scrupulous skeleton lounge

 I can't get over how great this is. I found this band because I guess their frontman scandalized Fox News by identifying as a "punk/funk Communist revolution band" when asked what kind of music they make. I basically listen to this and Nicki Minaj's Anaconda on repeat for the last two days. 

um. 

And I can't get over how nerds hate "urban" culture and "pop" culture so much but now we have mainstream music videos with a ridiculously well endowed pink haired girl in naked maid apron and stockings spraying her body with whipped cream and I'm pretty sure that's h-game material; goddamn otaku are missing out. She is clearly an actual magical girl much like Kyary. (I'm not going to say her music is amazing but seriously just look at her!!!)

Been working on the travel memoir. Hoping to not take six years like my dear tall Australian friend has. But that's different, because that's writing about someone important to you who is dead now (while you distanced yourself from her hurtful, terrified animal behavior).

I guess, seguing from that, I wonder what you're supposed to do when an abuser or other generally bad person is called out in your community. I see this happen on Tumblr, and people are even deriding the fact that said person just decided to quit being around, quit blogging and socializing... what else are villains supposed to do but die? The fact of the matter is, it feels like people don't even care if there's any reformation, or even apology and self-dismissal, I don't know what they want to see. Any choice made by the accused is attacked. There is no victory. 

And I wonder if I was similarly derided for my exit from my local scene. I wonder. But I don't care so much, because it was toxic for me... what with having some local celebrity tell people I was one of his girlfriends without my consent, and such. 

<hr>

ALSO. Madeline is talking to me again. Not with special involvement. She's decided to take a break from tripping for a while, since the last few trips have just been her reliving trauma and abuse... she is tired of presenting as male. She is tired of living as a boy. She is tired of all the walls she's built around herself, which are making her incapable of exposing herself emotionally to her partner. She pretty much stated that she's going to be there for me when I trip next, (with a preference that I notify her with at least 24 hours notice) and ah, I guess it's precious that she is herself with me, when she lives the rest of her life as someone she's not, so I am glad. A person, such as her... yes, I've cried, thinking about her, missing her presence, but I feel so much stronger for her having existed at all. I feel like that for Kiara, too, who, being a beautiful hella educated world-travelling creative queer woman of color who had dealt with an abusive relationship -- I do not think I could have become strong enough to deal with being abused if I had not had her there, to show herself to me as a survivor. Madeline, I hope, will not forget me so readily, though... 

ugh.

Yeah, okay, yesterday got really fucked up. I think the worst part of being umedicated is these sudden, deep, dark pits of overpowering despair that make me want to curl up in a hole and die, almost viscerally. For example, when a girl said something really fucking mean to me I actually curled up right there and cried in the fetal position until I fell asleep and then I softly cried a little more when I woke up the next morning. As in, not even a sensation I could control, but literally overpowered by my own hurt. These are not common occurrences at this period in my life, and things like being told I'm going to be forced to move out, or being deprived of medical care, or eating nothing but rice for a week don't shake my core security. Attacks on my very nature, do, however. So, having the validity of my relationships insulted is what caused the above reaction, being told that no one would want my love the way I give it, even from someone who I don't think is especially an authority on that kind of thing--that really wounds me.

So, honestly, I was already really overstimulated being here at my mother's house, where she is telling someone how to do a thing or telling someone to do another thing, giving orders, at least twice an hour, and calling out loudly, sonorously, commands from other rooms or across store floors, and yes, that is very emotionally taxing for me to be around.

I am legitimately emotionally triggered by raised voices, and I have told all of my partners not to yell at me or yell in a directly admonishing way at anyone when I'm around. I know that's really a lot to ask, to forbid others to raise their voices, but basically everyone who's not an abusive dickhole has respected it. I had to tell my mother to stop commanding across the house tonight, because it was making me want to cry.  

(i'm writing this on this godforsaken iMac G5 that hasn't had antivirus run on it since 2006, and I can't even load the page to download Google Chrome from, because these browsers are so old and brokedick and it makes me want to flip tables.)

