Damn it all to hell.

(Trigger warnings: self-harm, depression, suicide, bullying, dark side of fandom.)

This is a really difficult post for me to write because of the content matter… but also because I am not as involved in day-to-day fandom as I once was. I read fic on my Kindle before bed, not interacting with anyone, and my Tumblr use is limited to the occasional dashboard scroll/reblogging and to clicking on links my friends send me. So by the time I see that something is happening in fandom, it has been happening, and I usually do not feel remotely qualified to comment on anything.

But today is different.

Over the past few days, I have seen rumblings on Twitter about things getting really ugly in Supernatural (SPN) fandom on Tumblr. Due to the work of the loud few, I have found that SPN fandom has made me feel unsafe even as a bystander–too many personal attacks over things as inconsequential as ship wars–so I have distanced myself from it in general. Heeding the trigger warnings that accompanied many of the posts retweeted in my Twitter timeline, I have stayed away from whatever’s been going on. But today, the tweets increased in desperation and despair… so I clicked.

And holy crap, is this awful.

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Because your memory is already a blessing…

…I sit here with my heart in my hand and tears in my eyes… but I can’t cry. The tears will come, but they will not fall… and still I ache every time I hear your name.

We were not close, I know, so I know that there are others who feel your passing much more acutely than I do. But I still remember your smile, and the kindness you showed the uncomfortable, insecure girl I was in front of you. I remember the pride in your face as your children ran around us after hours at the ballroom. I remember the looks you and your wife stole when you thought no one was looking. I remember your laugh as you joked with the other guys while you worked… I am hard-pressed to remember a time where your face was not lit up with a smile.

And every time I remember that you’re gone, I ache.

I do not know how you left this world, only that you have, and it breaks my heart to know that your four children lost their father so close to Christmas. But I know that you will be watching over them, and over the team, and over all of us who had the great privilege of knowing you in any way.

Rest in peace, sir.