i got upset in therapy today, which isn't like me. usually i am laughing through the bad things. rather than cry about it, i held up my handmade halloween costume. i'm going as a sunset.
i threw my back out again, and what they don't tell you about a slipped disc is that it kind of feels like your spine is leaking hot fluid into your body. like a car engine.
i have more plants than i can count. i've killed a lot of them in the past year living here, since we don't get the right sunlight for it. i used to live in a room that got sun through every hour of the day. i dragged a 50 pound table up two flights of stairs into my breakfast nook and then painted it by hand to look like green jade. this was during the time i should have broken up with her; because my apartment almost got broken into, and she was angry when i asked if i could crash at hers for the night.
i do my work most of the time, unless it's a longterm goal. i should really clean the rug. i have been in therapy for 2 years and am still discovering the ways i have been used like a pincushion. yuck.
i think maybe i don't have a personality and i am just trying on the shapes of people and whichever one doesn't disgust me is good enough for keeping. i can't pretend that this choice is easy; because usually i choose people that are loveable and charming. today if i am a person she has her arms at the wrong angles, and her back is thrown out. i am gonna try to make a stop at party city and put my pale hands onto expensive decorative things i will not purchase. i spent too much money on the dog they neglected.
they did neglect the dog, though. i was talking about it before kate made me almost-cry. i have been babysitting him while they cruise the ocean. he returns home on friday. my immediate reaction was but i really can't take him permanently, he hurts my back, and i don't have enough space or money -
kate held up her hand. is there a reason that you believe you're the one who has to resolve everything?
here is how i feel about myself: genuinely i believe that a grain of sand is only important in the context of a world without a beach. which is to say that i probably overwhelm my apartment's sink disposal. sometimes for fun when they raise the rent i think about pouring paint into their plumbing, but it's not worth the microplastics in the ecosystem.
i don't! is the thing. i just don't. why would i bother? it is easier to feel in love with the sunlight through leaves. it is easier to be in a museum after dark. recently i've been listening to a lot of dimension 20. recently i've been journaling, but i'm fundamentally bored by all of the secrets i've been telling.
i think the problem is linguistics. i feel a lot of things, probably, even if i feel them a little to the left. and i really do have a strong sense of myself, and honestly i don't mind her. she's nice enough. creative. tough. this is one of those questions that my neurodivergence never manages to correctly analyze. i am fine with myself, i have to be. she's, like. fine.
the problem is that when things go wrong, that girl isn't me. it isn't me in the panic attack or driving the car into the side of the truck or forgetting her meds. it isn't me being always-late to things. i am someone tolerable and kind; fun and flirty. i am funny and sweet. there is somebody i rebuke, just, like, ruining my life from a corner of my body. biblically accurate angel; i have 23 eyes staring out from inside me. the thing that i-am-not is constantly trying to fucking kill me.
the internet usually posits self-love as like, a choice to be making. but when i settle into a mug of tea, that's me taking care of the real-me, not the little demon self. when i shower for a long time or go for a walk or make a good meal: the good-me deserves this, and she receives it. she is putting up with the actual devil.
it's not like i can forgive the bad parts of me, she's not going to change her behavior. and how exactly can i come to terms with that, huh? with what poem? this isn't how i raised myself. what even is the point in making a fuss. just try to minimize the damage and eventually go and clean up.
they neglected this dog so much that i have been combing him out for 24 straight hours and have pulled 2 full trashbags of fur off him. i would never suggest shaving a double-coated dog, but his fur had impacted and i had to remove these inch-thick blankets of hair from his hindquarters. a dead bug tumbled out. he spent a summer like that, which horrifies me. no wonder he struggled with his breathing.
i guess if i am a person i'm just a solution, is the thing. like, i make my own problems, and then this is the version that solves them. like i am always apologizing for the mess. like i have to make up for the rest of it, for the issues that will arise whether or not i like it. there is no longterm solution to certain symptoms. you just have to resolve your life around it; a bitter equation of checks and balances. it's not that i don't ask for help - it's that i never recognize that help is an option. isn't it just, like, easier to do it yourself?
i had a nightmare that i drank the matted fur by accident. when i woke up, for a second, i thought i had become the dog, going home on friday. ironically the problem was that i was medically suffocating: i developed asthma in childhood after my father smoked continuously under my room.
it was a direct result of neglect.
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