Anyway, my mom's very transparent, and she had me installing things on her (actually functional and expedient) laptop -- specifically, I was downloading music to her iPhone, so I made a folder to torrent music into, and I downloaded uTorrent, and in the process of doing so, I stumbled on a document called "I am a very sensitive person..." so I previewed it

and one of the parts that showed up in the preview made me want to fucking die and crawl into a hole and actually legitimately call this whole shit off, not even go to Cancun, but stay in bed, at home, with my dust and my cats, hide under layers of aesthetic and vaporwave and barricade myself and maybe not ever come out again, made me hate the idea of having a family or a history or anything, just fucking want to leave and get the fuck out of this life and never return and never speak to anyone who identifies with this state (Arizona) again.

fucking.

The document was written by my little sister, and it said, essentially, that she experienced severe emotional trauma/turmoil/distress as a result of me being raped. She attributed my rape to "her mania induced her to go roaming around the neighborhood at 2 AM" and mentioned "the cuts and the bruises and the hate she exuded for herself and everyone else" and how detrimental this was to my relationship with her...

and no.

Fucking no.

That's not fucking it at all; that's a lie. Specifically, I wasn't "manic" and "roaming at 2 AM," I was fucking going for a walk at 6 AM -- that is a thing that NORMAL, NON-CRAZY people do. She basically believed I got raped because I am a crazy person doing something crazy.

There were no cuts and bruises.

I had been abstinent of self-harm for over 6 years at that point, and my assault was "non-violent." Any bruises that may have occurred were a result of me stumbling around once (only once) in the following weeks after calling up a family friend and asking him to bring me a glass flask of Jaegermeister.

And I wonder... who told her this version of the story? Who told her I got raped because I am crazy? 

her version of our lives includes this false narrative. She has been lied to. Someone in my family is a fucking liar. I already know my mom blames me for getting raped, told me, "I hope you've learned something," fucking this whole thing made me want out of this family forever and for good.

As for "hatred," scared animal reactions, so, I don't especially care about that interpretation. Scared animals do things, I was one, they are not rational, but I do not feel I was malignant towards her at all. Rather, to be completely honest, as soon as I'd started college (two years earlier) I had made the deliberate decision to be absent from her life as much as possible, because I did not want her or anyone to deal with my mess, the piece of shit that I am, that I was, I did not want  her to have any impression of me at all, if possible, because I was a shitty worthless human being and she was a child and I needed to not exist for people like her. She can re-narrativize that any way she wants, because I can't control how another person responds to my actions, how they feel about my actions that I never explained.

It's just the part about her thinking I was doing crazy shit, the fact that someone probably told her that, that makes me want out so badly.

But...

I can't go on an all-expenses paid international luxury resort vacation with this mindset. They have a crocodile and flamingo reserve there. They drive you to the beach at night to let you watch mama sea turtles amble onto the sand to lay and bury their eggs, and they help the turtles get back into the ocean. You cannot permit yourself access to such wonders while being sour; they will be wasted on you, and your life will have been wasted if you are incapable of appreciating these bounties.

So.

I basically listened to my ipod really loudly and listened to my songs on repeat until I felt a little better. I ignored anyone trying to talk to me unless they came up to me directly. I wouldn't have done anything else tonight unless I absolutely had to (I did the bare minimum), I wouldn't even have eaten dinner with others had I not felt that was the bare minimum courtesy. I made myself a few strong drinks. I called Lucas. I started working on a "mommy issues" playlist. I reminded myself that my mother is like a liberal academic Malory Archer and I am Sterling accordingly.

All trips are the same. Drug trips, vacation trips. Fucking be grateful for them all. Fucking don't be a piece of shit going into it negative, or else you won't appreciate the right parts, or else you'll get yourself into worse trouble. Don't force yourself to participate in shit you can't handle, in shit you won't enjoy, that's wasted effort and bad experience; you drag that negativity into everything and everyone you interface with. Be good, or at least do good. "An if ye harm none, do as ye will." Your baggage is no one else's responsibility, you keep track of it, keep it in check; there are limits  to the weight of baggage you can travel with, so don't exceed those limits, it inconveniences everyone. Have a safe trip and bring back good memories; life is too short to ruminate on the useless, on the menial, on the petty.

