it’s normal to have mixed feelings about being disabled. sometimes you might feel proud of your disabled body/mind and not want to change it, other times you might wish to be different, even neglect or harm your body/mind out of hatred, as if you could punish the disability out of yourself. sometimes you might wish to be less debilitated so you could do more, other times you might wish to be more debilitated so you might have a reason for suffering so much. you may feel happy if your symptoms reduce, or you may feel invalid as a disabled person if you get any improvement. sometimes you might be determined to use your aids and medications, other times you might feel a kind of pride in ignoring your needs and acting as abled as possible. these are things a lot of people have felt, sometimes simultaneously, and they’re a natural reaction to living in a body/mind that struggles.
I'm back! I know I've been gone for way too long, but I have reasons (which I'll lay out in the notes at the end, if you're interested).
Fortunately, I finally got over my writer's block, so this is just a little mini chapter to act as a bridge (and to announce my return). More to come soon!
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Claudia had spent too much time with the book of poetry that she had taken from Vincent’s desk. When the lights were out and she was sure her father had gone to bed, she had flipped through its pages, pausing here and there to read its contents. The words formed in her mind, lovely and vivid, though often lurid in a way that made her embarrassed to be reading them. To paint a picture of love with words- to put those words to the page- surely required a kind of vulnerability that terrified her. And to publish such thoughts? It was like tearing open one’s own flesh and exposing their insides for all to see. Of course, the writers of these poems were all long gone, but that knowledge didn’t assuage the uneasy feeling that she had when reading their words. It felt as though she were rifling through their private thoughts,seeing things she was never meant to see.
Which was to say nothing of the pictures she had found tucked into the book’s pages: images carefully torn from a magazine, featuring gleaming women with sun-kissed skin and backlit halos of tousled hair. Their clothes, if they had any on at all, were scarcely sufficient to cover their long, shapely legs, flat stomachs, and seemingly gravity defying breasts. Claudia had contorted herself into all sorts of positions in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to replicate the effect, but ultimately it seemed that she simply was not built to be gazed upon.
Later, when she told Alessa about her discoveries in her diary, she reflected on the contrast between herself and Vincent’s paper harem,
It’s just as well. What merit is there in conforming to the gaze of such an ugly, leering world?
What are the names of these women? Who are they? Does he even know, because I’m sure I don’t. I would be crushed to know I had been reduced merely to the image of a body in a stranger’s schoolbook.
Do you think I judge too harshly? After all, I’m sure these women agreed to be photographed. Indeed, they must know that they are beautiful. And being beautiful isn’t a sin, is it? I’m certain that you would be just as beautiful now, if not moreso. Though I don’t imagine you would allow yourself to be photographed like that.
In any case, Vincent will have to forgive me for burning the photos on the stove. If I can forgive him for leaving
Here, she paused with the nib of her pen hovering over the page. Had she forgiven him? It would be absurd not to, not to mention unbecoming. She understood why he felt he had to; in fact, if he had decided not to go to college after all, she felt she would have called it a waste of potential on his part. So why was she still cross about it?
A single glance at the calendar provided her answer: he had promised he would be back for Thanksgiving, yet now the holiday was only two days away and there was no word from him. Maybe he was overwhelmed by his studies, she reasoned. Another, more bitter, part of her guessed that he had made plans with his new college friends and forgotten his promise. Or maybe, she realized with a sinking sensation, he was never going to return at all.
Shaking the thought away, she pressed her pen into the paper, tracing her letters as she reassured herself. For all his big talk, Vincent wasn’t stupid. He knew just as well as she did that Silent Hill was special. He would have to return.
If I can forgive him for leaving, he can forgive me for just about anything.
[Personal update: So, I haven't been able to update in so long mainly due to major writer's block, but I definitely believe that block was exacerbated by:
1. losing my apartment
2. losing my job
3. moving back in with my parents and struggling to find a new job
4. (most significantly) being evaluated for- and finally listed as of today!- dual organ transplant. (Also, getting loads of blood transfusions and being really fatigued)
I'd like to say that 3-4 months of recovery after my surgery (whenever that may be) will give me plenty of time to write, but i make no promises. That's a problem for future-me, though. Until then, I'm glad to be back! }
It seems like the older I get, the more irrationally angry casual censorship makes me. And it isn't just the "unalive" "grape" alleged filter-dodging vernacular, but the way normal words will be peppered with asterisks, or screenshots will have words like "gay" "hell" "fuck" etc either partially or entirely blurred. Who is this helping? What is the purpose of it, except to reinforce shame and elevate a flimsy perception of purity and safety, however those things manifest. It's so tiresome and I'm sick of it.
girl in horror movie holding a bible open: “according to legend, a mob tortured a half-man, half-god, and nailed him to a wooden cross, leaving him to starve to death. But days later, on this very night, they found he had clawed his way out of the grave. Now those who believe lie in wait for him to rise again, To honour him, they have weekly gatherings where they chant and sing, and at the end of it they eat his flesh and blood.”
girl’s friend: “wow.. thats so creepy…”
horror movie jock: “it’s only a myth, don’t worry”