Introspection - Blog Posts

I didn’t need anyone to understand me, I needed to understand myself.

— A. 22.04.2025

Sometimes the most human thing about someone is their inability to feel like a person.

Introspección - Introspection

Acuarela, tinta y acrílico sobre papel Fabriano - Watercolor, ink an acrilycs con Fabriano paper.

50 x 35 cm

2017.

We are a turning point generation. We may not be great, and we may not survive long comparatively, but every generation after us will be affected by our choices now.

Let’s try treat everyday like it’s our last chance to change the future for the better, yeah?

Being a human being is hard

My sister was watching the fifth season of the 2012 Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and imma be real with y’all I forgot how devastating the mutation apocalypse was. That shit was emotional hit after emotional hit. DONNIE BEING A ROBOT?? You’re telling me. This man is now a robot? Like FOREVER???

So you’re saying he’s immortal. He’s going to have to watch all of his brothers die because he’s a freaking machine!?!? WHAT

Safe to say I have some strong emotions on the subject, and what better way to deal with them then whumping Donbot during Whumpay <3

Tw: Suicidal thoughts, and questioning reality

(Side note: one of these days I’ll figure out how to use italics and bold text on Tumblr- cuz this fic has some heavy italics- but today is not that day 🫡)

2,644 days.

7 years, 2 months, and 3 weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since Mira’s death.

His metal feet sunk into the sand, small bits getting stuck in his gears and wiring. He knew he’d have to clean it out later, the process would be long and tedious, requiring high air pressure and rusted tools, but right now he didn’t care.

He’d been alone far too long to care.

Donnie (was he still Donnie?) remembered the others. Their faces. Their voices. He remembered the way things were before the apocalypse.

Before he was metal. (Before his flesh was turned to steel, his veins to wires, his tendons to gears- before he became nothing more than a robot with a conscience.)

He couldn’t remember his own face. What did he look like? He knew he’d been tall, otherwise the metal body wouldn’t be tall. Did he have any scars? Moles? Mikey had freckles. Raph had that crack in his plastron. Leo still had the scuffs from Shredder throwing him through a window. (It was Shredder, right?)

What did he have?

…

He couldn’t remember his voice. He could hear the robotic, automated voice he was programmed with, but it wasn’t his voice. Even though he thought it was genius at the time, it wasn’t his. But it had been expressive, it sounded just enough like Donnie that he’d been happy with it.

He remembered the fear before he died, everything going black before he was looking through eyes that weren’t his own. He remembered.. he remembered his death. (Was it his death?)

Donnie remembered a lot of things. That’s the thing about being a robot, you can’t really forget. He used a data chip big enough to house the entire internet. He still remembered everything like it was yesterday.

Sometimes it still felt like yesterday.

Other times, he was reminded of his agonizing (not agonizing, he couldn’t feel, how could it be agonizing-) existence. Alone in a desert. Everyone he loved, dead. But he was still here.

(Who was he?)

Sometimes he wished he could die like the others, pull out a few wires, melt some circuits and be done.

He knew that wouldn’t work. He’d tried before, and all it did was cause unnecessary pain. (He can’t feel pain, he’s not real, he can’t feel pain-)

Sometimes he didn’t move- he just sat there, watching his memories like a slideshow.

The first day he met April.

The farmhouse.

Going to space.

Casey. His not-quite-friend not-quite-enemy. Someone he should’ve spent more time with, maybe gotten to know a little more. (He would’ve laughed. He spent too much time with him- his skull. It sat on the dashboard for years before Raph blew it up.)

He remembered Splinter. Sensei. Hamato Yoshi. His Father.

He remembered his voice, the way he’d hum when he pretended to be deep in thought. (Was it pretend?) He remembered his whiskers, every life lesson, every training session, every time he showed up when they needed help. He remembered the emergency cheese phone, the rat king, the deaths.

Donnie remembered his hugs. He wished he could feel them again.

(He couldn’t feel anything.)

The sun was blinding, bright and beating down onto his scuffed body, and Donnie walked. He knew the metal was heating up but he couldn’t feel it. He didn’t care.

