MagnetBolt's life is in danger · 12:36am Nov 2nd, 2018

This is not a happy blog.

When I was eight years old, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. It was probably the last nail on the coffin for my family, and we never really recovered -- and that is even though we had, thank God, no monetary troubles. She was close to dying in more than one occassion. For related reasons, so was I.

MagnetBolt's situation, right now, is far worse. His life and that of his mother's is literally in danger. I am not exaggerating, is the terrifying thing. I know what he's going through. I've been there myself. This is the GoFundMe page he had to set up, because he is literally out of options.

Cancer can be beaten, but it takes time an effort, and when you're also sick while your mother is getting treatment it gets---hard. The only way we made it out was because my father was there, doing everything he possibly could to help. He was our safety net, and eventually I managed to move to live with him, and everything got better. MagnetBolt doesn't have that luxury.

The situation is bad. It's really, really bad. I'm doing all I can to help, myself. We're spreading the word as fast as possible, because there is very little time to do this.

I don't really do shoutouts. I don't really talk about my childhood either. I think at this point, the fact that my early years were hilariously dark is well-known --- I am writing words in a pony website, after all. But precisely because I'm fairly sure y'all can guess that I was routinely beaten up as a child, I don't like to talk about it. It's kind of against what the website is for, right? You don't want to know about Aragón's Tragic Past. You're here to read comedy. And I'm here to write it.

But reality's a bitch and sometimes one has to face it. MagnetBolt is in danger. That's the short of it. If me writing a blog about my early life and alienating some people is the price to pay to at least try to convey how fucking serious this is, then so be it. I'm willing to do that.

Illness means you can't move as well as you think, you can't breathe as hard as you'd want to. It's a horrible mood and a constant sense of dread. It's someone sitting down next to you in the kitchen and saying, well, kid. They gave her two years. She can probably make it, but we thought you're mature enough to understand the situation, and honesty is always the best policy.

I got out of there, eventually. I escaped, and I'm okay now. Nobody beats me up anymore, and I can eat every day, and my mother survived. She had to move to a special residence because she had to live close to the hospital; ironically, that helped.

There's light at the end of the tunnel, is what I mean. You get out, if you keep trying. But you at least need a fighting chance. You need to survive first, and right now, that's the hard part.

You're mature enough to understand the situation. Honesty is always the best policy.

Please. If you can't help directly, spread the word. Here's the GoFundMe page again. Anything helps.

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