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i saw an old post on my facebook linking to this blog. and i remembered that i gave you the link to it. so you might've been reading it this whole time.
i miss you and hope you're well. perhaps we'll meet again someday.
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a bit of conflict.
i was cooking dinner, listening to music on my headphones and singing along. Marc was in the shower. they've recently hurt their back, so their mobility is poor.
they came out of the shower, got dressed, then approached me, saying, "You might want to keep it down, because I just fell trying to get out of the shower." this didn't make any sense to me, and i quickly thought about what they could mean. it seemed at first that they were asking me not to sing, because the singing caused the fall. and i got stuck on that thought. obviously singing, by itself, can't make people fall. what did they mean by "keep it down?" the only thing they could hear was my singing, so that seemed to be the thing they were referring to. but how were those things connected? they aren't. so it seemed like they just wanted me not to sing so loudly.
well, i guess i had a look on my face, because they asked why i was looking at them like they had three heads. i just said, "fine, i understand." they asked if i wanted to talk about it. i said i didn't need any further explanation, and put my headphones back on and kept quiet, finished cooking.
(after a few minutes, i had another thought, which was that perhaps they were asking me to make sure i can hear what's going on around me, because they fell and i didn't help because i couldn't hear. that would be more reasonable, but... well...)
when i was done, i took the headphones off. they asked to talk about it, they didn't understand why i was upset. i said, "you could've just said to keep my headphones off of quiet mode." they looked confused. i continued, "that was why i couldn't hear. it wasn't the singing. it felt like you were telling me my singing was a problem."
so then they explained that actually it was. that they had heard me yelling and thought i was in trouble, so they hurried out of the shower to make sure i was okay, and that's when they fell.
so i didn't like this. i love to sing but i'm not sure i'm any good at it. people compliment me about it, but Marc doesn't.
so i said, "i was singing 'Hey' by the Pixies, so that's probably what you heard. but you're injured. if i'm in trouble, and you incapacitate yourself trying to get to me, we're both fucked. also, i don't understand why you didn't just assume i was singing. i've been singing this whole time."
they admitted that they'd heard me singing, both before the yelling and directly after, before they even attempted to leave the shower. and that they'd probably heard me singing that song, and that i was right that they shouldn't have rushed.
it felt, overall, like something i did that wasn't wrong was being made out to be a problem when it wasn't. i can't figure out any reason why Marc would do this, except to get me to stop singing.
they said that they didn't want me to feel like i couldn't sing around them. but i do feel that way now.
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haunting familiar
dream: i only wanted to die, but nothing would let me. i tried to be real sneaky about it, too. checked into a hotel. went around doing hotel stuff. then i went to where i meant to die--a barren place with lots of plateaus--and i rose into the sky, and then let go, let myself fall. closed my eyes and waited for the impact.
it didn't work, i was just back at the hotel, and now i was being held against my will, and people were angrily lecturing me about how i couldn't do that. unfortunately for them, they didn't know i could fly yet, so holding me didn't really work. i went back to the barrens and again, closed my eyes and let myself fall.
a few moments later, i was sitting on this spire of dirt. i hadn't fallen far and wasn't even injured. i couldn't bear it anymore, couldn't open my eyes to see the world. i tried to push myself off, but my body wouldn't obey. they came and took me down, brought me back to the hotel where i was told i was going to be kept until an ambulance came to get me, and then i wouldn't be allowed back. at this point, i had the sense something was wrong, and forced myself out of the dream.
how did they stop me? why?
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broken bowl
been chatting with a new friend, Lily! it's nice, nice times. i've felt a little anxious about it, because she met Hana and DxE people before meeting me. Hana has still been talking about me, so i thought that my reputation in the general public would have been spoiled. but Lily hasn't mentioned anything to me about it.
i've been asking her the interesting questions. just the easy ones, although we've been straying into more serious topics on occasion. we met up the other day to chat, and ended up mostly talking about the DxE schism.
it really is weird to look back at all of that and reread everything. what happened to A, Wayne gaslighting everyone and refusing to do CR, the core team gathering to cloak, protect and uplift him. i found the email i sent to Aidan about Wayne coming to town to give a talk, and my request that we set ourselves apart from the Berkeley chapter. it was really polite and reasonable. it was fucked for Aidan to turn around and tell me i couldn't attend an event if i didn't agree to leave Wayne alone. i've been living with this belief that i'm a bully. it actually was good and brave of me to make that request, and to try and take a stand.
for a little while, i've been struggling to get anything useful done around the house. but it's getting better. just making small progress.
