I am a refugee blogger from spacehey that is returning to her roots and using tumblr. I've moved my entire backlog of entries here, which you can find hotlinks for under the cut.
What originally started off as advice from a creativity and productivity book has turned into me rolling out of bed early most mornings and racing to write something first thing. It's mostly to keep myself awake, busy, and not doomscrolling, but if you've found this during your own scroll, fear not, I will not judge. I understand the struggle, and I would suggest following! I could be your new morning paper. Even if it is just me ranting about my own silly life experiences.
If you like my silly ramblings, please leave a follow and turn on notifications so you can get your early blurb fix each morning!
About Me!
personal blog
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The Early Blurb Directory
Under the cut is a hot-link list of every blog post for easy access.
Good morning.
Been getting better sleep the past two nights so big yay for that. Not really sure if I've got anything of value to say today, but here we go.
I think I just like clacking of my keyboard as a capper to my morning routine. These entries have sort of become both a finish and starting line, although I suppose most times the line doubles in a looped race track. I guess that's an easy way to look at a work day, a race track. Going in the same circle with a few pit stops until you win or lose the race, except the win or loss isn't what numeric place you're in, but your mental state. If you're feeling good, you won. That's how I like to think of it, anyway. Feeling good is always my end goal. I just need to have enough spoons to do the extra stuff to cash in for Feeling Good Premium™. Although you could also think of the numeric place as the amount of money you make each day, but I'm paid biweekly, so it doesn't register in my brain in that particular way.
It is a sort of miserable metaphor as well, because going in a circle, the same circle, everyday, for years on end, sounds sort of really bad. But that is what life hands us, we merely get to decide if we are thankful for the participation trophy or strive to get first place. Or something. I think the metaphor is falling apart. I wouldn't be a very sound inspirational speaker.
But yes, a start and finish line. It's like, yay! You did it! You're ready for work! Go enjoy some clicks and clacks on thy keyboard, most favored peasant. But it's also sort of like preparing for battle. At least right now it is anyway, because of how hot it's been and will continue to be until nearly october. I hate hot weather man. I mean, I don't hate warm weather with a cool breeze, or hot weather when I'm in the mood for saltwater and eighty-five pounds of sand in my buttcrack, or even hot weather when I'm at home and can sit around in a sports bra and shorts, but having to work in it, I hate it. I really, truly do. Because I'm in florida, too, so it's *soggy* hot. I'm getting slow cooked at a high temperature and everything is wet. Is it my sweat? Is it the crippling humidity? Is it an oddly small amount of rain despite the sun somehow being out and continuing to stab me thirty seven times in the chest?? You guessed it! It's
It really is exhausting man. Especially since I was really gonna start trying to do the whole working out thing again. I usually have enough energy after work to force myself to do it as long as I have a change of clothes, but man let me tell you, the sun has been sapping me of every single ounce of my mana. And I can't even cast spells anymore. It's absolutely unfair.
I do really feel as though the essence is sucked out of me as soon as I leave work these days, which is seriously annoying considering I've done some of my best work and play during my free afternoons. Sometimes I consider trying to maybe get another job or finding something more permanent to do in the afternoons, but I'm already drained near that time so it probably won't be happening. I seriously need to lock the hell in and use that time more wisely, but it's hard trying to figure out exactly what I can accomplish in such a medium timeframe. Especially considering if I want to do anything at home I have to drive thirty minutes home, which takes up a good chuck of that time anyway. Maybe I need to get back into video editing on my laptop, but I need footage for that. Everything I want to do requires me to complete so many preliminary tasks man uugghh.
It also sucks when, on top of all of this, I find myself in a slight creative slump. The worst world between worlds. I'm still in my Star Trek hyperfixation, so no complaints there, but I've just got no juice in the juicebox to do anything interesting. I'll figure it out. You just gotta promise to clap if I actually do anything cool, alright?
I'm kidding. Don't do that. Not unless you want to. I've found an irrefutable key to happiness is refusing to respond to things you do not find entertaining. Joke wasn't funny? Don't laugh. They'll do better next time. And when they earn your real laugh, it'll feel twice as good. The only time this backfires is when my humor bar drops drastically during the later hours and everything is funny. Then they get confused. But thats okay, it's only natural.
Okay I'm rambling again, I'm gonna get going. See y'all tomorrow for our regularly scheduled yap.
Look at me, actually putting in a real attempt at a something I planned before the inevitable failing. I'm gonna try to rewrite my usual tired pessimistic disposition with a little cautious optimism.
I had a video idea back in the middle of may with the basic premise of fixing the funk I've fallen into. It seems to be something I fall back into every few months, but this time I've formulated a plan to fight back.
I've made a list, of course, seeing as that is how most of my grand schemes are realized, and the general idea is that I am going to start putting effort into myself again. I've been scraping by on bare-minimum effort and wondering why I constantly feel like shit. Hopefully with the motivation of making it into a video driving me, I'll finally get around to caring for myself again. But I mean in the sense of working out, eating right, and decluttering, I promise I've been showering.
It's odd because my bare minimum is a lot different from what it used to be, it's actually quite a lot more in terms of things I continuously keep up with, but I need to do more. I forget how my friend phrased it the other day, but it was something along the lines of, I need to stop surviving day to day and actually *living* in the days I have. And it's true. Aside from last week, May practically evaporated into one big blip. Months only start to feel short when your routine eats you alive. And especially if that routine either has little to no variation, or is just the basic necessities to say feeling human.
I can't say that I've felt all that human the past few months, thought I don't really know what I mean by that entirely. I am a human, therefore I suppose I feel like one. It is very inherently human to feel like shit and be aware of it, and be miserable because of it. But the human experience is also about hard work and pleasure and reaping the benefits of the places and things around you. I want to get back to that part of it all.
What is frustrating is that part of everything gets a hell of a lot more difficult every day the price of bare minimum effort is raised. Not just in terms of money, though that is a large component, but having the spoons for everything, in the steps it takes to feel like a person and gather the courage to do more than what is required to stay alive. I guess you have to look at life a bit broader and realize that the fun stuff and the hard work stuff are also an integral part of that "needing to stay alive" thing, because being alive is partially automatic, with the breathing and the eating stuff, but *living* and feeling *alive* I've found so far from personal experience of being alive, is the pursuit of enriching our bodies and minds. And that usually requires hard work in many facets, whether denying yourself a sweet treat to meet a weight goal, or lifting a heavy object to rearrange your room. Or something like that, I don't know.
Either way, I've written a script, a plan, a list, and now I just need to put it on my wall so I can get a sweet sweet dopamine hit every time I check off a task I would already be participating in to keep myself afloat on the bare minimum ferry. Or boat, it doesn't have to be a large water craft if you don't want. It's all up to interpretation. Personally I prefer flying.
I think June will be a good month. That could be the medication talking or the fact I almost completed the full checklist outline of my morning routine within the set time frame, or even the fact that I started my day with a track from the Star Trek: TNG ost. Time will only tell if this whole living thing becomes easier.
Hey there, been a while.
I went on a trip to attend my cousins wedding, and when I got back I totally lost the will to do anything productive. I had a visual reminder of this, as I hadn't flipped my calendar over to may, nor crossed off any april days past april 20th. It was like after the trip I never really came home, as though I was lackadaisically floating from task to task. I was doing things, the bare minimum, for this entire time, y'know, going to work, showering, eating most of the time, that stuff. But as far as folding the clean clothes that sat in a pile on a blanket in front of my dresser, that was never to be folded.
