chronic anachronism @effigy13 - Tumblr Blog

>>here's my free DID/OSDD journal template for notion<<

>>here's a masterpost of my deranged rambling on DID<< since i've decided i will be writing about that now i guess.

vvv other stuff vvv

#pinned #last edited by: echo I #maybe...

melonflavored

I know we joke and all but i think my mind is destroyed for real

inkskinned

i know we’re both just messing around pretending to be whole but look at me. if the train was coming would you move. if the ground was falling from under your feet would you even notice or would it just be another tuesday for you. if somebody stabbed you could it hurt worse than you already do. what i’m saying is that i love you but i think we both drive over the speed limit when it’s raining. what i’m saying is that i want to hold your hand and i understand about how you sometimes have to sit down in the shower. what i’m saying is that i’m here for you and if the train comes please move.

inkskinned

i wrote this 7 years ago, somehow. every day someone else finds it and whispers to me - oh, i understand this. something always turns in the wash of my stomach: i am so, so glad you feel seen. i wish you had no idea what this post was about.

i wrote this while working in a program for new writers. on wednesdays, two of the teachers would be contractually obligated to read our writing aloud to the group of 300+ teens. i had never read my work in public before. i had something like 6k poems and was panicking about it. none of them are good enough. sometimes the train is howling. it is hard, actually, sometimes, even as an adult.

and then i thought - what is one thing i wish i could tell all of them. each of these 300 kids. what did i need to hear, at 16?

i wanted to tell them about the day you wake up, and the sun feels warm finally. i wanted to tell them about carving a life out of soapstone, your hands turning bloody. i wanted to tell them that sometimes yes - it actually does feel easy. i wanted to tell them about weddings and cookie dough and long road trips. about albums of new music and old friends laughing and the sound of snow falling.

you will learn the pattern of the train. you will learn to close your eyes when you hear the engine rumbling. you will learn to let yourself have the grey days in their lily-soft numbness. sometimes it will feel like life is wet paint, and god has smeared your canvas across a sewer grate. sometimes it will be so boring it isn’t even pronounceable - the tenacious, soundless blankness. survival isn’t just ugly nights and wild mornings. it is also the steady, unimportant moments. it is just driving with your seatbelt on. it is calling a friend on the way home. it is burying your face into the fur of your dog.

when i had finished reading this poem aloud, the auditorium was silent for a solid minute. someone stood up to take a picture of where it had been projected onto a screen, and then three more people followed the action, and then - like a bad internet story, people remembered they were supposed to be clapping. kids came up to me after it - thank you for writing that. i think i hear a train coming.

i would write this differently now, i think, but it has been 7 years. i still live by the tracks. i also haven’t picked up a blade in over 10 years. the scars are still there, but these days i only pick up scissors to cut my hair. i know why you can’t tell your mom about it. i know how the numbness slips over everything, a restless horrible cotton. i know how when you dropped the dish, you weren’t crying about the broken glass. i know about feeling like all the roads have closed their exits, that you aren’t supposed to still-be-here - and yet.

i am still here, and still yours, and i haven’t forgotten. what i’m saying is if any hope is calling to you - i know it’s hard, but you have to listen. i’m saying keep driving, but slow down the car. sit down in the shower, i’m not judging you. we can stay in the dark with the good hot water and do nothing but stare. notice the stab wound. make it through another tuesday.

i know what it is like to miss yourself. do what you need to. come home to me. i am writing to you, my past self, from the future. i’ll be waiting for you.

and when the train is coming - please move.

#reading

disabled-dyke

one of the most frustrating things about being disabled and chronically ill is that everyone around you is allowed to be worried or scared for you. but the second you yourself say you’re worried or scared, suddenly it’s “you can’t be so negative, think positively, you might be totally fine in five years”

but i have to placate everyone when they’re telling me multiple times a day that they’re scared for my health??

d-7th

You literally can't even talk about how bad it is to be disabled in this country without people who mean well but have no idea wtf they're talking about showing up and trying to give out advice to do things you've already tried that don't work because the system is broken by design

I don't even know what to do because it's fucking impossible to ask for help in a situation like this, where seemingly everyone with a pulse is SO ignorant of the situation you're in that they can't even see the problem

day 6 / ???

this is really interesting in how it frames disability/low spoons/etc as not being a series of internal symptoms, but specifically a situation in which daily tasks increase in complexity. for example i used to be able to wash the dishes normally. but now mental and physical issues combine to make that situation have a lot of prequalifications (do I have time, energy, how long can I do it without being sore the next day) that means many more steps are involved in getting that single physical act of washing a dish to be done.

rockshitty

I’m trying to remember the quote. “On a good day, doing laundry is three steps. On a bad day, the first step is getting out of bed.”

#disability

bebsi-cola

there's something about how people talk about ableism online that feels somewhat divorced from the reality that ableism is a form of violent oppression that gets disabled people killed, assaulted, and brutalised in real life. that it causes medical neglect, abuse, and structural inequality. that disabled people are, on the whole disenfranchised. and it's not like verbal interpersonal ableism "doesn't matter" in the face of the "real stuff" because all forms of ableism contribute towards dehumanising and isolating disabled people, which in turn makes them more vulnerable to the violence i mentioned. but it's like, do you guys remember the violence exists? that it's not just people being upset over words "for no reason"? there's a glaring reason right in front of us if you bother to look

louisegluckpdf

they won't tell you this in therapy but sometimes the best way to stop catastrophizing/anxiety is to interrupt your spiraling with "girl what the hell are you talking about"

ytpreviews

It's not a cure but you have no idea how many times this image has helped me with my OCD

notgreatthanks

This tag has been more effective than any meds I’ve ever taken

bebsi-cola

health isn't a virtue.

bebsi-cola

people still go around acting like they've done something good in order to be able bodied and healthy. that they worked for it, that it's due to their moral fibre or good upbringing or self control. they genuinely, on some level, believe that they are a good person solely based on the strength of their physical abilities. they will resist the fact that it is largely down to chance that they were able to maintain such health. whatever they think they've built from scratch, the building blocks were already handed to them. not because they're more worthy of it, just by luck. and they really think they're worth more based on that sheer luck. i've met disabled people worth a hundred of the healthiest ableds alive.

tothechaos

aw what the hell change my leitmotif to a minor key im not driving

f4therlesssss

nvm i’ve said too much #unknowme

autogynophelia

TW: CSA

Sexual abuse in childhood fucks you up in quite subtle ways that you sometimes don't realise are abnormal until much later.