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those pilings, they are drawing nigh
dream: i started out as just regular me. i was at a bar, and i was attacked by a pirate. he had a peculiar weapon, kind of like a shallow purse attached to his right arm, partially held in his hand.
i think the point was to grapple me with the purse then stab me, but turns out, i also had a weird-purse-thing, and i fought back.
then, the rest of the dream turned into a series of duels with pirates who wanted to steal my weird purse thing.
i don't think it's a real weapon, but there were lots of different ones in the dream. some were made to fit over the opponent's head. some had extra cords so that the left arm could help with the grapple. some were worn on the left arm and primarily served to foil other purse weapons.
fun times! i woke up feeling all right.
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a curse for every mile of ocean crossed
nightmare?: in tightrope world, where the most solid ground was a hammock, we weren't sure we could go on. but we did, and learned a new way of life. still scary as fuck though!
it did hurt a lot to see those words, but it's passed and i feel better now. for a while, i thought, i must be in the wrong--that's a big accusation.
but rereading over and over i was reminded: "every accusation is a confession." more conversation is just an opportunity to be gaslit, degraded further, and emotionally manipulated.
the internal machinery that convinces me of my guilt was working really hard. it didn't help that we're longing for touch, which was at least a relatively easy thing to access from them.
i worried that we'd really never speak again. that's still a sad thought, but we have to walk alongside that reality, or continue to be dragged. i also worried that if we did speak it would eventually go back to how it was in the worst moments. that seems a certainty.
it's time to love myself the way i was hoping they would. it's the only real defense against this kind of thing.
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when heaven's flowers have bloomed, you and i
Sakaki syndrome. i want to pet a free-living cat, but they bite me every time i approach. this is entirely my fault. i really ought not to reach out. it is also completely understandable for the cat and their circumstances. it's what i should expect going forward. that, or worse.
and yet
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re: dogs
Sage and Kayenta are very nice dogs. i wish them the best.
Hana was away from home when they met and adopted them. i wasn't consulted until after it was done, and i didn't really feel like i had the option to say no at the time, because it would have upset Hana. i was worried that Rosie couldn't handle it because she was old and reactive to other dogs. still, it was agreed that they would live with us.
after they returned home, Hana had expressed to me a worry that it was too many people in the house, and that we couldn't financially cover it. i at least agreed that it was too many people--i was feeling pretty cramped with three humans and three dogs. so we agreed that we would bring the two of them to a shelter, and we set a day to do so.
when the hour arrived, Hana couldn't stop crying, and wanted them to stay. so i agreed that they could. i didn't really feel like i could say no, given how upset they were.
the two of them staying, in itself, was manageable. there were some things i didn't like, though. i didn't want to let the dogs sleep in the bed with us, but Hana did. Hana got their way. they would jump on the kitchen counters and tables, making messes and eating things. they were rather destructive, especially around food, and would destroy tupperware to get at scraps. we did eventually get them to stop jumping on the counter, but they'd still wreck the tupperware from Hana's lunchbox when they left it on the floor. i asked Hana not to leave any food objects within reach, and they agreed to stop but kept doing it. granted, they also have ADHD and it's easy to forget things like this.
a little while after they returned home, there was a triggering event for me (the Silent Voice incident) and i tried to kill myself. when i got home from the hospital, the house was wrecked. all the window blinds were destroyed. torn books, clothing, and tupperware covered the floor. electronic cords were chewed through. a few walls had been scratched through to plaster and studs. while i was in the hospital, Hana decided not to put the boys in their crate while they were at work, and also didn't clean any of the resulting mess, so it was left to me, as usual.
my having agreed with Hana that we should rehome Sage and Kayenta is now me pressuring Hana to surrender them. but rescuing them with the intent of adopting and only consulting with me about bringing them home after already picking them up isn't pressure.
