope for my glasses. He better not smash whiskey bottles this time... I can hear him and his friends screwing around.

I hear the sound of breaking glass "Dude, that was the only bottle of vodka!"

Okay, now that's a total sin. Nobody wastes precious, cheap-ass vodka. I stand up and adjust my shirt collar, even though I already have my neck covered in bandages, which they're probably completely aware of as of now. I open the door and am greeted by the sight of a fairly drunk Gilbert balancing a couple bottles of alcohol, his friends trying to clean up the mess. I've seen the blonde one before... I think he's in my Astronomy class.

I'm too tired to deal with this shit... "Keep it the fuck down... I'm trying to sleep..."

 Last night didn't really work out that well. Gilbert and his buddies wouldn't shut up, so I basically lied in bed pondering the reason for my existence.

Yao made some rice porridge or another for breakfast, he's like a mother hen or something. He was all like 'You should have some food', but I never have breakfast. I haven't since I was able walk out the door first in mostly black, long-sleeved clothing. Because life is too much of a bitch and I really don't care anymore. But Yao won't stop trying to help my depression. He's trying, a lot, and I guess that should be appreciated, but I just want to wait in this depressive fog until it comes crashing down and I hurl myself off the Doitsuist cathedral.

No, I'm not serious. Not now at least.

Astronomy is in the Arts & Sciences building. I usually sit in the back and doodle, letting all those facts bounce off my head and then borrow notes from the guy next to me. The stories are kind of cool, though. It's nice to hear that some people had really fucking screwed up lives. I'm not alone.

But today is sort of weird. This blonde guy on the other side of the room keeps staring at me. It's Gilbert's friend. Yes, I'm fucking emo, okay? Stop looking at me like some live specimen. I don't know, maybe he'll tell him stories of me taking naps in here or something.

"All right, guys. Don't forget you'll be tested on this tomorrow. Bye!"

Maybe if I go talk to him he'll stop looking at me weird. Besides, I need to copy someone's notes, I want to keep this straight B- average.

The blonde guy walked up to me and nudged my shoulder "Hey man, you seem pretty cool. Wanna go get coffee or something?"

"... If you're paying."

He grins "Awesome. The name's Alfred F. Jones. Now, what's your opinion on Starbucks?"

"I'm not a coffee person. My roommate makes some pretty good bubble tea, though." I should have brought my earbuds, this is really awkward. "Can I copy your notes?"

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