It's like I mentally checked out after that, and I'm not entirely sure why. Part of it could be because of how nice the place was we stayed at during the trip, being subconsciously envious and longing to go back to the beautiful, open, uncluttered house with steps at the door and a garage beside it. Maybe it was the ability the house gave me to be truly present with the people around me, as the internet barely worked so we all actually spent time with each other. Or maybe it was the sin of comparison, constantly beating myself up for not being like the cousin that was getting married. She's always been far ahead of me in life despite being a couple months younger than me, and I attended her wedding while single and still living with my parents while she graduated from college the same week. Not long before that, my other cousin had her baby. The first great grandchild in our family.
Thats how old I'm actually getting now. I'm not one of those kids running around at a wedding reception celebrating someone I don't know so that I can get up to no good in a ridiculous dress and eat cake. No, I'm the weirdo that is supposed to be the adult in this scenario. But I'm really not. Not the type of adult I'm expected to be, anyway. And I do my best not to complain, but I do really think that entire experience messed up my brain.
I'M supposed to be the adult at that party. I'm not a kid anymore. I'm supposed to be in college and living on my own and getting married and having kids, but I'm not doing any of that. Instead I'm having trouble folding my clothes and writing several paragraphs complaining about how everyone else is better than me.
And I'm fully aware that realistically I am useful, I am good, I am grown and I am growing at my own pace, and that not everything everyone else does, can or should be what I live up to, but I think I'm allowed to be mad about that. I think I'm allowed to be mad that my life is not going how I wish it was.
But when I take a step back from that anger and that comparison to others, I realize I may not mentally be ready for all of those things anyway. I'm not ready to get married yet, I haven't even ever had a relationship that lasted more than six months. I'm not ready to have a baby, my body would be fucked for the rest of my life. I may be ready for collage, but I can't chose what I want to do. And by god I am so ready to have my own place, but momentarily it's monetarily impossible and improbable.
All of this to say, I folded those clothes today. I finally got around to it. No cheating, no leaving them on the bed or floor, fully put away, even the socks. And I turned the calendar to may, even if it is almost a week away from being over. At least I did it.
In part I hate with all my heart that that's what a victory looks like for me sometimes. No matter the fact I'm fully cognizant of my variety pack of mental illnesses or disabilities, no matter the fact that my best is not comparable to someone elses. It still angers me. And yeah, I wish i got points for being aware of it and being able to point out why I'm angry. But self awareness only makes you slightly more miserable. I think I need a new therapist or something, because I feel so static and I need someone to punch me in the metaphorical minds eye to jostle it again like when i first started going to therapy when I was 18.
But yeah, folded my clothes. So i guess that's something.
I also straightened up the rest of my room and actually ate breakfast. Maybe the key to getting things done really is early 2000's girly frutiger aero music and a rich coffee candle.
Probably going to be a very brief entry this morning, but short and sweet is better than nothing.
This is, I think, the third day in a row in which my body has not let me sleep past 1:30 am. I'll just suddenly be Awake and toss and turn for a little while, check my phone and maybe read, and eventually just give up around 4:30, seeing as thats the time I usually get up for work.
It is puzzling to say the least. But that is why I've decided to talk about it, because if it continues I want to make a small log of it and see my findings after a little while. It could just be a three day fluke, it could be my new way of functioning for the rest of my life, although I fucking hope not, but I wanted to at least have an entry regarding it so I can recall when it began.
This is even more bizarre taking into account the fact that I had actually been sleeping a lot later the past couple of weeks to see if I function better with a full 7 hours instead of 5, but I don't recall any major difference. I've got several different disorders that make me mildly tired all the time anyway, so I couldn't tell even if there was a substantial change. But thats why my body suddenly refusing to sleep for more than 4 hours has been so odd.
I will admit, part of it is because I've gotten a little sick recently, just a run-of-the-mill head cold with The Gunk in my nasal passages making breathing a chore for around four to five business days, but most times when I'm sick my body will wake up due to the fact I Can't Breathe, roll over and blow my nose while half asleep, and then go back to bed like I never even woke up in the first place. I actually like to think that I don't have many issues sleeping, but seeing as my body has chosen this fun new hobby, I am inclined to feel as though something else may be afoot. What that is, I'm not exactly sure. Google says it could be due to stress, but aside from the regular onslaught of man made horrors beyond my comprehension, nothing in particular has changed. If it was due to a hyperfixation or something my sleep schedule should have gotten wrecked a whole damn month ago.
The pattern is essentially that I am suddenly not only fully conscious but my eyes are fully open and aware, similarly to how I wake up on days I don't have my morning alarm on such as weekends. Except it's at 1:30am. And I am most certainly not fully rested. But it feels like I am? The lack of sleep doesn't actually hit until around 12:30pm once I clock out of work. But that could also just be exhaustion from a day of work? There are so many variables to keep track of. Anyway, once I'm up I almost immediately try to go back to sleep, because any type of screen is not recommended when trying to return to sleep. However, in most dire situations, such as me laying in bed and feeling every second of an entire hour pass whilst wide awake, dire action must be taken. So I'll take my phone out and read whatever book or fic I've been nibbling on in a way to trick my brain into thinking its bed time, because I usually read to actively dictate what I'm thinking about before I fall asleep to ward off intrusive thoughts. It actually works fairly well. However during these 2:30 am mornings, it unceremoniously fails to lull me back to Dreamland, and ends up having me just waste time in my bed reading until around 3:30 when I give up and start getting pissed off. Then around 4 am I start my morning like I would any other day.
And its just so. WEIRD.
Like!!! What the hell man. If it happens for a fourth time, I will be switching up the tasks I do to waste time. I'll probably either try journaling or writing here. A 2am entry would be the earliest blurb indeed. But we shall see. I can only hope I will be unable to continue testing, hoping that my body will release me from it's vicious grasp and let me sleep a crisp five hours again. I am starting to miss it. And I know most people say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I do not need to be more fond of sleep. I am perfectly fond of it. I miss it. And I sort of very seriously need it. I am going mad.
Have a wonderful rest of your day. I will hopefully report back tomorrow well rested.
Shortly after my last entry things got a little crazy. I have now fallen totally under Star Trek: The Next Generations spell, and am elated every day I continue to indulge. But for those who follow my personal blog, you may very well already know the ins and outs of my current mental state, so I'll try to talk about something other than Data in this entry.
My doctors appointment went about as well as it could have gone, and I say that on the more positive end of the spectrum, but as all things usually go, it just requires more work from my end now. I've gotten two calls from two different places I was referred to, and I *know* that all I need to do is return the calls and schedule appointments to get the ball rolling, even if I seriously doubt said sphere will roll in the direction I am aiming it. And I *know* nothing will happen until I return the calls. But I am sooo terrible with these things. I prefer to schedule appointments in person rather than over the phone. Hell, I prefer scheduling over text than over call. I can't stand not being able to hear the other person clearly. Asking someone to repeat themselves more than thrice is good grounds for me ctrl+alt+deleting myself. I jest, mind you, I have no serious intention of using a keyboard shortcut to erase myself from existence, but I really do not like phone calls. I'm already bad at gauging when it's my turn to talk in an in-person conversation, let alone over a phone call with the audio quality of a ground up marble.
But I will get there eventually. I just need to be home around the time both the offices are still operating so I can have my mom in the room with me during the call. That almost automatically makes business or medical calls easier for me, whether it's because she's my mommy dearest and a large source of comfort, or because she was in the medical field for 25 years and knows the inner workings of most doctors offices, I am unsure. It's most likely a healthy mix of both. She is an absolute powerhouse over the phone and is not afraid of being considered a "karen" by the likes of some random doctors office secretary; To which I will never be able to express the full breadth of my gratitude for. I love my mommy.