Hana can say whatever they want about me. by which i mean, i literally cannot stop them. and because they are outgoing and at least superficially charming, their words have reach. eventually i'm going to meet a person who has heard about me only from Hana. the thought terrifies me.
and they also get to do whatever they want, apparently: come into my house while i'm away, steal my meds, oil up the floor of my bathtub, try and convince people that i'm racist, open my incorrectly delivered mail and keep it from me for months (including a large check that i needed), and on and on.
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freedom is watching the thing you hate die
had a dream that i attacked and liberated an evil nunnery where a bunch of girls were being kept. the latter half is basically the plot of Philomena.
it was fun. when i started attacking, the girls rose up too, and we killed or captured a bunch of nuns. in the end, the girls got to have control of the grounds, and that was cool.
in real life, things are going well.
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how does it feel, to be the only one who knows you've been buried alive?
dream: after a world war, the surface of the planet looked okay, but underneath it was a fucking shit ton of toxic sludge. it was produced by both the nazis and the allies as a defense for deep underground bunkers, to make it hard to safely approach by digging.
direct contact with it wasn't survivable, and it was radioactive, so proximity was also a bad idea. wearing a suit helped, but you would still get horribly sick and possibly die depending on how you were exposed, and for how long. the sludge was just under the surface, went on for miles in every direction, and the toxicity intensified the further we went below the surface.
because of course we had to go. it's a dream about my terrible upbringing, what else were we gonna do? oh, in this dream we were rescuing Chris Cornell. he was sick and dying, as a result of exposure to the sludge during the war, and trapped underground. during the war, he drove one of the machines that produced the gunk, and that's how he got stuck. he'd been down there for years.
anyway, we had a big machine to ride in that would help us process the goop, to turn it into something less horrible while we were looking. that was actually the more important part of the operation--the cleanup.
you might guess that there was a catastrophic failure, and you'd be right.
we made it to his location and got inside. it was bad. i mean, it had partially collapsed, and was flooded with sludge in places. and, of course, the dead. Chris looked like shit. he'd not left his suit the entire time, and that was the only reason he was alive, but he was pale as fuck and emaciated. delirious. honestly, probably better off dead--he wasn't going to make it. but we took him anyway.
i can't remember what happened to necessitate this, but eventually someone had to get into the sludge with just a chemsuit. the machine was jammed or something. when i fixed it, the machine started up and took off and i was left behind. that was terrifying.
this deep, the goop was super nasty. it was melting my suit. so i thought my best hope was to get to a tube that led to the surface, to one of the machines that had been made to do cleanup work from up there, but which was no longer working.
i got into one and struggled but couldn't make it to the surface before the suit was fully compromised and it was just me, naked, drowning in toxic waste.
i woke desperately tired and sore and sad.
irl, people occasionally get trapped. sometimes there's a rescue, and sometimes rescues are successful. but sometimes it's over as soon as they're trapped. no one tries to rescue them and they die alone in a place no human was meant to be. sometimes people are metaphorically trapped and because they look like they're walking free on the surface no one thinks they need rescue.
sometimes, to attempt to rescue another dooms you to the same fate.
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forget about me when i'm gone
nightmare: i had inherited a vast estate. a huge mansion, lots of money. but it was a trick. they just wanted to use me to resurrect the ancient members of the family.
it was too good to be true, obviously, and it was a hint that something was amiss. there was a ritual that i accidentally fucked up, meaning the resurrection failed. they sent a creature to kill me, a large Stitches-like thing, but i fought it and stabbed it. it deflated, spewing a huge cloud of vile yellow gas.
so they had a lot of undead help. some of it was constructs like that, but some were enthralled previous victims of the ritual, and others were just the undead servants of the original family members--gardeners, cooks, etcetera.
these creatures could appear normal. like, fully alive, with normal wits. but they weren't. some could be killed, but most would return some time after destruction.