Life is too short. Every day is a special occasion, because you actually showed up--celebrate.
 

 Savanna would have been 25 ten days ago. She's been dead for a year and ten days, is what that means. 

We all agreed that we couldn't have changed anything; she would have kept pushing us away, kept brushing off all of our love, and then she'd find some other way to drown. Drown. Funny, how we still will never know her cause of death. Not funny, because the answer is suicide by overdose, like she had tried so many times before -- once, while on the phone with me. 

It just occurred to me that she died on her 24th birthday. I wonder what was going through her head, why she decided that 24 was too late for her to still be alive. Maybe it was the same thing that had haunted her when she was 17. 

This isn't what I wanted to write about.

For some reason, I had a dream about being forced to encounter my abusive, violent, narcissistic ex, Pat. I wrote about it in my dream journal. I don't know why, but for some reason I'm set on edge about it, thinking of him. His Facebook cannot be found at this time, though I know he still exists, because I saw an old friend mention that she was posting something that he'd like. "Friend." She doesn't know what he did to me, but she adores him, as a long-ago ex, and maybe she forgives better, but he was at least an ass to her back then, and he's always belittled her when he spoke of her. Maybe she just likes having people know her at all. 

I don't know why. The idea of meeting  him, of running into people who know and like him really perturbs me. Rapist. Abuser. Manipulator. Leech. Misogynist. That is what I know; fear and humiliation, resentment. The idea of people not caring what I've gone through, for the sake of liking him, this disturbs me. There are people I know who still have contact with him, and I avoid telling them what he put me through, because I do not want to disrupt their lives, shake their trust, or discredit myself.

Why is this coming back to me now? I do not want to be afraid like this. I am afraid. I wish I had some security. I will be safe and far away from him when I leave this place; for now, I know that he lurks in the downtown subculture, and that my brother, who also hangs out there, is trying to get local restaurants and bars ban him. Some of the main ones have already agreed. This is barbaric, I think, but I cannot say that I want any better for him. Ugh. 

Why is this all coming back?

 exhausting day averted: mom left after a few minutes. i guess she'll take me to the mvd on wednesday. now i can just be sad and spend all day working and writing sad things about music for money like i intended. 

i should make a food.

 Flesh Horror 2: what are 77 cent hot dogs made of, then?

 All I do is work these days. And yet it's not for so much money yet. I've started keeping spreadsheets of all that I do, to compel me to be more productive. I actually have started investigating which ad companies are queer friendly. I've sent a query letter; the response was positive. 

I was kinda living on lentils and rice for a week. Then I ran out of lentils. Then I ran out of rice. 

Seeker was supposed to buy me a pizza, but the fryer at Pizza Hut broke, so they had to sub in something else for free, and then when the pizza showed up, they needed to see the ordering card... which is impossible, as he is in Australia. It was so close, I could have just grabbed it and run. I should have. I was so hungry and tired. 

My internet bill has been past due for 3 weeks now. The only reason they haven't shut me off, probably, is because I paid part of it. 2.79 before the bill was due, then a few days ago a friend chipped in another 24 or so, and now only 20.50 is left. Shoe said he'd pay it, but his card was declined for some reason, ugh. That makes me wary of having anyone else try to pay it either. Every day I wake up with internet is a blessing, because that's the only outlet I have, that's how I talk to people, that's how I make money, that's how I stay sane. I like to imagine the reason, though, that they haven't disconnected me yet is that someone who works at the ISP loves me. My periods of disconnection have increased, in the last two days. In reality, I know that's because my router has corrupted firmware, but I like to imagine that's actually my secret admirer arguing with his coworkers to show me mercy; this back and forth of dramatically plugging and unplugging a cord. 

I mean, odds are that they just haven't noticed me, but, the story is compelling. If they did disconnect me, I'd have to pay a reactivation fee, ugh. 

