* welcome to my void, i plan to redesign it at some point, but i had the undertale format lying around and i needed to vent. sidenote- I dont mention any of my friends by name on purpose. I dont wanna cross any boundaries.
* Here's my take on suicide: The appeal of ending ones continued existance comes in two distinct factors.
1. Sweet release.
2. I am forever an angel.
To elaborate, I hypothesize that I, upon my untimely demise, would become an invaluable, almost sanctified character from the perspective of my friends and family. You might ask: What evil bastard would inflict so much pain on their loved ones? And to that I posit: When in the throws of dark despondant isolation, battling suicidal ideation, the last thing that comes to mind is how dearly I'm treasured by those around me. The fact of the matter is that I'm a bit too needy for a 19 year old. Sometimes I feel like I'm 14 again. Yay hormones. HOWEVER! Too long have I allowed my life to be in the hands of others. I must love myself intrinsically, and that must be enough. The initial appeal of being an artist was taking a profession with an invaluable effect. Can we put a price on the works of Van Gogh? No! Doesn't stop us from trying. Astronomical numbers to allow one to possess an original painting. How did we calculate the value? The answer is we didn't. It's a cash grab. The art is so priceless that one must be able to make a buck, from the very real painting they've uncovered behind their Vatican wall. Either way, priceless or not, the world simply wouldn't be the same without Starry Night. So who am I to deprive the world of my great works? What if I have the capacity to be invaluable? I've always felt I needed to be exceptional. Keyword needed. I had to be a star. Otherwise what's the point? How can I be satisfied with being forgettable? Working class citizen? My 3rd grade teacher told me I’m special god dammit! I think this is exactly why I felt afraid to submit to a non artistic college major. Computer science? Psychology? Who's going to remember me for that? Who do we, as a society, remember? Actors, writers, directors, music artists, painters, and so on. Art (alongside family, community, and za) makes life worth living. What do you do at the end of the day? Consume someone else's art, or make your own! Is life worth living if I haven't gifted something immortal to humanity? My instincts tell me no, but my intuition reminds me; yes. Life is always worth living if you can find a way to take pride in yourself. But invaluable art is hard to make. Especially in the big 2026. Art itself is easier to make than ever before, given the technological advancements of the last three decades. But we live in a digital renaissance. There is more art being made and shared with the rest of the world than ever before, thanks to a group of nerds at MIT who wanted to communicate across campus with their fancy new computers. Being an artist, and making art, requires lots of practice and lots of failure. You have to get exceedingly comfortable with the advent of failing. And I'm getting a lot better at that. A lot of times I’ll write a song and hate it the next day. Oh well. A new idea will plant itself in my subconscious in the morning, and sprout to the fore front of my consciousness by lunch. But what if I get tired of it? What if I stop improving? What if I lose the will to fail? If I die, I become a portrait of a person. And in that portrait I am forever flawless. I say all this because over winter break, I spiraled. Hard. And my options narrowed down to two. Down half a gallon of antifreeze, or write music. And Im very bad at writing music. So really my options were between the endless void and writing embarrasing, shitty music with less than 3 chords and an uninspired melody. But Im proud that I took the long way around. Im proud of my lyrics. Im working on a new song now. Im back in school (and psyched about my filmmaking classes). Everything Will Be Alright in the End. Signed, your friend with a negative cognitive bias and an admittedly inflated ego, Brenna(n) Jane Brown. (I changed my middle name again, took it from my grandmother, feels more fitting). (1/15/2026)