Aside from that, I've also just been desensitizing myself to the scariness of driving. I am a fairly capable driver, and a safe one at that, never having gotten into an accident before. Although I've only been driving with my license for around six and a half months, I've been driving with my permit since I was around 17, so that's around roughly six years experience, totally accident free. Not too bad, if I may say so.
It is hard sometimes, though, because driving I feel is an inherently frightening experience. Oh joy, I'm piloting a giant metal machine going 60 miles an hour and everyone else is doing it too! And the whole thing with depth perception, having to trust your brain enough to let yourself *think* you're in the lane when by your own behind-the-wheel point of view it looks like your car is eating the road. The thing is, it's not even that bad for me when I'm alone. I can blast music and listen or sing along just enough to lightly drown out the debilitating anxiety that follows me wherever I go. But when I'm driving with a co-pilot, a passenger, especially my sister or my best friend, my stomach twists into some pretty gnarly knots. I *know* I will not endanger them, but I can't promise the other fuckwads on the road won't. And that scares the living daylights out of me. At least if I die in a car crash alone, I am only taking my life, and I am to blame for that, but taking the life of someone I hold dear? I'd probably try to go out with them.
It's a pretty crippling fear, especially considering it is in direct opposition to a life long dream of travel and exploration. I want to see so much, I want to do so much, and I absolutely love having a co-pilot. Someone to share those things with. It never fails to make the experience all the more sweet when given the chance to experience it through their eyes, too. That's why my driving anxiety frustrates me to no end. I have come to find, though, that as long as I know where I'm going, and I've got some music, I'll be okay.
I always forget the exact verbiage of the quote, but there's this one scene from a show I quite like called "The Marvellous Ms. Maisel", where her father, Abe, is talking to his grandson about fear. He basically ends up scaring the kid more than comforting him, but the essential lesson he tries to teach him is that everything is scary. Literally everything, all the time. And he uses many examples about how just simply walking outside could kill someone. But he says in the end that we must persevere in spite of the terror that ghosts our paths. And while in the show I can't remember the outcome of his speech, it actually resonated with me quite a lot. Everything *is* scary, all the time. But there's nothing you can really do other than work through it, however difficult that may be.
At this point I don't remember what season, episode, or even if it was particularly important to said episode, but it's really stuck with me over a year after watching. It's gotten me to step out of my comfort zone and really try to conquer what small, silly fears I have, even if it does take me a while.
So I guess I'll get those phone calls done eventually.
I have once again befell executive dysfunctions tight grasp and not had the energy to write to you.
Yesterday was pretty amazing though, so I can talk about that. I had my first ever adult doctors appointment, which is basically gonna get the ball rolling to fix up my life. I got referred for an adhd re-diagnosis because it's been so long since I got my diagnosis and it was with a different doctor so we don't have the information on file, which is a little silly considering if you talk to me for more than a few minutes you can tell, and the adhd medication I used to be proscribed for 3 years *was* on file, but oh well. It'll delay getting my own prescription again but I will just have to wait it out. I was also just referred over to a physiologist in general so that I could get my autism diagnosis as well. AND!!! I got a referral for hormone therapy/pcos management, so I might *finally* have a way to deal with the crippling weight of my eternal struggle!
I am very cautiously optimistic, but at this point, I am more than willing to spend my entire life savings to be in the body my brain has always wanted to be in. To be normal and. Well I don't know what else after that. I just want to be able to do things everyone else can at my age. I'm so tired of feeling like a disgusting beast or a crippled bystander in my own life. And maybe, just maybe, this will be the road to that ending.
Now of course I'll never be normal, I don't think anyone really is, and if they say they are, it's propaganda from Big Normal to sell more 9-5 desk jobs, but at least being a little healthier and a little less hairy will get me off the bench and back in the field to play with everyone else. I also got referred for weight management, which is definitely one of my biggest problems. I've just plateaued and I've got no way of fixing it.
The only thing I'm scared about is the loose skin. I've already started experiencing that since I've lost over 50 pounds, my arms and thighs are a lot looser than they used to be, and probably the parts I'm most embarrassed by, because at least I can wear things that cover my belly. I'll probably end up becoming the idiot trying every type of topical cream and home remedy to tighten my skin back up, lol.
Although realistically I don't think I want to loose that much more. I think a comfortable weight would be about 160/170, considering I'm much taller and broad shouldered than most woman, but I think I'm okay with that. I think I'm okay with being bigger than everyone else, even if sometimes I want to be the smaller person, because I've always been a protector, and I wouldn't want to lose that. I love that I can make others feel safe by my presence alone. Fat or not, I'll always be that. If I ever have the will to do it, I'd probably just want to fill in the loose skin with muscle, but working out is such a daunting prospect. I have a gym membership, but actually getting myself over there and then actually knowing what the hell I'm supposed to do is SO hard. I like lifting weights and I love the leg machines but I know there's like a certain order in which you do things and I do not know said order. Last time I went I was an idiot and tried everything till failure and couldn't walk right for like three days, so, I'm not very good at limiting what I do apparently.
Along with going to the gym also comes with packing work out clothes, packing a clean outfit for afterwards, showering if you sweat, having a bag to keep all of these things in, and having to be around *other people*, uuuguughhh......
I just wish everything I actually am capable of doing to fix myself didn't have so many unexplained steps. I wish someone would guide me through all of this instead of tossing me into the ocean as a bad swimmer. I'm doggy pedaling, sort of floating over the water, but I'm not doing super great, I got salt water in my nose, and I can't see the shore, but I am so very willing to learn if someone would teach me.
Maybe I just need a personal trainer or something. For working out or for life? Not sure.
It's been a while, sorry about that. Although I'm pretty sure only two people read this, I still feel a little guilty for the inconsistency. I shall endeavor to improve.
This morning I'm not thinking about anything in particular like the last few entries, I'm just in the mood to write. I got my meds refilled yesterday so I'm doing a lot better, I was skating near the edge of self neglect there for a moment. Off meds I'm not horribly neglectful, but I can't bring myself to *actively* participate in taking care of myself aside from the basics, which barely includes brushing my teeth. I wonder why the prospect of dental hygiene, or hygiene in general, is so hard for neurodivergent folks such as myself. I assume it has something to do with executive dysfunction, considering I appall being dirty or neglecting my own needs, but I sit there, too tired to accomplish anything, and then eventually just sleep. Luckily, I have been able to find a medication that fixes most of these issues. Somehow, even when the time release runs out, I still feel more capable of keeping up with my routines as my brain awaits the medication to filter in during the wee hours of morning.
This is not something I admit lightly, mind you, since I have always felt a weird sense of guilt and anger towards medication. Why can't I just function like everyone else? Why does a single pill dictate if my brain will fire on all cylinders? And why does a single pill dictate if I have the will to take care of myself, and partake in my hobbies for that matter? I mean, the difference between my unmedicated vs medicated art is astounding, just look.
It is unfair. It has always been that way, but then, if it wasn't, it wouldn't be a disability. I tend to need to remind myself that my neurodivergences are, in fact, disabling. And I've probably spoken similarly in past entries, so it's an on-going struggle.
It makes me angry, or just overall upset, knowing that I am simply a complex clump of chemicals that has a few missing, and needs more chemicals to do the things my flesh suit needs to do. It is quite absurd. Although, as stated earlier, I am endlessly lucky I've been able to find something that unlocks the part in my brain that allows me to actively participate in life. And hopefully, if my upcoming doctors appointment goes well, I may be given more tools to combat the everlasting fight against my own flesh.
