Purple Vanilla World

PVW: A Guide for the Confused and the Concerned

Dear Reader,

After a lifetime of performing (masking, people-pleasing, whatever the fuck you want to call it, I like to call it “performing” because it gives a little “dance monkey, dance!” energy), I’ve accepted this:

I need perceived privacy and anonymity to feel safe (for now).
I need to feel safe to be authentic.
I need to be authentic to create.

After an abusive relationship, an attack that led me to leave a job I loved, and three decades of hiding under layers of trauma and undiagnosed biology, I built PurpleVanillaWorld under a pen name, Thalia Graves, to safely come out of hiding, because performing has been the death of my creativity, my voice, and (not to be dramatic) my soul. I’ve been self-policing under arbitrary shame rules for as long as I can remember. It’s brutal, dude.

This is a really niche space. It’s intentionally cringe to dismantle internalized shame and perfectionism.
It’s intentionally shameless to stay pressure-free and expectation-free.
It’s literally just me talking to myself, not performing for anyone, because that’s the only environment my creativity can survive.
It’s a place where my internal world can be unfiltered and un-policed and free from the dance.

PVW is a sacred space for me to say whatever the fuck I want (except things that would cause actual harm, that shit goes to therapy) and to honor the various parts of myself by giving them a voice. An anonymous voice online = a more authentic IRL.

I caused myself and others so much fucking harm from trying to control how everyone around me perceived me. PVW is the contrary action to heal this, because I can’t afford to keep cosplaying “healing” anymore. Faith without works is dead.

In this space, I give myself:

permission to speak without needing to be heard or understood

permission to be messy

permission to be contradictory

permission to be cringe

permission to be self-referential and unhinged

Background:

PVW was originally a finsta with like 3 followers and a fuck ton of spammy shitposts because curated social media was killing me…and because my ex literally stalked me for years, so… there’s that, too.

Eventually, PVW became an intentional, completely anonymous “blog” and by blog I mean a WordPress site with long, rambling personal essays, nightmare journals, art, and whatever the fuck else.

But when I began to share my work… and then slowly expanded my finsta let a few more IRL people follow me, the self-policing crept back in. Quietly and slowly, as it does, and now it’s starting to paralyze me again.

And to be clear, this is not just a vapid, self-centered need to be seen on the internet (and even if it was, who the fuck cares!? SEE DUDE! I’m already clarifying because I don’t want to be perceived as a victim or a pick-me, even though I am actually low-key both of those things, along with a thousand other forms of self).

ANYWAY.

After moving 2,500 miles away from my hometown and abusers, ghosting nearly everyone I knew in the process (not proudly, but honestly), I could finally breathe. I finally stopped performing. Nearly 10 years sober and 15 in therapy… I’m slow to warm up to change, but who isn’t?

Since then, I’ve been formally diagnosed with ASD, CPTSD, and ADHD, along with my regularly broadcasted anxiety and depression.

Finally equipped with the proper care instructions, the right language, and an understanding of my specific neurobiology (which I acknowledge is absolutely a fucking privilege), I finally felt safe enough to be honest with myself (and eventually others) to actually heal and change. Because even therapy and recovery had become performative.

Unmasking, healing, and being more authentic, peeled back many, many (maaaaany) layers of ✨trauma✨ and maladaptive coping skills.

And what was discovered under that?! The plot thickens…

Fucking Lupus.
Attacking my blood vessels and my central nervous system.
Causing intercranial hypertension.
Causing chronic migraine.
Causing POTS.
Causing a myriad of other shit.

As I write this open letter, I’ve been mostly housebound for months battling a disease that went untreated for a decade because it was misdiagnosed as:
“just anxiety”
“just alopecia”
“just atypical migraine”
“just stay off WebMD and take your meds like a good girl”

SO. All that to say:

PurpleVanillaWorld is not a social media account intended for the masses.
It is not meant to be curated, palatable, or performative.
It isn’t even intended to be liked, nice, or pretty.
It is one of my only forms of self-expression and perceived social connection while my body is still… doing whatever the fuck it’s doing.

PVW is my social life right now. It won’t always be, but for this season, it is.

So if you’re here and you know me IRL, it’s because I’ve deemed you safe.
If you’re here and you don’t know me IRL, just know this is not meant to be digestible content.

If shameless, unhinged, sarcastic, raw, weird shit — mixed with self-aware trauma spirals and slightly delusional Internal Family Systems banter — is not your jam, totally cool not to like and subscribe.

Disclaimers:

I even write this open letter for myself.
It’s an open letter from ME (the true me) to all the parts of myself that feel unsafe being seen (the exiles), to the parts competing for control (the managers), and to the parts trying to numb the pain (the firefighters).

I need to write things out loud so ALL of me can have a voice and be witnessed by MYSELF.
This rebuilds internal trust, which I’ve betrayed my whole life by performing.

I speak to hear myself say the shit I need to say.
For me. For my peace. For my healing.
Not for your consumption or approval.

But I also know from my many years of recovery stories are powerful AF. Sharing can create connection, inspiration, even action. Shame lives alone in shadows. And shadows aren’t “bad”… they just are. They’re trying to protect you, but you don’t always need protecting. YOU can protect you.

SO.

If someone, anyone, gets something out of my content and relates and it makes them feel a little less alone, then that’s fucking fantastic, magical, beautiful, and all the sparkly words. It breathes purpose into pain and transforms victimhood into bravery and all the other corny sayings I used to roll my eyes at.

BUT.

If that’s not your experience here, it is your right to curate the content you consume however you want.
Unfollow, mute, block, whatever you need.
Your autonomy and safety matters more than my insatiable desire to be liked.

AND.

If at ANY POINT, my content reaches you unexpectedly and causes actual harm, CALL MY ASS OUT. Accountability is kind and loving. While I never intend malice, I do intend to repair whatever harm I cause… not just apologize, but actually amend and adapt where possible.

We are human (aka mammals), and we all have blind spots, trauma responses, internalized white supremacy, misogyny, and all the other icky shit that festers invisibly inside us (like lupus hehe). If I fuck up, I won’t grovel, and I won’t apologize for honesty, silliness, or not being who you expect me to be.

Kindly remember: discomfort does not = harm. Actual harm = impact that damages functioning, safety, dignity, stability, etc.

Final note: I also use this space to call out abuse and name my experiences with trauma. I put trigger warnings for a reason. Part of healing is refusing to protect abusive behaviors. Part of healing is refusing to protect abusive behavior. I won’t censor myself about harm done to me. I give you grace to call me out when I cause harm, and I reserve the right — and responsibility — to do the same.

The goal is simply to do less harm than good… or more good than harm… whatever. You get it.

I think I’ve said everything I’ve needed to say.

(But also reassuring the exiles that yes, we can edit or delete this later if it becomes unsafe)

With love and a lil sprinkle of indifference,

Thalia Graves
PurpleVanillaWorld