1. Sweet release.
2. I am forever an angel.
To elaborate, I hypothesize that I, upon my untimely demise, would become an invaluable, almost sanctified character from the perspective of my friends and family. You might ask: What evil bastard would inflict so much pain on their loved ones? And to that I posit: When in the throws of dark despondant isolation, battling suicidal ideation, the last thing that comes to mind is how dearly I'm treasured by those around me. The fact of the matter is that I'm a bit too needy for a 19 year old. Sometimes I feel like I'm 14 again. Yay hormones. HOWEVER! Too long have I allowed my life to be in the hands of others. I must love myself intrinsically, and that must be enough. The initial appeal of being an artist was taking a profession with an invaluable effect. Can we put a price on the works of Van Gogh? No! Doesn't stop us from trying. Astronomical numbers to allow one to possess an original painting. How did we calculate the value? The answer is we didn't. It's a cash grab. The art is so priceless that one must be able to make a buck, from the very real painting they've uncovered behind their Vatican wall. Either way, priceless or not, the world simply wouldn't be the same without Starry Night. So who am I to deprive the world of my great works? What if I have the capacity to be invaluable? I've always felt I needed to be exceptional. Keyword needed. I had to be a star. Otherwise what's the point? How can I be satisfied with being forgettable? Working class citizen? My 3rd grade teacher told me I’m special god dammit! I think this is exactly why I felt afraid to submit to a non artistic college major. Computer science? Psychology? Who's going to remember me for that? Who do we, as a society, remember? Actors, writers, directors, music artists, painters, and so on. Art (alongside family, community, and za) makes life worth living. What do you do at the end of the day? Consume someone else's art, or make your own! Is life worth living if I haven't gifted something immortal to humanity? My instincts tell me no, but my intuition reminds me; yes. Life is always worth living if you can find a way to take pride in yourself. But invaluable art is hard to make. Especially in the big 2026. Art itself is easier to make than ever before, given the technological advancements of the last three decades. But we live in a digital renaissance. There is more art being made and shared with the rest of the world than ever before, thanks to a group of nerds at MIT who wanted to communicate across campus with their fancy new computers. Being an artist, and making art, requires lots of practice and lots of failure. You have to get exceedingly comfortable with the advent of failing. And I'm getting a lot better at that. A lot of times I’ll write a song and hate it the next day. Oh well. A new idea will plant itself in my subconscious in the morning, and sprout to the fore front of my consciousness by lunch. But what if I get tired of it? What if I stop improving? What if I lose the will to fail? If I die, I become a portrait of a person. And in that portrait I am forever flawless. I say all this because over winter break, I spiraled. Hard. And my options narrowed down to two. Down half a gallon of antifreeze, or write music. And Im very bad at writing music. So really my options were between the endless void and writing embarrasing, shitty music with less than 3 chords and an uninspired melody. But Im proud that I took the long way around. Im proud of my lyrics. Im working on a new song now. Im back in school (and psyched about my filmmaking classes). Everything Will Be Alright in the End. Signed, your friend with a negative cognitive bias and an admittedly inflated ego, Brenna(n) Jane Brown. (I changed my middle name again, took it from my grandmother, feels more fitting). (1/15/2026)
* ‟Dont take 2 gummies and dye your hair pink. We fucked it up so bad and now Im stuck with it for an undetermined amount of time. Ill probably go back to blonde pretty soon, I just dont know when or how. I just look so ridiculous. And like I feel like I cant leave my room unless I look really good cause otherwise Ill look even more ridiculous. Mornings are the worst.“ is what I posted here a week ago. And honestly I was going to delete it. I was embarrased of how dramatic I was being, and that I forgot to leave a timestamp. But I think it brings up a really good conversation: I think Im experiencing my first major mood swings on HRT !!! Honestly I dont know if thats really a thing that happens on HRT, but chemical transitioning is basically just Puberty_2.exe yk what I mean? We′re just running that program again in my late teens early 20s. Its lowkey really scary because my last puberty was really scary and I dont wanna go through that again and like ruin my college years. But I dont think that actually happens. As I was saying about mood swings, I was doing great, like literally every day thinking about how much I loved my life, and then I was rapidly depressed after me and a friend dyed my hair pink and it didnt come out the way I wanted. Like it was IMMEDIATE. I fucking hated my life for 5 days cause I thought I looked ridiculous and I completely forgot about ALL of the amazing things going on for me rn. For 5 days I straight up could not relax cause I felt like ugly ridiculous scum. Like I was walking back to my dorm at night and there were a couple times I was in a parking lot and a car would start coming down the lane and Id dodge and stand behind a car until they were gone. And it wasnt JUST the pink hair that I was worried about, I started questioning EVERYTHING. I was like completely uninterested in leaving the dorm, I skipped classes, my brain was being TRANSPHOBIC to me, CONSTANTLY thinking about how fake, ugly, embarassing, and stupid I was, for thinking I could just transition out of nowhere, and not expect to embarrass myself completely in college. I felt like I was 16 again. Scary shit. Then I tried getting the color out with Color Oops! removal, and when I got out of the shower after 30 MINUTES of trying to wash it out, it was still VERY pink. But I think I reached a breaking point. And I just stopped giving a shit. Randomly, my roomie had me try on one of his beanies, and I fell IN LOVE. Im a beanie girl now. Theres no going back. Like I look SO GOOD and the pink does SO MUCH for the look. I love my pink hair!! The last couple days since have been GREAT. Just awesome days all around. And I feel so good better about myself and I feel so free. I think back on those 5 days and I feel like I was a different fucking PERSON. Like obviously its all me in there, but yk what I mean, right?? So yeah, mood swings. Its crazy cause it wasnt even like anything in my life changed between dying my hair pink, hating it, and falling in love with it. The only thing that changed was me and my perspective on myself. Like why did I take it so hard?? Thats not like me, yk? So anyways Im taking that as a sign that estrogen is WORKING. Also my ass looks like significantly fatter than it was like 9 months ago so its definitely doing SOMETHING :DDDD But yeah lifes good. I love myself and I love my friends!!! (10/24/2025)