It really has always been an uphill battle, too, considering I yearn for so much. I yearn to *do* so much. I want to run, I want to work out and grow strong, I want to feel pretty in whatever I wear, I want to feel like a real girl. I've always felt like a fake one. My body has singlehandedly mixed up the perfect chemical brew to make me feel as though, even though I am female, born female, assigned female at birth, and perceived as female, and actively WANT to be a woman, that I am not living up to the title. All because of the fact I am different. I am bigger than most, I have been plus size most of my life, and I believe I have pcos, which causes all sorts of issues, but the worst for me is hirsutism, which essentially means growing a beard. There isn't really a cure that I'm aware of, it's a battle I'll have to continue fighting unless someone makes a medical breakthrough soon. Twice a week, I sit in front of a magnifying mirror for three to four hours, plucking the dark hairs out of my beard area. It hurts quite a lot, and my neck is always raw and breaking out because I constantly have to poke and prod at my skin just to feel like a regular person. Not even feminine. Just normal.
Right now I'm trying out an oil that slows down hair growth, but as mentioned earlier, if I'm off my meds, that all goes out the window. How am I supposed to put an oil on my face and neck every morning AND night, when I can barely manage to brush my teeth or wash my hair? And so I end up cursing to myself, because in this uphill battle, I am riding up the hill on a bicycle with a seat that is too small, my legs are getting tired, and the tires are flat.
As soon as I hit puberty I began struggling intensely with my identity. When the beard started to grow I thought, shit, maybe I'm supposed to be a man, because I clearly can't be a woman like this, even my body is telling me. This of course was not the case, I would never want to be a man physically, maybe like a body swap for a day out of curiosity, but NEVER forever. I want to be a girl, and have always wanted to be a girl. I was nonbinary for a while, and I still sort of tread that line, I go by she/they because it feels like the only apt way to refer to myself. Whether that be because my own sense of self is so warped that I couldn't possibly feel as if I am solely a girl, or because I am and have always been queer and it really is just comfortable, I won't ever truly know. At least, not until this godforsaken hair is off of my face.
If it were up to me, I don't think I'd have any body hair. And that isn't due to beauty standards or societal expectation, I just hate the feeling of it. I hate it in my skin. Why is it in there? Stop that. Eyebrows, eyelashes, and scalp are even pushing it sometimes, but I digress.
Some day I hope that I feel effortlessly feminine. Not in the sense that I need to be pretty all the time, or even that I need to look nice, but that I don't have to deal with an endless war on my own body. I've always been bigger than most woman, I'm 5'7 and a lot of woman, and I take pride in it most times, especially since I can take care of myself and I don't have to be afraid of walking into public spaces alone, but sometimes I do yearn to be dainty. To be small, and easily loved. Attractive, alluring, and effortlessly feminine.
Now of course, I don't think I'll ever be skinny, I am quite literally big boned, and god willing I want to have beefy arms one day, but that dream is always in the back of my mind. I want others to look at me and perceive me as if I am an illustrious, effervescent, delicate, graceful and beautiful woman. Not just the fridge protecting the snacks, as the saying goes.
I know that I am inherently at least a little pretty, even though I feel like throwing up just typing that, but sometimes it feels as though other woman have something I lack. I am only looked at as platonic comic relief or with lust. I am not a person to be cherished and worshiped, but the butt of every joke, or even a fetish. And as someone with all of these differences, I have always defaulted to comedy. Yes, look at me, I'm the beauty AND the beast! I'm a werewolf, look out for the full moon! I hate it, that I can't really be taken seriously or really take myself seriously either, and that I will never be looked at the same way my skinnier, daintier, shorter, softer friends are looked at.
It is probably a fruit salad of different components that causes me to feel this way, and it's most definitely got something to do with the autism, since I have always felt, for lack of a better word, other. I mean, hell, I'm pretty sure my last entry was all about the otherness of autism. At the end of the day, I have and will aways yearn to be known, seen, understood, and loved. It's probably one of the reasons I attach myself to fictional characters so often. Whether it be because I see myself in them, or know deep down they would probably understand and empathize with my struggles.
A bit of a later entry than usual, but seeing as it is also the weekend, we're already in slightly unfamiliar territory.
Today I'm thinking about otherness, more specifically the otherness that comes with being autistic. While I have yet to get a formal diagnosis because the most official one in my home city is pushing $400 usd, after 21 years of trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me, I can semi-confidently self diagnose.
I've been experiencing this otherness, this feeling of differentiality for my entire life now, but it's been especially hard these past few years now that I have a name for it. You would think it'd get easier with a label and resources, but it has somehow only further drilled into my brain that I am, succinctly, other. I find myself being acutely and unfortunately aware of my differences in the way I miss certain things, speak in a different manner, and process the entire world uniquely to that of a neurotypical person. Auditory processing is something I have a lot of issues with, I mishear most people all the time, but I have my work arounds. More often than not I've found as long as you play your issues off like a punchline to a joke, people don't seem to be as bothered by it. My most common mishearings are usually that of innuendo, so I can usually play it off similarly. It's hard though, because innuendo is not on my mind 24/7, I'd honestly prefer to avoid the subject save talking with a select few, but one must use any tactic they have proven successful in order to survive in a world that does not understand, and does not put effort in to understand.
The most peculiar thing I have observed is that as I have gotten older, I feel as though I have only gotten more autistic. I would have thought that by now, especially given the tools and proper locutions, that I'd have gotten better at combatting my symptoms, or at least that they would have lessened altogether. This however is not the case. No matter how many times I have tried to force myself to behave in a normal or socially palatable way, it never gets easier. It actually gets harder, especially knowing that I would probably function better if I was just given the right to behave how I do naturally without judgement. The only time I have that privilege is when I'm at home with my family, but even then, there are some limitations. I am lucky to have a family that is also extremely neurodivergent so that I'm not an outlier like I am in most all other social settings, but it doesn't mean there aren't still differences.
The reason the subject of otherness even made itself present in my mind was because for the past few days I've been spending time with my friends from out of town. The past two days, practically non-stop. I care for my friends and enjoy their company, and I'm fairly certain it's a mutual feeling, but I can't help but feel like an idiot around them sometimes, and not in the positive and carefree way that I've seen other people describe, the freeing nature of turning your brain off around someone and just being. I mean an idiot. I can't ever say the right things, and even when I'm not meaning to joke, it comes off as one, and they laugh, and I'm just barely aware enough to play it off as if it was a joke. This isn't the case all the time, but when one spends 9am to 9pm with a group, two days in a row, one begins to feel a little stupid. I feel intrinsically as though I always have to be entertaining and interesting and correct the entire way through to be seen as valuable in any given social interaction that I end up burning out halfway through and turning dumb and mute near the end. I am metaphorically and literally burning the candle at both ends, leaving a sickly waxy nub in the middle and not only still trying to offer it, but also providing everyone with a match and going, "Look, there's still some left, go for it," because it just feels right. It feels like it's what I'm supposed to do. How am I supposed to bring value if I am quiet?
But then, when I am not being quiet, I always say something wrong. Even when they don't mention or pay mind to what I have said, I can tell it was the wrong thing to say. I have to refrain from talking about special interests because they know nothing about them, and I don't want to sound like a broken record and annoy them. It's not that they berate me with hate or even correct me most times, they aren't even malicious about it, and this goes for most all of my friends, but I always feel some mysterious sense of otherness gently emanating from them. From everyone but myself, I suppose. It's like an inside joke I'll never quite get.