now i was fully onto their game, and i learned that i had to break correctly bury the previous victims of this ritual in order to permanently stop it. luckily, the most recent victim (now a zombie) wanted to help, once i broke their control over him.
but they did get me. somehow they killed me. they couldn't use me to resurrect, but wanted to stop me from stopping them. but in death, i retained my wits, denying them control.
a new "heir" was chosen each time i stopped . each time, i had to juggle halting the ritual against them, undoing the curse on the previous victims, and dealing with the undead trying to interfere. it was hard, filthy work.
one heir was a single father and his family. the girl was the primary target. by this time, i'd learned some magic of my own, and could become a cat. i slept in her bed, to prevent her being taken. i did it. thankfully, the father witnessed the creatures coming to take her, and he took his whole family away from the mansion, which meant the original family couldn't do anything with her.
eventually i did it. i broke all the curses, and destroyed the original family members. all that was left was to destroy the undead man helping me, and myself. i did it. the single father returned and buried us, and it was finished.
once that was over, i had a false awakening. i was in my first stepdad's chevy celebrity, looking out the window at the apartment complex in which we'd lived. but i knew my time there was supposed to be over. i'd hoped in that moment to take some sort of action to help my younger self, but once i figured out what was happening, the nightmare started to slip away.
then i woke up for real. i feel exhausted and sore.
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choir of the tortured
i dreamt that i was violent and cruel, and i hurt a lot of people. the police almost figured out it was me, but i was able to evade suspicion.
but then, in the house at the end, everyone i'd ever hurt came together. even tangentially. and they called out what i'd done, and brought me into death. at least i went willingly.
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the end of things with Jonny
i am going to write an apology and i want to briefly review things here before i do that. i just want to apologize for the things i did wrong; i don't really need to process or receive an apology for things i was unhappy about, and i don't plan on mentioning these things to them.
i would like to return some things, and recover some of my things, if possible. i should repair that cloak before messaging them.
i didn't want to be in a relationship with them anymore after our conversation at Watercourse. it took me some time to realize this. it often takes me a while to process things, and it was exacerbated by what was happening at the time, mostly my divorce from Hana.
i didn't want it because first, i didn't like they way they talked to me when talking about what i wanted. "you want the sadism." i did want that, i had been pretty clear about wanting that, and other related things. i didn't like this because it felt condescending. like they were talking to me the way they talk to Kat or Cari. like i was wrong to want the things i wanted. they apologized and said they didn't mean this, which was fair.
i was also unhappy that when i pointed out that we'd done a lot of playing involving my bits (especially relative to the number of times we'd played in the kinds of ways i wanted to play) the first thing they said was that i'd consented to those things. i wasn't trying to withdraw consent or something like that. i hadn't forgotten that i had consented. i was trying to talk about how realizing the difference in their enthusiasm between this kind of play and my preferred kind of play was unpleasant. i didn't like the feeling that while i tried enthusiastically to give them what they wanted, i didn't receive enthusiasm.
i was also unhappy remembering the look on their face the few times we did play the way i want. i could see that they had no interest in it and just wanted it to be over. in that context, i couldn't have enjoyed myself.
i realize that circumstances were such that that kind of play was difficult. the constant presence of the children made it hard. but that wasn't exactly different because of covid; the kids were already always going to be around, so it was always going to be difficult.
they had warned me beforehand that they didn't like that kind of play, and that it might not work out, but that we could still give it a try. we gave it a try, and it didn't work out.
i also didn't like that a couple of the things i'd asked for had been broken, specifically not asking me to top them and not going straight for my bits during sexy times. they apologized for this too. but i think they always at least wanted to be in a switchy relationship. which isn't something i could offer.
when, in the middle of our relationship, i was seeing Dani with the intent of playing with her, i was trying to explore some feelings i was having that maybe i did want to be a top sometimes. but i learned that i didn't want to do that.
i also don't like that they remained friends with Hana, given that they tried to kill me, and that they raped someone, but it doesn't really impact me, since i'm not friends with either of them.
so again, i don't feel like i need to go over these things.