* i think im.. ...ok? yeah! im ok! to be perfectly honest, i feel great. life is going so fast right now. like, i havent posted here in a month, and im in a COMPLETELY different headspace. like, WILDLY different. I think friends help. Theres so many cool and awesome people in my life now and they all hype me up sm and its been the best thing for me since I transitioned (besides maybe bangs LOL). I try to tell my friends that I love them because I really do. My friends are my life. I just have so much going for me right now and its just. exhilarating? yeah. Problem: I am NOT used to this feeling. AT ALL. And the moment I feel like I can FINALLY calm down, stop panicking, and just enjoy life- ALL my alarm bells start to blare. WEE OO WEE OO ! What the FUCK am I forgetting?? Its due to a learned response that I developed to counteract my AD(h)D nature. Im just racking my brain trying to anticipate whats going to fuck everything up for me. And my fear response convinces me that none of my friends actually like me, and theyre all going to leave me soon. Or that they dont love me the way I love them. Thats why I try to tell my friends I love them- because its REALLY nice to hear it back. Cause then I can stop freaking out. Anywawys, a few life updates: Im in a band now and Im getting guitar lessons !! YES !!!! My band mates are SO FREAKING COOL and Ive been wanting to get lessons for a HOT MINUTE. Also the guy Im getting lessons from (shoutout to him, hes blowing my mind in lessons and damn good to jam with in the studio), he has a girlfriend and like, from day one, shes been REALLY nice to me and such a genuine, sweet, and supportive person, and I feel like maybe shes the big sister I never had?? (is that crazy???) Idk maybe its just cause shes so fun to talk to, I always get excited to see her and her bf. Im ALSO hosting a radio show !! Listen to my tunes w/ character host Jett Brightman (played by yours truly) from @ 4 pm on Saturdays ! My roommate is the best and hes fucking CRACKED at guitar. I feel like we have a really good bro to sis connection going on rn. I havent watched tiktok or shorts or reels in like two months and its been SO good for me. Sure, I still waste time sometimes, but it isnt unmanageable like it used to be. I have control of myself, my attention, and how I spend my time, and its all thanks to my epic flip phone. I recently downloaded my entire 30GB music library to it and its genuinely a dream come true. I feel so cunty when I end a call and snap it shut >:DD Im involved in a bunch of other stuff too. Collins Arts Council (im the new music coordinator), Type One Society (support group for those with t1 diabetes), game dev @ iu (i go to the meetings where they hang out and talk about video games), and some other stuff. Its CRAZY, theres clubs and groups that I want to be in but I just dont have TIME. But I really like to keep busy. My ex kept me from being involved in any extracurricular activities for a solid two years so its incredible to be involved again. I love college and I love life!! Check back in a week (or a month, who knows) when it all comes crashing down LOL. (9/29/2025)
* i thought coming out as trans would help me feel more normal. which is so wildly backwards in retrospect but its true. i felt so strange before and i didnt feel like i was being myself. at all. now that i'm transitioning, i DO feel like i'm ABSOLUTELY being myself but I feel so vastly far from the people. yk like the zeitgeist. i just feel like i dont fit in. at all. and i recognize thats a normal feeling but its also an incredibly hard feeling. i feel like i need to explain myself to every person who sees me when im walking down the street and the wind blows my bangs out of place. i'm not even joking my bangs did so much for my sense of security its almost comical. i wanna dye my hair again cause the blonde is fading. i'm thinking of going for a ramona flowers red. but back to the bummer feels. i've struggled with feeling like a real person, who belongs, for a LONG time. the feeling kind of dissipated while i was in a relationship but as soon as i was on my own, the feeling of 'otherness' reared its ugly head again. and i hate it. i hate feeling like an alien. like everyone around me is a real person and i'm some sort of alien or 'other' being. i've never described it as a feeling of 'otherness' before now but i really like that. giving a soul crushing life-long ailment a label really helps. now i can talk to my therapist about it!! yippee! i just hate feeling like i need to explain myself to the people around me. i hate wearing pads in my bra every day and wondering if everyone knows they're fake- but i can't go back. if you're reading this and you want to comment on this or talk to me about it just leave a chat in the chat box. unless ur on mobile. then you have to get on your laptop. i should work on that. so much of me just wants to detransition rn. it'd be so easy. but ive come this far and i know i'd be a lot worse off and it'd be the biggest regret of my life- if i just detransitioned to 'fit in'. no one would take me seriously again. and the most important part about transitioning, is that i'm doing this for me; it's not a social tactic. i knew it would be harder to be trans but now im really in it. and i feel gross. all the time. all the goddamn time. i've always felt gross. well, i remember a time when i didn't feel gross. obviously, it was when i was a child. but even then i felt that there was something not right about me. and then i got gross. and i've never felt right again... ..ok: "what an overdramatic, wild simplification of my history with the feeling of otherness" you might be thinking, but sometimes it feels good to be dramatic. and that's why i'm excited for drama class on monday!!!!! check back here in a week (update: more like a month, oops), i'll be back with more #collegelife hahahahahaha (8/20/2025)
* summer vacation: a poem by me
i wake up to the sound of road constrn.
