Black Cat Rust

Coon or Hound-  He/They and Aesthetically Gay | Writing little Things | Open to Friendship | Adult (struggling) | Trying to Afford Medical Junk

[coonhoundcat]

Poured chilled Gatorade water into the cat fountain 'cause its stupid hot here, and it was extremely well received. Longest drink of the little fella's life. Cold, unflavoured electrolyte water is Cat Approved.

[coonhoundcat]

I want so badly to own a home. I know I am far, far from being alone in that. Every older person in my life warns me not to even try. They mean well; they know the cost could ruin me. The realtor says I should basically be a house flipper, moving every two years when I've made improvements and the prices increase. "Added value" as he says. I hate that idea.

I want a piece of shit house. I want corners that have been chewed on by an animal I loved, I want a floor speckled in paint from where I attempt art. I want a table and walls scraped and scuffed by a game of Spoons that got too violent. I want a room painted in a mural I can only attribute to a long night of no sleep.

I want a home with history-- my history, in every chip and mark and bad color choice and too-heavy shelf mounted in pure drywall.

I dont want resell value. I dont want an investment.

I want a home.

And like so many, I find its always out of reach.

I live in an apartment. Its alright. Its the nicest place I've lived in, to date. Its cheap for my area. I'm grateful, I am.

But I look at white walls that I cannot change. Carpet I'm afraid to change. Shelves I can't put up. A place that doesn't, and never really will, belong to me. When I leave (and I will inevitably be forced to leave when the rent overtakes me), I will need to make sure its the same as if I were never here.

[coonhoundcat]

I'd buy a trailer home, if I could. But the lot rent is higher than what I pay right now, even without the cost of the loan.

[coonhoundcat]

I want so badly to own a home. I know I am far, far from being alone in that. Every older person in my life warns me not to even try. They mean well; they know the cost could ruin me. The realtor says I should basically be a house flipper, moving every two years when I've made improvements and the prices increase. "Added value" as he says. I hate that idea.

I want a piece of shit house. I want corners that have been chewed on by an animal I loved, I want a floor speckled in paint from where I attempt art. I want a table and walls scraped and scuffed by a game of Spoons that got too violent. I want a room painted in a mural I can only attribute to a long night of no sleep.

I want a home with history-- my history, in every chip and mark and bad color choice and too-heavy shelf mounted in pure drywall.

I dont want resell value. I dont want an investment.

I want a home.

And like so many, I find its always out of reach.

I live in an apartment. Its alright. Its the nicest place I've lived in, to date. Its cheap for my area. I'm grateful, I am.

But I look at white walls that I cannot change. Carpet I'm afraid to change. Shelves I can't put up. A place that doesn't, and never really will, belong to me. When I leave (and I will inevitably be forced to leave when the rent overtakes me), I will need to make sure its the same as if I were never here.

[coonhoundcat]

The joys of peeling my sunburnt back off of a leather couch.

My body wishes to use it as a replacement skin, and is reluctant to let go.

[coonhoundcat]

Wrapping up today's episode of "is it a personality disorder, or am I just traumatized?"

Still have no idea, and can't afford to find out.

[coonhoundcat]

Psyduck at Sea, commissioned by a friend for their wife.

11 x 14" canvas, acrylic paint, heavy gesso, alcohol marker, ink pens.

[queercoded-disney-villain]

I hate getting Shapes.inc ads and I wish I could cause them physical pain

[coonhoundcat]

Wish it was socially acceptable to rub my cheek against people like a cat scenting its companions.

[coonhoundcat]

Rest assured, I am now once again looking into therapy options. It's been a hot minute, and the cost has increased substantially in the years between-- but I am clearly not handling the experiences I've had since in an effective manner. Despite best efforts, using Tumblr as a vent outlet is not as helpful as I would like.

[coonhoundcat]

Sometimes I pick out gifts for people that I miss so, so very much. And then I remember how they made me feel, and why it would be a supremely bad idea to get back into contact.

I love you, but it was making me a far worse person, and it hurt me in ways that still haven't even begun to fade.

[coonhoundcat]

I wish my body would just pick a lane. Either stop manifesting emotions as chest pain, or just open up a gaping bloody wound over my heart, you coward.

[coonhoundcat]

I don't know. Did you think you were helping?

Even when I showed up to help you with your projects-- at your invitation-- you made me feel like you were doing ME a favor. Like I was your charity, your soup-kitchen side project.

I just wanted to spend time with you. I wanted to be your friend.

I kept showing up. And sometimes (more often than not) you'd sideline everything we were doing to go do something for one of your other friends.

And I thought: that's fine. You'd do the same for me, if it came down to it; right?

But you didn't.

I tried inviting you to things, asking you to show up to some of the most important events in my life.

You refused every single one.

So I stopped trying.

And it became obvious that you'd stopped a long, long time ago.

[coonhoundcat]

There are so many stories about found family, about it all working out when your biological kin simply aren't an option.

I have not seen many that carry the feeling of being semi 'adopted', but knowing that there's a very real divide between you and their *real* family. That you'd be dropped in a heartbeat if they ever had to choose. You are--though unspoken, taboo--unquestionably the lowest priority, when it comes down to it; and reasonably so. Its not surprising. It'd be strange if it were any other way, really.

It's also uncommon to see a character go through multiple 'found families'. Each time it's a little harder to trust it, takes a little longer to accept someone's kindness. You thought the first family was yours, that they would be yours forever. But you've been through three since then, and you haven't seen the others in years. Someone new tells you they love you. You're too afraid to say it back. It's conditional. It's always conditional. Sooner or later, this will end. It will do what families aren't supposed to do, and break.

You will break it.

Because they weren't enough.

Because *you* weren't enough.

Because you're afraid, and you're greedy. Far, far too greedy. Unable to accept what affection they're able to give, too jealous of what they grant others. If you can't have it all, you don't want any of it.

So you choose nothing, again and again.

And you have the gall to weep at your own self-inflicted pain.

[coonhoundcat]

Petition to call any long, thinly sliced loaf-like object a 'ream', like you do a ream of paper. I'm currently cooking a ream of bacon. If I was making breakfast for a shit ton of people, I would probably make a whole ream of toast, too.

[coonhoundcat]

Semi-Calico Cat, alcohol markers and ink pen on tan toned paper.

[coonhoundcat]

Duck Begging, alcohol marker and ink pens on tan toned paper.

[coonhoundcat]

I moved a couple weeks ago. Someone helped me this time. They actually found a bed for me. A real bed, with a mattress, that's mine.

I've started brushing my teeth again. It doesn't feel as tiring as it did before.

I've been throwing away the old sheets that I had-- the ones stained with blood. I can buy new ones; ones that don't remind me of when I was hurt the most.

I can move on with my life.