Streaming on Twitch

If you ever want to stream on twitch, and if you want at least one person in your stream, make sure you offer help in a game or you’re attractive. Skill seems to be a very small part in it, to be honest. Unless you’re already known and start streaming, it doesn’t really matter.

I stream. I’ll stream for hours. I get a few viewers here and there. I’m stepping up my game though. I realize what it takes, and I’m going to do it. I’m going to “fake it until I make it”.

My Twitch

Crime Scene Investigator: Step One is Completed

I didn’t think I could find something I wanted to do as much as I wanted to be a Marine back in high school. This isn’t quite at that level, but it’s very close.

For a while I’ve been trying to think of something I could do after getting my schooling finished. A lot of things have come to mind, and they end up being much too far to reach. That was until I thought of something that seemed so obvious. A crime scene investigator.

I don’t watch TV often, but when I do I’m watching Investigation Discovery. My favorite YouTuber is Rob Dyke. I love digging as deep as I can into… deep web stories, rumors, videos, and anything else I can scrounge up. Gore does not bother me. Blood doesn’t make me sick. I’m very good with detail, and I notice things most people wouldn’t. So why not reach for being a crime scene investigator?

Childhood Memory: Drawing in the Dead of Night

The snow was falling thick outside. I was in my room in the open basement. Orange Halloween lights illuminated the room, and the song Overburden by Disturbed was softly playing. A pile of blankets and pillows were pushed up against my dresser. My walls were white with drawing I had done on them. My bed was a mattress. I was covered with a thick blanket and drawing Anime.

Everyone was sleeping and it was in the dead of night. It was calm, and relaxing. My hand guided the pencil across the paper, forming the head, body, and details of the character. I was happy. I was content.

Childhood Memories: Winter 2007

The sun is hidden behind clouds, and the air is cool and crisp. The trees around me are without their leaves, and the ground is frozen. The stream is frozen over. I walk to the stream, and lay down on the thick ice.

I look up into the sky as snow beings to fall. They grey clouds making the tops of the trees look surreal. Snow softly lands on my face, and I close my eyes. I take in steady, unchanging breaths, and I listen.

It’s quiet. Cold, but not too cold. The ice chills me, but not in an uncomfortable way. I am alone with my thoughts, energies, and myself. I am happy.

Just thoughts about my life…

My life wasn’t roses and chocolate. Things happened that should have never happened. Some things happened because of my choices I made, and other things happened because of choices that were made that weren’t my own. I’ve put any hard feelings I have about any of this behind me. That doesn’t mean I don’t remember any of it.

Some of the things I witnessed, went through, and had happen to me I still don’t feel okay talking about with people. That’s mainly to do with knowing people won’t believe me. It’s also majorly because talking about it won’t change that it happened. I can’t go back and change it by telling someone about it.

Talking about the ramifications of moving around a lot in my life isn’t going to change the fact it happened. Talking about the abuse, poverty, and people from my past isn’t going to change it.

I don’t know. There’s a lot of things I want to write about that have happened. There are dark shadows that still whisper about horrid events that happened in my life. There are still secrets I hold close, that no one on this planet knows about. They’re not documented on paper, video, or lost in a document somewhere online. I have things I just can’t talk about. I have things I know I shouldn’t talk about to avoid later issues.

I have regrets too. I have a lot of regrets. Things I will never change that still haunt me, souring my soul every time I’m left alone at night with my own thoughts.

I have a few good memories stored in my mind, but most of them are from 2003 – 2005. Before that they’re rare, and after that they’re even rarer.

I Miss My…. Home?

I miss New Hampshire. I miss it a lot. I miss it everyday, actually. I miss driving through the mountains, hiking on trails, off trails, and up streams. I miss the clean hair, and the cool summer nights. I living in a town that was so small everything was within walking distance. I miss my old town that was in a valley between mountains. I miss the rain storms. I even miss the deep snow that fell while I was there.


Saying goodbye was the hardest thing I think I’ve done, and the one of the things I regret doing the most. I was in a paradise, and I left it. I didn’t have to, but I did. Now I’m stuck in Indiana. Indiana has it’s beautiful spots scattered around that are mostly tourist sites. But New Hampshire was beautiful everywhere.