This happens a lot when rehashing past mistakes with friends in order to explain how we got to be how we are now. An old friend and I were explaining to a newer friend in the group how I had chose to leave the group for a few years because of some childish misunderstanding we had as children, and found it to be the easiest solution to the issue I had thought was my presence, and due to my verbatim memory, I recalled exactly what she had said to make me distance myself and stop being friends. They had changed the subject before I had gotten the chance to clarify that there is and never has been any ill will between us, and that I was simply trying to help her recall the correct information because I had it stored away in one of the many filing cabinets in my brain, but I could tell it was too late and that it had hurt her feelings slightly. It was completely by accident, I was only trying to be helpful, but I wasn't sure if I should've apologized either, because maybe I didn't hurt her feelings and perhaps I was being a little self centered thinking that something I said mattered enough to hurt her feelings. It's all so confusing and I hate the variation in many social interactions that have to do with emotion, especially considering that emotions are very hard to combat. Thats usually why I prefer defaulting to humor, because everyone likes to laugh and share jokes most of the time.
It's just frustrating knowing I'll never really feel understood, or like I don't need to put on a performance. Even with my best friend, though she's told me numerous times I don't need to, I feel an overwhelming urge to be entertaining. To be the best host I can be. Otherwise, there is no value in her coming over to my house, even though that is not at all the truth. We can enjoy each others presence either way, and could go as far as sitting near each other and not talking for hours and still feel fulfilled, but it never comes without the smallest hint of guilt. I must be the one that makes the visit worth something.
This could just be a me thing, though, and not totally related to autism. As I have said before I have a colorful plethora of disorders and diagnosis, some on paper and some hypothesized, but either way, still inhabiting my flesh suit.
In a totally contradicting light, though, I have also heard many of my friends refer to themselves as autistic even though I don't see them as such, or they don't have similar struggles I do. I am aware that autism and asd as a whole is, in fact, a spectrum, but claiming that you're "high functioning autistic" because you're introverted and don't have very good social skills is borderline insulting, even though I know it isn't intended that way. But it leads me to feel as though my self-proclaimed title of "high-functioning" is not only a falsity but inaccurate, even though I have been dissecting my own brain since I was first able to think. Perhaps high-functioning isn't even the correct term, I don't really know what is, but it's what I've been going with since I am, with great struggle, capable of suppressing symptoms and masking enough to appear normal to the untrained eye, in most cases for the purpose of looking more palatable at work. It feels like it invalidates my entire experience.
It's frustrating, having these feelings pulled up like weeds with flowers growing atop them, feeling as though uprooting them only disturbs the soil and leaves me an undecorated indelicate mess. I guess it is something I will simply have to come to terms with, that I am, though surrounded by people that try, alone in the universe.
Kids, todays lesson is about older media. For those who know me and/or have kept up with these entries, I know you're already rolling your eyes because I've drilled this point so far into the ground it's poking out the other side. But I'm deadly serious.
There is an astounding lack of dedication and care in story writing nowadays. And I don't say this as a 75 year old man that wishes people would make movies as good as the "oldies", I say this as a know-nothing 21 year old woman that is actively living during an egregious oversight. One that is, to my knowledge, a fairly recent problem, too. Sure, there have always been cheesy movies and media created just to earn a buck, but from what I've experienced, the good used to outweigh the bad.
Now, was this entire entry provoked because I watched Star Trek: The Next Generation for 5 hours straight last night? Yes, however, I believe there is at least a note of merit in that. I am not someone who can sit still. My attention cannot be held for very long. I have watched many shows over the course of my short existence, and even if I've taken my ADHD medication, even if I like something, I will find myself glazing or losing focus because it's just how my brain works. Adhd is indeed a bastard.
However, last night, not only did I actively participate in watching Star Trek, but I yelped, hooted, hollered, kvetched, and giggled like a school girl. I have never been so intently enthralled and entertained by a show. It's as if my entire life I have only ever watched things and enjoyed one aspect of it, shuffling off the rest as embarrassing or badly written. Take Supernatural, for instance. Wonderful premise, great characters, I think of the show very fondly, but it is not in any way a good show. The writing has a range of fairly good or outrageously bad. That is simply the standard I have grown accustom to. I would not go out of my way to recommend it to other people, because it is a LOT of chaff to separate for a few grains of wheat. That grain being Castiel and Bobby respectively.
I have a similar sentiment towards shows like Doctor Who and Sherlock. Wildly interesting plots, characters, cast, overarching themes, etc, but if you think a little to hard about anything, the illusion of cleverness faulters. That is just how most cult classic shows go, because a fandom can only be strong if it agrees there are things to fix or change to fit their ideals attached to the characters they have grown fond of.
Now by no means am I saying these shows are bad, because technically, they are not. I love them, they are easily some of my favorite shows, I say this while typing on a keyboard positioned in front of Castiel and eleventh doctor pop figures. This is all simply my own opinion, if you do not like it, you can leave, or you can disagree with me in a comment, I don't care either way, this is my blog. However, and I say this with the largest crystalline grain of salt, they do not nearly match the quality of complex emotional storytelling that I have been met with in Star Trek: The Next Generation.
One common outlier between all of these shows is that yes, they all have their more campy episodes, all good shows do, but Star Trek somehow balances it far better than I have ever had the delight in witnessing. The countless allegoric storylines covering modern issues such as sexism, racism, slavery, gay rights, and even more specific struggles such as family lineage of mixed individuals, parental issues, family dynamics, the response and repercussions of trauma, and many many more, are all handled with the utmost sincerity. I will not say outright that there aren't a few...weird moments, I mean, come on, it was a tv show made in the 80's about the future, things are going to translate over oddly. It happened in the very same way with Star Trek TOS. The woman simply had to wear scantily clad short mini skirts, because it was the 60's version of the future. And while I love it, as I love most anything with retrofuturism, purposefully intended or not, one must recognize the effect time has on any given media made in a certain era.
This, I think, is one of the most common issues I see tripping people up when they watch old media. "Deanna Troi was a girly girl obsessed with chocolate, how sexist!" Yes, sure, I agree, it was overdone, but later in the series she gets the youth sucked out of her, manipulated, genetically and physically altered, kidnapped, and a multitude of other horrible things, and because she is a strongly written character, she rises to the occasion and takes charge of her situation as best she can despite the odds.
There is an infinitesimal amount of value to be derived from older media, especially certain ones like Star Trek, because it not only is a reflection of its time, for better or for worse, but it shows how things have changed. And while there are a plethora of differences that come to mind, the one that presents itself to me first is the simple fact that we are being starved of good media now. I could be completely wrong, maybe I'm just not in the right circles to find the good stuff, or perhaps I just have a bias for older media, which I do, however, never in my life has it been clearer to me just how blatantly starved we really are. There is so much nuance in the way things were done only a few decades ago, and hell, even in the early 2000's. Even though I previously put a few of those shows down, superwholock's shows are vastly superior to the things being made now, because at least one iota of thought was put into them. And before you boo me, I am acutely aware of the few rare outliers that have come out recently, such as the newest Superman movie, but my point still stands.
I felt a slurry of emotions wash over me last night as I watched Star trek. I think I watched about 5 or 6 episodes, since thats what my family does at night after both my dad and I get home from work. We don't usually get that much time, but I was desperate to start watching as soon as we could so we could fit in as many episodes as we could, since I knew there was a Data and Worf two-part episode arc on the way. But, we had a few episodes to go before that, so at around 6:15, we put our dinner in the oven, and began watching.