i have no idea what time it is
my mouth tastes like rot
and my skin is hot and wet
the clock reads 8:09 AM
is it really that early?
what would I do so early?
my parents are probably still home
so I rest my head again
the clock reads 9:22 AM
it’s still so early
I have zero plans for the day
I do not wish to bother anyone
so I rest my head again
the clock reads 10:14 AM
I rest my head again
the clock reads 10:25 AM
I rest my head again
the clock reads 10:39 AM
my cat silently leaps onto the bed
and nudges my head on the pillow
my cat is hungry
Low and behold
when the simple truth reveals itself-
that nothing is waiting for me
no expectations are layed before me
and not one person needs to enjoy my presence within the next 24 hours
total and complete freedom is attained.
and with it
the crushing weight of decision:
continue to sleep.
or find something to do.
unfortunately, these days, I don’t often find myself entertained, let alone excited, by most options layed before me, whether that be a lack of patience and emotional stability or a larger discussion about the situation of media and hobby in the modern landscape is irrelevant.
The reality is the same.
i will sleep
or i will be bored.
Low and behold
when push comes to shove
and it's 10:39 AM
and I am contemplating the weightlessness of the day ahead of me
in sweatpants and bed sheets
it takes nothing more
than a hungry cat
to spur me out of bed.
and I am born again.
(8/12/2025)
i wake up to the sound of road constrn.
i have no idea what time it is
my mouth tastes like rot
and my skin is hot and wet
the clock reads 8:09 AM
is it really that early?
what would I do so early?
my parents are probably still home
so I rest my head again
the clock reads 9:22 AM
it’s still so early
I have zero plans for the day
I do not wish to bother anyone
so I rest my head again
the clock reads 10:14 AM
I rest my head again
the clock reads 10:25 AM
I rest my head again
the clock reads 10:39 AM
my cat silently leaps onto the bed
and nudges my head on the pillow
my cat is hungry
Low and behold
when the simple truth reveals itself-
that nothing is waiting for me
no expectations are layed before me
and not one person needs to enjoy my presence within the next 24 hours
total and complete freedom is attained.
and with it
the crushing weight of decision:
continue to sleep.
or find something to do.
unfortunately, these days, I don’t often find myself entertained, let alone excited, by most options layed before me, whether that be a lack of patience and emotional stability or a larger discussion about the situation of media and hobby in the modern landscape is irrelevant.
The reality is the same.
i will sleep
or i will be bored.
Low and behold
when push comes to shove
and it's 10:39 AM
and I am contemplating the weightlessness of the day ahead of me
in sweatpants and bed sheets
it takes nothing more
than a hungry cat
to spur me out of bed.
and I am born again.
(8/12/2025)
* im in a bad place. by the way my apostrophe key isnt working, its not performative. at least ive got my frog mermaid build a bear that i thrifted. So anyway ive got this mental issue right now where i cant enjoy anything because the egos of my mind wont let me. maybe that sounds pretentious idk. but seriously, i feel like i wont let myself enjoy anything because someone out there probably knows better than me and theyre gonna come in and psycho analyze me, and then it turns out im not a big deal, im just a weirdo, my ideals are wrong and nothing matters. so, if im meta enough to know i might be wrong and i continue to not believe that im a good person, then i cant be wrong. right? it doesnt take a genius to know thats not healthy. “I’m not a bad person just because I want to be happy” I have to keep telling myself that until I believe it. (8/3/2025)
* thanks for listening :)