The antennas twitched on his head, his arms swinging by his sides. Gears whirred, the worn metal groaned and creaked, but he wasn’t dead.

(He wanted to be dead.)

There was something so painfully mundane about his immortality. Days stretched for years but years felt like days. Everything blurred together. The people he’s met, the things he’s done. If he hadn’t installed an internal clock, he would’ve lost time years ago.

…

He missed his brothers.

Yes, he missed Splinter and April and Casey, but his brothers were… they were everything to him. It was them. The four of them. Against the world. They were everything to each other. Their rock. Their shoulder to cry on. Their biggest supporters. Their biggest bullies. They were family. They were each others flesh and blood.

(He wanted desperately to be flesh and blood.)

One by one they had all dropped, each of them passing in their own time.

Mikey had been the first to go. What was it… 15 years ago?

They were all crushed. He was the youngest. The baby of the family, the glue that kept them together, the person who kept a smile on their faces. He shouldn’t have died first.

But he did.

Donnie remembered Raph and Leo the night they found him. They were both crying ugly tears, yet they had been so silent Donnie almost didn’t notice.

They never cried.

They held each other then, giving each other the comfort Donnie couldn’t provide. He remembered sitting there, consumed in his own version of grief but unable to show it. He knew Mikey was gone- that he wasn’t coming back, and it hurt more than anything in the world. But he didn’t feel like it. He couldn’t feel it.

(He just wanted to feel it.)

He did his best to comfort his older brothers but.. there’s only so much to do when your hands are made of metal, and your voice is full of static.

He remembered for a few months how they doted on him. He was the youngest now. Donnie was the baby. Of course they never said it out loud, they didn’t want to take that title from Mikey, but Donnie knew. He knew that’s what they thought.

He didn’t want to be the youngest.

(He didn’t want to be alive.)

Leo had been next. The mutation wasn’t.. optimal for a long life span. It didn’t help that the grief had been suffocating, too much and too prominent with every movement he made. He’d been in a lot of pain before his body finally shut down.

He passed four months after Mikey did.

He remembered Raph the night they found Leo. He didn’t cry, not this time, and he didn’t scream. He was resigned. He’d turned to Donnie and clapped a hand onto his steel shoulder, giving him a grim smile.

“It’s just me and you now, D.”

(Donnie wanted to cry.)

Raph hadn’t gone for another few years, stubborn as always, even in death. He passed 12 years ago.

Maybe that’s why he was here- walking. The anniversary of Raphs death was the hardest. This date forever commemorating how he lost his brothers. Forever a reminder of Donnie’s solitude. His crippling immortality.

(Why couldn’t he let himself die that day?)

He looked up at the sight of a familiar structure, concrete and beautiful, a small body of water. The first place they had all stood, together, after being reunited.

He’d made it.

He was never sure how long it took to walk here, but he didn’t care.

(He couldn’t feel it anyway.)

In front of him stood a mural, the last thing Mikey had made before his passing. On it was the four of them, past and present. Or- past and past.

In one, they were all turtles. Splinter stood beside Leo. April next to Donnie. Casey leaning an arm on Raphs shoulder. Mikey was skateboarding right front and centre, he was in the middle of the picture. The heart of the team.

On the other side was them now. (But it wasn’t now, was it?) They were all standing in the same position, but Casey was gone, now replaced by Mira. Beside Donnie stood open air, and Leo’s body took up the space Splinter would’ve.

Donnie stared at the wall for a while. His eyes flicking between the two pictures. He wanted to go back to when times were simpler. He wanted flesh. And blood. He wanted to feel.

He wanted his own memory and his own thoughts. Not a computerized copy.

(But they were still his, weren’t they?)

(He was still Donnie.)

…

(Right?)

The lenses took in every detail, every paint chip, every mistake of Mikey’s brush, carefully fixed by another layer of paint. He wanted to cry.

(He couldn’t cry.)

He wanted to scream.

(His voice box rusted a long time ago.)