This was a picture from my last week in New Hampshire. My mother-in-law brought me here. That green thing down there is a building. I remember thinking I couldn’t make it to the top. With encouragement from my mother-in-law and my determination I made it to the top of this mountain.

Healthy at any Size. Really?

It’s been a while since I’ve posted something. That’s only because I don’t ramble on aimlessly. At least I hope not.

It’s Labor Day here in the U.S and I’ve been surfing the web for random stuff. I came along this article about being “healthy at any size.” This is something I want to write about. Something I have thoughts that need to be put down somewhere. So this is what I’m going to do on Labor Day in the U.S.

I’m not a 120 pound woman or anything. I’m actually far from being thin. I have weight that I need to lose, and that’s okay. I’m losing the weight, I have a new diet, things are going good with that. I’m just tired of hearing, “You don’t need to lose weight. You can be attractive and healthy at any size.”

Why do people say this? Why do they truly believe this? I mean you can be attractive at any size, but healthy? Really? You can’t be healthy at any size. Just because you weigh (for example) 300 pounds and you don’t have any major health problems, that doesn’t mean you don’t have any minor health problems that could be the beginning of major health problems.

So far every video, every article, every person I’ve talked to who advocated “healthy at any size,” who happen to be overweight cringe when I ask if they have any minor health problems. They tell me they shouldn’t have to justify their lives, their size, their choices, and they become offended and completely blow off the conversation. All over this simple question of, “do you have any minor health problems?”

Healthy is healthy. Period. Done. If you have any health problems related to your weight you are not healthy. I’m lucky enough that I haven’t reached a weight that would start any major or minor health problems. I just made the choice to ignore this social acceptance bullshit, and actually started to lose weight. Why? Because I paid attention in health class in middle school. Because I’m not delusional enough to think there really isn’t any threat to being overweight.

Some people just truly like the size that they are, they enjoy being overweight, they love their bodies, and I’m okay with that. I don’t know why I wouldn’t be. But just like they don’t want to hear about the health risks, I don’t want to hear about how the health risks doesn’t exist. I don’t want to hear, “but you don’t need to lose weight to look good,” after announcing I lost 5 pounds. Period.

My Little Ray of Light


This is my dog Rocky. He’s like a little ray of light in my life. We got him from a shelter, but he’s now my therapy dog. I take him everywhere I can. He’s so sweet and gentle and brings out the best in me.

Before I got him I was almost always in a bad mood, I was always lonely, and I always felt… off… Even on my meds. Now, I go outside. I used to never do that. I run as well now. I’m starting to draw again as well. I haven’t actually sat down to draw for pleasure since 2007. I’ve drawn since then, but it was just because I wanted to show off.

I’m writing short stories again too. They’re not just horror and erotica either. I mean, I still write horror and erotica, but I’ll write other things as well. Love stories that don’t involve sex, short stories about some kind of animal’s adventure for the day, and more.

I don’t listen to depressing music any more either. I’ll put on some happy 60’s and 70’s music and dance in the living room holding Rocky. He’s always with me, snuggling me, or giving me little kisses on my face. He truly is a ray of light in my life.

Have you ever actually thought about Black Lives Matter?

So according to BLM activists white people have no clue about the struggles of black people. Okay. I can except this. It’s just like saying someone without male genitalia doesn’t know what it’s like to get kicked in the nuts. It’s a valid point.

What I don’t get is how they say whites don’t understand in any way and can’t understand. Yet they want them to gather in the streets with them and protest and riot over issues they don’t understand. They want white people to blindly follow their mindless and unorganized “movement”, and some white people have. There are some white people who are convinced they are racist no matter what they do because of some made up definition of racism that’s only generally similar among those who believe in it; systematic racism. This definition came along when some read the actual definition of racism.

the belief that all members of each race possess characteristics or abilities specific to that race, especially so as to distinguish it as inferior or superior to another race or races.

They took from this definition and picked the things they liked. Things like “… inferior or superior to another race or races,” and ran with that for a while. They later built onto it that this meant the race is oppressed. They took that connection and morphed it, somehow, into the race being oppressed ever. Now the definition runs along the lines of, “people who were never oppressed in history are racist.”