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the quilt roller, the jewelry game, & the hotel at the end of life
i went to bed reading History of Burning. maybe this was a bad choice, because family is not a pleasant topic.
i dreamt i was in my not-actual-grandma's house, the one on my first stepdad's side. i was older--my current age--but wearing the form of my youth. i began the dream in someone else's false recollection of that time of my life, which was occurring in the moments before their death. i don't know whose precisely, but they were observing and accompanying me.
i say it was false because it diverged from what i knew to be reality. two of the clearest examples: Babar, the little elephant king, was instead a "pygmy Pygmalion." pygmy kind of fits, but he wasn't a sculptor. also, in this false recollection, i had spent my childhood as part of a children's association that was centered around completing activities to earn or win jewelry. i didn't do anything like this, and the closest real-life example is the scouts, which i also wasn't part of.
in the part of the dream that was this recollection, i was wandering that home, discovering these things, and in a way, i was living this childhood. i knew it wasn't real and that i left childhood behind long ago, but i couldn't remember what the truth was.
the central feature of this house--and its primary difference from reality--was the quilt roller. it was a room-sized wooden machine that apparently was used to neatly roll blankets. it consisted of a six foot wide coiled plane of wood slats, secured on each lateral end by impossibly flexible thick wooden spirals. the whole machine was suspended from the ceiling. it would spin and tighten when turned.
i returned to it over and over. it didn't make sense to me, wasn't demonstrated, and i wasn't allowed to touch it, because it was dangerous. the effort it would take just to secure a blanket in the machine such that it could yield a rolled blanket seemed pointless. no one stores rolled blankets without also folding them at some point--this machine allegedly yielded blankets in a six-foot-wide roll. even if they did, who needs to roll blankets like this so often that a machine like this would save any time? the entire living room was taken up by this thing.
in this stage of the dream, i was fervently caught up in trying to remember what was real, examining the things i found in the hopes that it would reveal something. but eventually it became my actual reality, despite my having no recollection of it whatsoever, and i was trying desperately to figure out what it all meant before this observer was gone and my time there was over.
eventually we came to a place i'd never been. it was a hotel for people at the end-of-the-end of their lives. not a nursing home--that's for the end of a physical life. this was for the end of perceptual life, a place where your perceiving self goes when the-life-that-flashes-before-your-eyes is drawing to a close.
not long after arrival, my observer was gone, and i stayed behind.
i don't want to talk about this stupid fucking dream anymore. i woke up in intense distress. it had snowed and it was going to snow.
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waiting for day, and you know what he's gonna say
it is a little weird. i mean, there are some things i didn't like. but they seem really important to her, so what do i do? i should probably stop trying to accept things like this from whoever wants to fuck me, because it's quite often led me to uncomfortable places. but goodness GRACIOUS food control is a secret and terrible thing of mine, it was hard not to be interested! but i do not like being a footstool at all.
i have been missing J quite a lot. a whole lot. and feeling really bad about it, like it's my fault. but idk, things like giving them back all the stuff they gave me wasn't very nice, but i was having a miserable time and at the end i was realizing that i needed to get away and didn't want those things around to remind me. (kinda silly, because i did inadvertently keep their grinder, and it didn't remind me of them. i haven't used it for a few weeks--i've regrettably quit smoking.)
maybe i'll always miss them, and that's just how it is. it makes sense that i would miss them, because i love them, and i really do want them to be in my life. preferably romantically, which... is probably a bad idea, even though i can't help but want it.
i should really be focusing more on myself, rather than... things like this.
well, i have quit smoking, due to other circumstances. i thought it would help me remember shit, but so far i haven't really noticed a difference. maybe the two things aren't as connected as i thought. i am still PROFOUNDLY anxious, which is something i was hoping would change, but it hasn't.
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in a garden at the end, there are endless miracles
please, for the love of life and joy, let this be good and true and constant. i need it. let me be accepted.
it's available, isn't it? and what's needed is available?
i need this attention, and i want to waste away.
eta: it might be working
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banned from r/unpopularopinion
liberatory violence is good, actually
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