General spoiler warning for Star Trek: The Next Generation, season 6, episodes 13-17
The first episode we watched was season 6, episode 13, Aquiel. A Geordi-centric episode, which I was delighted to see, as he is one of my favorite characters. The basic plot of the episode can be chalked up to a romance-murder mystery, centering around a woman, Aquiel, who disappears and is assumed dead. It was, of course, wonderful. I'll have to write full on reviews about each episode, but that is for another time. Next was episode 14, Face of the Enemy, which was a striking episode. Deanna gets kidnapped and surgically altered into a Romulan, is given little details about what has happened, and has to act as part of the Romulan intelligence, and a ruthless one at that, much apposing her own character. She was absolutely incredible, fierce, and trailblazed the entire episode. I was honestly shocked every time she raised her voice, her presence was so commanding the entire episode. Our next episode was 15, Tapestry, where Picard dies and Q takes him back in time, allowing him to change the past and see what would happen. Again, very strong episode.
Then, at last, we got to episode 16 and 17, the two parter, Birthright. It's a duel-focused two parter about both Data and Worf discovering their own personal truths in the form of Data discovering he can now dream and meeting his father within said dreams, and Worf being told his father was not killed and searching for him, only to find the refugees of said battle in a Romulan hostage camp that has been there for generations now and has been colonized and kept within boarders, knowing nothing of their true Klingon culture.
Data spends most of the episodes in a dream state or frantically painting about said dreams, which as an artist and someone who favors Data quite strongly, this was nothing short of a treat. Someone from another Trek show, Deep Space Nine I believe though I haven't seen it yet, I believe his name was Bashir, I care for him quite a lot even though I have only seen him once. Good golly gravy his interactions with Data and overall energy was refreshing as hell. The dream sequences were absolutely phenomenal. Brent Spiner having to play across from himself as two vastly different characters never disappoints, he is brilliant.
Worf is absolutely no-nonsense, as he is most always, and when he is provoked with the suggestion of his father being alive, he does exactly what I had hoped he would and dangles the son of a bitch that provoked him with the information over a guardrail until he agrees to take him without payment until after. Worf is out of uniform for most of the two parter, in a solid black outfit, sort of like a cat suit, though I'm not entirely sure, either way, he looked incredibly intimidating. I knew it was serious when he was out of uniform, and as I had stated earlier, giggled like a schoolgirl.
He infiltrates the refugee camp and essentially brings Klingon culture back to the captured Klingons, what a bombshell. I felt such a visceral disgust when the Romulans in charge kept referring to them as "equals", even though they were clearly not. I squirmed in my seat when I found out Ba'el was the result of one of the Romulans marrying his enslaved Klingon. I cheered and sang along to the battle song when Worf and the young Klingon came back from the hunt.
It was all so well done and so incredibly emotionally provoking, and I have never, in my entire life, watched that many episodes of one singular piece of media in succession and been thoroughly enraptured the entire time. It could be because I am a simply minded fool, but I would like to think it was because these are genuinely some of the best episodes of television I've ever witnessed.
I'm so serious when I say I presently feel like those videos of white people trying cultural, or just generally seasoned and well prepared food for the first time. How have I not taken the time to watch any of this before? How has it taken me this long to find something this good? Why did I not listen to my parents and watch it with them years ago? And why aren't things this good being made any more? The fact I have finally experienced such joy from a show made well over thirty years ago is baffling and borderline insulting. Who the fuck used to be in charge, and why aren't they or like-minded people still in charge now?
We presently have a lot of injustice in the world. Manmade horrors beyond our comprehension, and that phrase has never quite rung as true as it does currently. I know that the recent file release has left me with countless anxiety ridden and fearfully sleepless nights, and I have even seen dear friends slipping into a maddening psychosis because of the sheer amount of terror in our world right now. I have no solution to this, I'm just some madwoman nerd on the internet, but if you are in need of a true escape, please turn to Star Trek. It has filled me with a joy I have never known before, because it is actually Good. I can say that with my whole heart and chest. Good. Great, even. And wonderful. I have loved many shows with my entire heart, especially Doctor Who, knowing that they aren't particularly well done, but by god, Star Trek: The Next Generation is capital G Good.
It's odd how time changes the way you act and react to certain experiences. Of course, time does this to everyone, all people are different characters within themselves over the course of their singular lifetime, but what I'm thinking about this morning specifically relates more to recognizing and being actively entertained by the differences in how one's self interacts with the world as one grows older.
This comes to mind specifically because I've noticed a slight shift in how I hyperfixate, since it's been a long time since I last did, my own patterns and inflections are bound to change, as all things do, but it's just a curious thing to take note of, I suppose. It's more like concentrated bursts, followed by a calm lingering presence. It is still there, I am proactively thinking about and pursuing the interest that has so graciously sprouted from a seed I was unaware I was sowing, but that differs greatly from my past experiences. Although, to be fair, the mind and memory do tend to betray me.
Perhaps I did experience hyperfixation in the same way when I was younger, and only now because I am older does it feel different, but I can't help but shake the feeling that I am processing things differently. I think it might be because, as I have mentioned in passing many times before, hyperfixating for the longest time was my only real coping mechanism and a form of escapism. I would fixate totally and completely on one subject, insert myself into it, and change little things about myself to fit the surroundings, imagining that I would be far better off, far more competent, in a fictive setting. Especially because in most fictive settings, revenge is possible, justice is possible, and the means to wish away all the issues my body presented me with in reality was as simple as moving my pencil a little to the left.
And while I still occasionally experience these feelings and still even participate in them sometimes, they are no longer a crutch, more a means of entertainment. It's as if I'm no longer grasping for straws and I have room to breathe. I am by no means perfect, but I often have to remind myself that I am far better off, far healthier mentally and physically, far more loudly loved, and far more sound than I have ever been. This is not my peak, at least I hope, but I have definitely climbed a few smaller mountains to get here.
Last night I think was when the change hit me. I had an odd sense of guilt wash over me when I had not partaken as much as I had wanted to in my hyperfixation that day, and I laid in bed calmly instead of tossing and turning in excitement, anticipating all the new art I was going to create the next morning, how I would insert myself into my fixation, presently star trek. And as I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, it was as if I took a step back from my own mind to analyze the feeling. Guilt? Why guilt? No one is counting on me, there is no pressure, I am fine. It was such an odd sensation. Hyperfixations are like comforting junk food to the brain, and it was as if I just wasn't in the mood for brownies. Which is perfectly acceptable, sometimes sweets aren't what you're in the mood for, but they will always be an option when the mood arises. I think I struggled with this specifically because, contrary to my own personal beliefs, I tend to see most everything in a very black and white nature. I'm not sure really of what answer I was planning on deriving from all of this, but it was just interesting to pick my own brain apart, I guess.
Sorry for the absence, I really did mean to write, but I got weirdly busy over the weekend. Had a movie night with my friends, too. All very pleasant of course.
This morning the topic of hyperfixation is on my mind. Specifically because I'm in the beginning stages of my first hyperfixation in a long while. Not only is it the first one of the year, but also quite possibly the first real one in a little over two years, but that's more of an estimation than cold hard evidence. I'd like to say that I've had little ones, mini-fixations that lasted a few days and had roughly the same symptoms, only dampened and not as fully enthralling, but I'm currently in the midst of feeling the churning in my brain developing a real, full on fixation as I write to you. It's a really weird feeling, both familiar and new. Like watching an oncoming train while tied to the tracks.
I had tons of them back when I was in high school, for whatever reason, I can't pinpoint one specific cause, but more often than not it was a form of escapism, but I've been doing that since I was very little. I guess it was just because when I was a teenager I was discovering new media and rediscovering old media, and the sheer onslaught of THINGS just made me end up that way. Some of my favorite shows, movies, and videogames still hold a very special place in my heart because of this, even if time causes them to fade overtime, their candles will still hold a flicker.