When I was 7, my mother made me go to Irish Dancing classes. The teacher groped all the kids, including me (and parents weren't allowed to stay for the lessons). After the first lesson, I told my mother what had happened and said I didn't want to go back. She said I was going to keep going whether I liked it or not. I cried before every lesson and she told me to stop being a baby. After a few months, the teacher was arrested and news spread around town that he was a paedophile. My mother said the accusations were probably made up. The teacher went to jail.

When I was 10 my mother decided that there was something wrong the way I walked (there wasn't) and took me to a paediatric podiatrist. He made me strip down to just my underwear, which were loose-fitting boxer shorts (even if I was already wearing shorts with the same inseam as the boxers), and lie down on the bed. He would put his hands on my inner thighs to "massage" them, and he would lift my legs high in the air and look down my boxer shorts. I was made to go back every month, and I remember each time trying to find the perfect combination of clothes that would make him not make me strip, but it never worked. I didn't even bother telling my mother I didn't want to go, I knew I would get shouted at.

When I was 11, we had builders in the house doing construction work. They didn't like the fact that our bathroom had no lock, so they installed one without permission. I took a shower one day, and seeing this new lock on the door, I decided to use it. My mother always used to come into the bathroom when I was showering to rummage through the pile of towels for no apparent reason. This time she couldn't get in, she hammered on the door and shouted at me to let her in. I did so. She berated me heavily for using the lock, and made the builders remove it the next day.

When I was 13, there was one night when I couldn't sleep. After a few hours of failing to sleep, I heard my mother walk into the room (I was never allowed to close my bedroom door). I pretended to be asleep. She walked over to my bed, put her hand under the duvet, and assaulted me. I didn't move, I was just frozen the whole time.

My mother died when I was 17. Everyone in my family told me that I must be so sad because she was such a wonderful and kind person. I just nodded along and didn't say much. One time I tried to confide in a family member about what she had really been like, and I was told that I must be wrong because she was so wonderful and kind. I've never brought it up again.

I don't mention all these things for sympathy, but rather because they demonstrate a pattern of me consistently being put in situations that I *hated*, but that I had no choice other than to just go along with. Any time I expressed a desire that diverted from my mother's wishes, I was told "too bad". So I quickly learned to not have desires at all, just to let life happen to me. Even beyond the CSA, I was never asked "What would you like to do today?" or "Would you like to do X?" I was just told what I would be doing every day of my life, right up until my mother's death.

Even now, many many years later, I struggle to remember that I have an inner life as rich, complex and valuable as other people. I frequently forget that the things I do or say can influence others. If I tell someone something, even something like my name, and the next time I meet them they remember it, that feels shocking to me, because my mind expects my words to have no impact.

I struggle a lot to say no to things. If someone invites me to something, it feels to me as equivalent to my mother telling me I'm going to do it. I just go on autopilot, and sometimes it's only after the event that I realise I could've said no. I forget that I have control over my body and my actions, I forget that I can demand things that other people may not be happy about.

Recently I was talking about some activity I did, and I was asked if I had found it fun. I started to say "yes", but then realised that I hadn't actually found it fun, I actually didn't enjoy it at all. But it never occurred to me that I could have an opinion on the activities I did, that I could say "actually I don't like this" and my words would be respected. If my mother asked me if I was having fun, any answer other than "yes" would result in severe consequences.

The fact that so many years later I am still thinking and speaking like that little abused kid was really eye-opening about how subtle and long-lasting the impacts of CSA have been on me.

#relate to this heavily #csa

becherdireinen

nobody talks about how exhausting it is to live in that space between "things will get better" and "i can't handle this anymore." it's like your emotions are constantly swinging. leaving you both hopeful and defeated in the same day.

meerschweinchen-archive

your twenties are Also about discovering that you’re not a bad person in all the ways you believed you were but you’re a bad person in completely new and exciting ways

aloofyvampathy

Question for fellow schizoids who have chronic anhedonia: Do any of you also "like"/crave/etc amusement park rides for the adrenalin it gives? Or maybe listen to some music that feel really stimulating (e.g. rock, metal)? Or anything to stimulate you in general to cope with the anhedonia?

Yes, amusement park rides

Yes, music

Yes, both

Yes, stimulation in general

Yes, other

No

Other

Not a schizoid/Don't have anhedonia/Results

Voting ended onMay 31

Personally: yes I search stimulation in general, music + amusement parks are my main ways to do so.

#aw i havent been on a roller coaster in a while #i appreciate roller coasters a lot #especially when they're huge or very fast with lots of loops/upside down/etc #music is also one of the only things that makes me feel #besides my dry appreciation for comedy & absurdism

yamalvr

i have a personality flaw that always positions me on the side of characters who are hiding everything and refuse to accept help. like do NOT confide in people. confiding in people is the enemy. REAL winners lie and lie and continue lying until they ruin every single thing theyve got going for them & didnt fix a single goddamn thing. keep digging grandpa youre almost there

#doing thst rn

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

chronic anachronism