One thing you should know about me as soon as possible is that I study profiles very seriously in order to find out interesting facts about strangers.

(I'm a creep, yes.)

And generally, people don't care much about the author but I do, I care loads. I care too much. I look up to them like they're shining stars and I'm a worm wriggling about on the ground, simply wishing I had the ability to glide upwards into the inky night-sky, reach out and grab a bit of that beautiful stardust and make myself shimmer like a star, too.

(On second thoughts, that'd just make me a glow worm...)

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that hardly anyone actually reads profiles, so if you're like me and you're actually reading this you're a wonderful little anomaly. Plus, you’re like me. Ooh, what an honour.

'Obsidianightmares'? Meh, you can call me that. I'd prefer it if you didn't.

As for the name, it's Chimizu. Is that my real name? No. Will I tell you my real name? No. You can call me whatever you want to. Ideally, of course, you should call me Chimizu.

(Some subtle warnings: Call me 'woman' and I won't be nice. Call me 'missy' and I swear to god you're dead to me.)

Okay, um, basics - Indian, Taurus, INTP, Slytherin, science nerd (and proud), basketballer extraordinaire (somewhat).

I have voices in my head that are constantly arguing and it’s kind of weird because I can hear them really clearly? And I argue with my own imagination a lot (my imagination’s name is P and P’s genderless), and LOUDLY, so people stare sometimes but it’s normal, non? All right, maybe not too normal but it’s certainly not weird. Life interferes 90% of the time and I just want it to leave me the fuck alone (excuse my unnecessary profanity) but it doesn’t and quite often it somehow manages to keep my fingers away from the keyboard for weeks. I cannot help it. I don’t own my life, it owns me (despite the fact that it’s bloody well supposed to be mine, not vice-versa).

分かってる、分かってるよ。

しょうがない。

that there is only semi-true because we’ll get there, we’ll get there and I guarantee we will. (If we don't get there, then it’s not semi-true, it’s completely true. In that case, feel free to call me, in your own choice of words, a gutless and horrible person who is probably a serial killer with red eyes and a scarred face pretending to be an innocent 17 year old girl fangirling over fictional gay couples on a site chock-full of innocent 17 year old girls fangirling over fictional gay couples who might actually be serial killers with red eyes and scarred faces in reality, who knows?)

I have a lot of unfinished things. I probably won’t finish them.

Oops.

For now, you’ll have to deal with a child whose brain is full of ambivalence and who wants to complete things desperately but maybe that’s the problem: she lacks patience and time and her ideas are getting lost and the voices in her head are arguing relentlessly. Just imagine if they came to life, they’d probably drive her insane (if they aren’t already, maybe they are, she doesn’t know, she feels normal, maybe she is insane, maybe).

But she'll come up with something you know? It's like, one second she's blank and the next second she will be bubbling with ideas and voila! you might just have the next Shakespeare in front of you.

Or not.

Just keep reading, love.

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Update: I don't know what to do. A lot of the things up there are lies. I'm thinking of starting over, hopefully with the truth this time. I'm so sorry. I mean this. By December 16, I think you'll know the truth. By December 16, things will change. By December 16, your entire perception of me will be different and I'll have moved to a separate account but for now you'll just have to wait, until December 16. See you then; I'm so sorry. (November 30, 2014)