But I think this one is my first real one in a very long time. I suppose, as well as that, it is my first hyperfixation as a full fledged "Adult". I say that with *heavy* air quotations.
It's really weird too, because the whole reason I got into this mess was because my parents had decided to watch all of star trek, yes, *all* of star trek, in chronological order, shows and movies. I've always had a loose understanding and knowledge of Star Trek, but we've never sat down to watch everything with purpose, it was usually just the odd episode now and again when my dad would want to share it with us. While I enjoyed TOS (The Original Series) both as a child and on our most recent rewatch, I enjoyed it more from an artist and producer viewpoint. Because it was filmed in the 60's, stylistically, it's very distinct and quite bold. I am a huge 60's cinephile for this reason, and it was fascinating seeing how they lit and framed scenes with the different color lights, as well as the set and costume design in general.
But Star Trek TNG (The Next Generation) has been a far different experience. I watched it passively as I do with most things my family watches at night during family time, but it has recently started taking up far more space in my mind than I am used to. I suppose since it is far more "modern" in comparison to TOS, it has been more immersive. But oddly enough, I have just grown to enjoy it far more than the original. Not as a slight to its predecessor, but simply because it's more up my ally. The characterization is incredible, the set design and effects, though technically outdated, still hold up today in an astounding brilliance. My opinion could also just be due to fixation bias, and I will admit that with my full chest, but nevertheless, it is absolutely wonderful. It handles the "utopian future" idea far better than it's predecessor, and as a queer person, I love seeing the allegoric stories with those themes.
As a creature of habit, I continued to watch passively, and it was not until season 6, the season I am on presently, that I was fully hooked. Sure, the hook was in my mouth, I liked the bait that was used, but I didn't take a bite until just recently. And now I feel as if my cheek has been pierced and I am mentally being reeled in while flopping around and twirling in the freshwater lake I inhabit. Perhaps I am a bluegill. But I digress.
All this to say, hook, line, and sinker.
And although I favor quite a few characters, picard, guinan, q, geordi, etc, Data has been the bait that caught me. I love him. I am him. He is me. I also want him? As a friend, carnally, who knows. Yes. Probably. This is usually how I know the hyperfixation has its ten inch talons deep in my flesh, flailing me about as it takes me home for dinner. Weird amount of violent metaphors in this entry, I apologize.
But it's true. It just par for the course. And it's a royal mind-fuck. I haven't been to therapy in a while because it's hard to schedule after being out for so long, but it might be something I bring up next session. Weirdly not something I'd want to bring up though, too? I have no problem telling you strange people online, though.
I wonder what the deal is with me latching onto characters in this specific fashion, not only through kinship and understanding, but through desire as well. It's as if my brain is like, yes, this character is you, especially if they are an allegory for autism, (think castiel, connor anderson, shawn spencer, doctor who, etc), you relate to them very highly and feel represented when they are on screen, for better or for worse. But most of these well written neurodivergent allegories just so happen to be quirked up white boys 99.9% of the time, and that, much to my dismay, is my favorite flavor. So I end up also developing a huge crush on them and thus begins the mind-fuck.
Because I end up relating so heavily to these characters that I accidentally develop crushes on, and end up coming full circle as the crush on this stupid fictional character turns into self love. Whatever gets the job done, I guess.
Hyperfixations usually come out of the blue though, that's how I know I'm absolutely minced. Mostly because there is a clear distinction between when I passively like something versus when I am enthralled with it. I may mention it in passing, I may have it on in the background as I work on a project, I may even make a sketch or two. But a hyperfixation is all-consuming. Everything on the subject must be read. It is my every waking moment. Everything is a reference to it, in this case, Star Trek, and/or Data. I must draw it. I must insert myself into it. I must know it all.
And it's so much fun. I love it. I hope this one lasts all year. Or at least a good few months. I have a local con coming up and I ordered an Operations Star Fleet uniform, the mustered yellow one for those who don't know, and I could possibly be meeting Will Wheaton. I have to restrain myself from ordering the Data pop figure. We shall see how long I last.
And that is what I experienced yesterday. I drew Data five times, listened to music I think he'd like or that I'd like to show him, watched as many spoiler free interviews with Brent Spiner as I could, tried to read the official data logs about Data but quickly put it down because of spoilers, watched Star Trek during dinner, and ended the night with some delectable Tumblr fanfiction. Yeah, absolutely julienned and sauteed.
I am rambling at this point now, so I think I'll leave it here today. Expect more about this whole ordeal! I hope I did not scare you off with my incessant geeking.
Luckily my greeting this morning rings true. I did an extended version of my morning routine because I had to tone my hair and diffuse it, so I look like one of those baby cherubs in the renaissance paintings this morning. There are worse things to be compared to.
I love the feeling of being clean and dry post shower. All the nice facial creams and serums, the softness when your own skin brushes against you, and the smells. Oh the smells. I don't know how men use the 14-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, body wash, motor oil bullshit that they're marketed. Who wouldn't want to smell like coconut, vanilla, and shea butter? It's just too good.
I love the ritual of it all. I'm a sucker for a good routine, but willing myself to actually start the thing is where trouble creeps in. I absolutely hate getting *in* the shower. Once I'm in, water cascading down my back, the warmth cocooning me, we're all well and good. But starting, *starting*, is my Achilles heal. If I'm not mistaken it's an autism thing, or adhd considering they're what are called "sister disorders" or something. But I wish it wasn't so. I've tried to explain this to others so many times but they usually mistake it for me admitting that I hate to bathe and don't, that simply isn't the case.
I grew up relatively poor, higher end of low class as I like to call it, and I went to a private school, so smelling good was kind of all I had to throw the rich kids off the "poor" scent so to speak. I never wanted anyone to be able to smell how terrible my living conditions were. As soon as I became a teenager I started getting pretty good at it, but I'm always trying to improve. Since I'm an adult I buy my own hygiene stuff now, so I've started to develop a specific scent profile instead of just piling on anything I could to not smell bad like when I was little. There is definitely a difference between not smelling bad and actually smelling good. My go-to scents are vanilla, coconut, shea, and some strawberry. Sort of like a strawberry shortcake, I guess. As well as whatever the "pearl" cent is from dove deodorant. If I could get that as a lotion as well I would, it smells absolutely divine.
But of course this is all still trial and error, I'm still sort of looking for my signature scent. Overall the end goal is to smell like a bakery when I walk into a room. One day, I may accomplish it. But sometimes the trials are the fun part, y'know?
Good morning.
Sorry it's been a while, though I'm not sure who exactly I'm apologizing to. I got in one of those funks again where I'm just a little late for things and steadily lagging further and further behind. But I'm trying to get back to our regularly scheduled programming.
I can usually tell the state of mind I'm in if I can force myself to get up and do my morning routine before work. It's not overly complicated but it gets tedious and or hard to will myself out of bed when the funk is upon me. I'm not entirely sure if it's linked to one singular of the plethora of disorders I have, or if it's just a secret third option. Either way, it comes and goes. Today was luckily a good morning. Full speed ahead, I suppose.
This weekend I've got a few things going on, which has motivated me to try and lock in a little more with things around the house. My mom is very dependent on co-play when she plateaus during chores, so I've been coming home once I get off from work and helping her for a couple of hours before I go and pick up my little sister from school and my dad from work. It's been a lot of driving. I probably won't realistically do this very often after these coming two weeks, because it's a lot of wear and tear on the car, and a lot of gas, but I can at least feel like I'm making some sort of difference at the house for right now.