I miss Madeleine. Since she's been back, she still hasn't been as accessible as she was before. She's going to vanish again in a few days... I hate it. I miss her affection. I know there's a lot going on, she's dating someone now, but I felt like we had something, and now I can't reach her any more. She sent me some BTC to buy acid, and we've had a few conversations about condoms and I won really hard at Words With Friends again, but nothing as meaningful as the way we used to talk. It hurts. sigh. 

So, even though I'd determined my fixation with the yumikuri pairing wasn't all to do with her (it wasn't), I think I should probably change my desktop to not being yumikuri fanarts, because it makes me a little sad. 

I think my name is Amalthea, now. I ended up using it as an alias on the sites I write for, and I feel comfortable looking at it, wearing it as my self-concept. I've emerged from the wandering jelly phase of Squirxical, after the long elusive trek of Etcetera. I am starting to form together, to a whole, to a person again. I like this person better than the one I was. I won't ask anyone to call me anything different from the name they met me on, but it's strange... strange feeling, to attach to a name again. I felt a little ostentatious taking the name of a unicorn, but now I don't feel like that's too much to ask.

I told my mom about my monetized blog idea, and she really loved the idea of making a WAH resource for queer people, and she said she'd actually front all of the start up costs -- hosting, software, domain, everything. I was blown away. She said she was very proud of me. 

She said those words directly, "very proud," about how she felt about me.

I never hear those words so directly... I hear them used for my sister, but never for me. So, it means a lot, to finally be doing something my mother will be proud of. So, I guess I'll really dedicate myself to it. I feel strongly about it, I feel like it's important, like it could really help people. 

Marcia, my step-mother, signed papers putting my mother on the deed for where I live, so she can't evict me any more. So, my living situation is stable. However, she's still holding my little sister's cat hostage. Mom and Sedona are so amazed that I still want a relationship with Marcia, that I don't hate her like they do. I am maybe too forgiving, and maybe not living with her for as long as they did, I didn't see her the same way. Marcia wasn't as invasive with me as she was with everyone else; she was at peace with me being vague. This person they describe is hard for me to fathom. I will not push for them to relate to her in any way. Maybe I have been deceived. I feel pity and compassion for her. Maybe I am too soft.

I am learning how to churn out content on a regular basis, doing all this shitblogging for these pay-to-x sites, which really was my goal, moreso than the actual earning. The earning was the carrot on the stick for training myself to do something of value. Now I can start writing for real content mills that pay like $8 per post, hopefully.

I am starting to think that maybe I can stop believing that Lucas will leave me when he meet someone else who is local and fun. I mean, I've already accepted that he wants to come with me when I move, it's just that I also think that something could just as easily throw him off path, something convenient. Maybe. I miss him too. He works a lot, he goes to school for long hours, and so I haven't spent much time talking to him lately... sigh. 

I need cuddles. 

Flesh Horror: the difference between an 88 cent pack of hot dogs, and a $4.99 pack of hot dogs. 

Um, hello there, dreamwidth. I am seraphicideals, of that far away blogging site from ancient history. Rumor has it that a sparse number still inhabits that island, untouched by civilization. Or something. But yeah, like five (non-Russian) people still use LJ, and I'm one of them. I like it there and whatnot, but I would really like to meet more people in the lovely, text-based structure that defined my youth. And so on and so forth.

Yeah. Okay. Well, today, a cute and literate girl messaged me from the most patently ridiculous and cute personal ad I've ever placed. I was up all night, with a sudden stroke of motivation, because I realized if I just had a mere three dollars more in my Amazon gift card balance, I'd be able to not only buy a USB hub, but also a cute dress. And I love cute dresses. So, all out of the blue, after this complete lull in usefulness for about three months, actually, probably more (because March and April were spent partying, honestly).

Then, I went downstairs to get a soda (I drink soda maybe 4 times a year) and two cans came out of the machine!

So, I guess we're gonna be all right today, aren't we? Lookin' good, self.

Oh, yeah, LiveJournal people(!!!) -- I'll be posting here too now, so come friend me. I'm going to crosspost everything, but things might evolve interestingly from this angle. We'll see.