You have a bunch of nimrods of every race joining the BLM “movement” that doesn’t ever question or challenge anything about it because they fear being called racist. They fear being called racist because their idea of racist is an ignorant and hateful person. They’re being made to believe it’s that, but are given a different definition. They, in the end, end up believing more than one definition of racism and don’t even realize that’s what they’re doing. Why? Because if they challenge or question anything related to BLM they’re a racist.

Yes, there are a lot of stupid people who take part in the BLM “movement”, but there are obviously smarter people putting ideas in people’s heads. Smarter people we never actually seen or heard but wave their asses right in our faces. BLM is an army of sheep lead by lions. I wouldn’t underestimate the kind of damage BLM could do.

You have people in BLM saying things like this…


Yet they aren’t considered a “hate group.” BLM convinces their sheep that they are not real members of BLM. The sheep believe this without having the simple realization that BLM isn’t a club. We have powerful and influential people promoting BLM without grasping exactly what it is. We have people protesting things that aren’t actually as bad as they think they are. We have people angry about things that happened in the past that no one can change or help happened, and they’re being encouraged.

We need to ask ourselves. Who’s really the ringleader to this BLM circus?


I was told I could be a Marine…

Do your kid, or any kid, a favor. If you know they have limitations thay will stop them from doing something no matter how hard they work, don’t tell them they can still do it. It messes them up when they finally realize they can’t do it and there’s nothing they can do to change that.

In 2008 I decided that I wanted to be in the military. Everyone told me that I could do it. They entertained the idea. The encouraged me. Some didn’t know I was unable to be in the military, so I understand why they encouraged me. Others, however, knew I had no chance in hell. Yet they still encouraged it.

I was convinced that I could do it, I was going to do it, and nothing was going to stop me. For four and a half years I worked for it. I did more than what I had to in school, I worked out all of the time, I asked the recruiters so many questions I’m sure they were driven nuts. I talked to soldiers who weren’t recruiters. I watched the Military Channel religiously. I had vets give me old handbooks from basic training, and soldiers who were still actively in gave me handbooks. I knew as much as I could know, I was in top physical shape, I had great grades in school, and I was ready to go. I did this for four years.

It wasn’t until my Sr. year in high school that I got the killing blow. I go in with a big smile and I was ready to join. I was asked, “do you have any mental or physical health history we need to know about?”

I froze. What did he mean? Did he need to know everything? So I asked, “like what?”

He gave examples and it was the mental illness one that stopped me in my tracks. I did. He could tell by the look on my face that I did. He then added, “I only know what you tell me. But if they find out later you lied you could get into some trouble.”

I wanted to join the military more than I needed to breath air. My dream of being a Marine kept me going for the past four years before this moment. Through moving several times, bullying, unspeakable drama, and more it kept me going. The goal of being a Marine made me feel normal for the first time in my life. My moods were stable, I wasn’t depressed all of the time, I was focused, I was driven, I was… normal. I didn’t, however, want to ruin my life if it was found out that I lied. I knew it would be very easy for the military to find out I lied too… So I told the truth.

I had had the same recruiter for the four years I was in high school. He was a big influence in my life, and great friend, and I will never forget the silence between us after I told him my mental history. I didn’t go into detail, just my diagnosis. I knew he knew this before asking too. I think he was hoping I would lie so he wouldn’t have to be the one to tell me that I was disqualified from joining the military.

That was how I found out that I couldn’t do anything I wanted to do. Alone, with my recruiter and friend, in the recruiting office, having my whole hopes and dreams, my fully planed future shattered in an instant. Four years of preparation and time wasted in less than ten seconds.

That kind of thing changes a person. It has made me double guess everything I want to do. The only thing I have been able to think of doing that creates a fire in my heart like being a Marine did is being an astronomer, and that will never happen. I know it won’t. Even if I were to try, and do my best, and try my hardest it would never happen. Now I’m stuck with settling for things I don’t really care for but find interesting.

So if you know a kid can’t do something because of something they can’t change, don’t encourage their dream. Let them dream, but help the broaden their horizons. I’m not saying if there is a slim possibility they can do it to not encourage them. I’m saying if there is 0% chance that they could ever do for whatever reason, don’t encourage it. If they don’t listen, be there when the pieces fall apart, and be patient when they try to find something else to do.