The state of my home and it's cleanliness has always fluctuated, especially when we got evicted and all our stuff got stolen, then our storage shed got vandalized, etc, etc, so now all the stuff that we don't have a place for is in our tiny trailer. That is what has stopped me from helping most times. Simply because none of it is mine, I have taken care of most of my own things, and I just await my mother's input, sorting through everything so that we may eventually look like we live like regular people. That, for me, has been the hardest part. We aren't naturally messy people, or at least not mom and I, I can't vouch for my sister and dad, but it definitely looks like we aren't very tidy, either. It drives me up the wall knowing if we just had a better place to put the stacks of boxes and storage containers, our house might actually look like civilized people live in it. Or however civilized one can be when living in a trailer park.
One day I know we'll climb our way out of this whole mess, I know it takes time, especially since my parents are trying to break their own generational cycles of hoarding, and as far as that goes they're doing much better than most I'd say, but I can't help but wish it all went faster. That's just my young impatience speaking, I suppose. I just wish that when my friends came over I didn't always feel the urge to say, "Sorry for the mess, you know how it is," when I know they don't really care, or at least they say they don't. Hell, there are quite a lot they'll overlook as long as they can spend time with me and without their overbearing parents. And in part I understand. Anything is better than helicopter parents, especially when you're legally an adult and have been for longer than said parents would like to admit.
Got a little ramble happy today, haha.
See you tomorrow.
Good early morning, and happy thirty entries to all.
I know it probably looks like there's an entry missing, but I promise there isn't, I just posted entry 29 first as some much-needed exposition, lol. But it is there, I promise.
It's currently 4:50am, usually around the time I wake up. For whatever reason my eyes snapped open earlier at 2:30 and I have finally surrendered after about an hour of battling to go back to sleep. I will most certainly need some sort of caffeine today. The Adderall will probably do most of the work, though.
I have my hair in over-night sock curls which I am afraid to take out, but I'm in my full uniform so it's quite a silly sight. This morning I am thinking about a plethora of things, mostly because I've been up a lot longer than I usually am before writing these entries, but I'm somehow still a little cloudy. I read all of my previous entries in an attempt to fall back asleep but ended up weirdly enjoying them. Sort of like being on a phone call with a slightly younger version of myself.
It's unfathomable just how much has changed since the first entry. I didn't even have my computer, my license, my routine, or my newfound freedom either. Granted there's still a long way to go, I have several purchases my wallet is groaning at the thought of to get me where I need to be, as well as life style changes that I always talk about and actively think about but end up failing to keep up with. I think I was doing the best routine wise early last year. I was eating a lot better and moving more, which are the most important and most major things one can do to improve their wellbeing. I was also still in therapy, which probably helped. It's not that I don't want to be in therapy, I just keep forgetting and/or keep getting locked out of my account to schedule a new appointment. Come to think of it, even since my last appointment in june (?) so much has changed. I will have a lot to catch up on.
I guess dwelling on how much better I was being isn't going to fix what I'm currently doing, though. I need to make that present effort again. And in some ways I am, for sure. I'm writing more than I have in a very long time, and I'm significantly more confident in my visual art, too. But the health stuff and the wellbeing junk needs a different kind of effort, I guess. If I could just self motivate again.
I think I'm just distracted with all the things I need to buy/replace that I'm rarely thinking about going to the gym, the new, much nicer one that has a treadmill. I don't think I've mentioned it previously, but I got a subscription to the local YMCA. Super fancy and big in there. It's really intimidating. I've only gone like twice, but I really enjoyed it. I can't describe to you just how amazing running on a treadmill felt. I haven't full on ran in years. I'm not sure why it's so much easier on there, but I hope to do it again soon. I wish I could make myself go every day. Maybe writing about it will make me go, and if I do I'll be sure to update you tomorrow.
Good morning.
We meet again, reader. I'm not sure how much time I have to write this morning, so you may be feasting on mere scraps, but hey, at least I'm here.
I find myself in an unfortunate moment in time where I have not been able to keep up with the weather and my regular chores. I don't even do much around the house anymore, just my own personal stuff because I've got a couple jobs, but it's becoming hard again, which is frustrating to say the least. I just need to fold my clothes and clean my damn room, but I always have these purchases looming over my head. I need to get a new trash can, probably for both my bedroom and my bathroom, one of the ones with a closing lid to stop overflow. I can live without it and I literally have for 5 years because if it's just me and the fam I honestly don't give a shit, but weirdly enough I'm in somewhat of a renaissance with my friends coming over and actually visiting my weird wreck of a house often enough to where I'm starting to care.
It's not that I didn't before, I cherish having a clean space and an orderly way of doing things, quite frankly a lot more than the rest of my household, but I've also got adhd brain continuously and rather chronically functioning on the believe of "out of sight, out of mind," and "if it isn't directly in the way of what I want/need to do, I do not need to fix it."
And I understand from an outside view these are very narrowminded schools of thought, thats the autism or ocd, I've always been both hyper aware and incredibly oblivious at the same time. But for whatever reason, I become especially hyper aware when outside people start coming into the space I don't really look at critically and point out, hey, shouldn't that thing be like, useful for you and not detrimental to how you function?
And I'm like wait, yeah, you're probably right, but again for some reason in the moment I always argue just a little. No - it's fine I don't have a lid, it's been that way for so long I actually like when the trash spills over and I have to pick up used toilet paper and wipes from off the floor. When in reality, this is not true in the slightest. My brain just loves to challenge anything that is thrown at it, even if the opposite is true. In reality, I would very much like to have a trashcan with a lid, for aesthetics sure, but also so i remember to take the trash out. I always forget until it is inconveniently full.
Human brains are weird, I guess.
Good morning.
We meet again, reader. I'm not sure how much time I have to write this morning, so you may be feasting on mere scraps, but hey, at least I'm here.
I find myself in an unfortunate moment in time where I have not been able to keep up with the weather and my regular chores. I don't even do much around the house anymore, just my own personal stuff because I've got a couple jobs, but it's becoming hard again, which is frustrating to say the least. I just need to fold my clothes and clean my damn room, but I always have these purchases looming over my head. I need to get a new trash can, probably for both my bedroom and my bathroom, one of the ones with a closing lid to stop overflow. I can live without it and I literally have for 5 years because if it's just me and the fam I honestly don't give a shit, but weirdly enough I'm in somewhat of a renaissance with my friends coming over and actually visiting my weird wreck of a house often enough to where I'm starting to care.
It's not that I didn't before, I cherish having a clean space and an orderly way of doing things, quite frankly a lot more than the rest of my household, but I've also got adhd brain continuously and rather chronically functioning on the believe of "out of sight, out of mind," and "if it isn't directly in the way of what I want/need to do, I do not need to fix it."
And I understand from an outside view these are very narrowminded schools of thought, thats the autism or ocd, I've always been both hyper aware and incredibly oblivious at the same time. But for whatever reason, I become especially hyper aware when outside people start coming into the space I don't really look at critically and point out, hey, shouldn't that thing be like, useful for you and not detrimental to how you function?
And I'm like wait, yeah, you're probably right, but again for some reason in the moment I always argue just a little. No - it's fine I don't have a lid, it's been that way for so long I actually like when the trash spills over and I have to pick up used toilet paper and wipes from off the floor. When in reality, this is not true in the slightest. My brain just loves to challenge anything that is thrown at it, even if the opposite is true. In reality, I would very much like to have a trashcan with a lid, for aesthetics sure, but also so i remember to take the trash out. I always forget until it is inconveniently full.
Human brains are weird, I guess.