He wanted to rip himself apart. He wanted to take off the metal and find himself underneath.

Donnie.

He wanted to be Donnie.

…

(Who was he?)

If you want to see the properly emphasized version, you can also find this on Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65392465

3:45 am monologue

Sometimes I don't feel like part of humanity. More like a fake and empty emulator A mimic, unable to feel empathy

Sometimes, I fail to recognize myself in the mirror. Smiling and winking back at me, confused. Unsure what makes me so happy, a puzzle to be solved.

When I'm alone, the world dissolves into gray. No more observers; my essence is fixed in place. It's becoming difficult to avoid myself.

I keep repeating that everything will be okay. With what face do I claim? If I cannot keep myself awake For my dreams are nothing but dreadful recollections of past mistakes.

Afraid of everything, I live in despair. So much so that I forget to take a deep breath. Only unconsciousness allows me, briefly, to change the pace.

For those like me, I bid you farewell. Be your days better than the last sour taste. Don't forget to call them; they prefer you alive and sane.

I got so accustomed to dimming my own light that now I have to constantly reignite.

who are you when you are not watching tv or movies? when you aren't playing video games or reading a book or fanfiction or listening to music or whatever other kind of media that you engage with? who are you when your mind isn't in another world or story, when you are forced to sit with yourself and the only experience you have is your own sensorial life? can you define yourself outside of what you consume? who is that person? do you like them? can you bear it? can you bear it?

The True Horror of Danganronpa V3 Isn't the Killing Game It's the Aftermath

I've always been terrified of body horror, not just because of the grotesqueness but because of how it strips away your autonomy, turning you into something monstrous in the eyes of the world. It's the fear of losing control of your own body, of becoming something unrecognizable not just physically but mentally, and I believe Danganronpa V3 follows this same theme.

Not to the same extent as body horror, but the true terror of V3 isn't the killing game, it's what comes after-the unraveling of your very identity, realizing that everything about you, your relationships' backstories and personalities are all written by someone else. You're left not as who you once were, but someone else entirely a puppet to the whims of a creator.

And the worst part, there's really no one you can confide in. You don't want to hang around the people from your past, the ones who cling to the person you once were and now only see you as a celebrity on their favorite show, but the people who have been through the same things as you remind you of your past trauma. The people who should bring comfort only bring more ghosts.

And Team Dr could have changed anything to fit their mold of a perfect character your body something minor from eye color to hair texture to more major things like body type or gender your backstory if they make your character unlikeable, you're remembered like that forever think Kiyo and Miu or give you such a horrible yet detailed backstory that you have nightmares about it like you actually lived it (Maki and Ryoma) the identity crisis is the true killer.

It's also the horror of freewill. Before, all of your choices were pre-written. Now you have control of your own body, but it's terrifying when you don't even know who you are, you don't have any foundation to build your future on. You also lose your sense of purpose in the killing game. At least you had escape to push you forward and motivate all your decisions, but now you have nothing what you are supposed to do with your life.

Get a job? Where you'll be heckled for being in the latest season of Danganronpa by coworkers and fans alike, which brings me to my next point. You'll just be seen as the fictional character you were inside the game, and you know how some fans act theuy would admire you ridicule you treat you like an animal in a zoo like how some people act with celebrities stalk them have tattoos of them try to hurt them sexually, or otherwise it would be hard to go anywhere, and you may not even be safe in the privacy of your own home.

And sticking on the path of being a celebrity Team Dangaronpa using the cast for the press, especially if Shuichi actually ended the franchise, they would have to milk them for all their worth to try to hold onto straws as their biggest series falls apart around them invasive QnAs, forced smiles for photoshoots fake relationships to appease to the fans use your trauma annd suffering for content.

And wherever you go, you're haunted by your trauma. People dressing up as your friends in videos talking about your death, fans raving about your execution even after you escape. The pain isn't over.

That's the true horror of Danganronpa V3 not the blood, not the executions, not the killing game, but the aftermath. The terrifying questions of: were you ever real in the first place? How do you figure out who you truly are? And what does it mean to truly live?