skellaxinscruples: (doot!zooted skull party)
 Ha ha, holy shit. 

I had a helluva misadventure getting to Cancun, was stranded in Denver for two days, ended up coming back to Phoenix, and gah, just crazytimes. DFW is now my favorite airport, for reasons both sentimental and utilitarian -- it's a sprawling, shiny airport, well-stocked with businesses and things to waste time on, also they have "recharge" rooms which are basically nap rooms with big comfy chairs and plugs to charge your whatnot in. That was the most satisfying sleep I had gotten in about four days, let me tell you. 

Um. Emotionally complicated feelings about family endure. Mother continues to have harmful beliefs/biases about women, despite herself. Beliefs that make me feel like I don't belong in this family, or any conventional family, ever.

Xcaret is AMAZING. I want to go back there. I want to go back there with Lucas and kiss him in the dark river caves while the macaws cry out overhead, out of sight. I want to show him the little schools of fishies that gather around if you're quiet. I want to see his little laugh when he sees the cute animals; the flamingos, the jellyfish, the crocodiles, the many sea turtles. The Mexican national story musical was incredible, mindblowing. 

I got a silver bracelet that I wanted less than a calavera, but the guy was so persistent in his belief that I was examining the jewelry, not the painted skulls, so I went with it while my mom talked shop about gems and metals, because she's a sucker for the earth's riches.

I met Michael Jackson (a busker). 

I spent a morning with a one legged bearded youth with a stutter who my little sister is probably in love with. He almost gave me $100 because he doesn't know any better, but he was kind and helpful. 

I met a man who died 5 times. 

The hotel in Denver I was stranded at had an atheist convention. I think the cute concierge might have scammed me out of $40, though. 

I've basically decided I'mma sit down and write a novel about the whole thing soon. 

Aaah, but it's hard to decide how much I want to reveal in the novel, about myself, about my issues, and such. I'll probably do the 8 hour ebook challenge for it, once I have a few dollars to spend on cover art. 

For now, I'm trying to earn a little more money before the month closes. 
skellaxinscruples: (swirly dark rarity)
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.
 


skellaxinscruples: (doot!zooted skull party)
ok so like early this week my mom was like "wanna go to cancun next week?" and I said yes so now we're going to cancun.

Leaving tomorrow before sunrise, obviously.

Pretty nice, though. Apparently there's some convoluted story that ties this back to the whole horrible messy divorce thing, but I am unconcerned.  I will just relax and not worry too much out on vacation. I will wear cocktail dresses and drink by the pool, maybe I will get a massage or a facial finally, I will be okay.

Honestly, I'm at the point where I kind of feel a little sad I won't be able to be earning for that whole week. sigh.  $70 a day is nice, you know? I am also close to returning to camming. I also have started working on editing my sex tape, which is hilariously weird, because it's like I AM the porno. Well. I am. I am making the sex thing to sell to people who will download it and watch it on full screen. Watching your body do those things on full screen is weird, and even stranger to think that strangers will be doing that, and enjoying it. It's weirder, I guess, when it's a recording, rather than just doing it live.

Li-Chi got me a new router, it was a PITA to set up, but it's a lot better than that godforsaken dying router. The reason the (new) router was so cheap is because the company that makes them is out of business so there's no way to get technical support from them. Other than awkward maneuvering to get the thing working, it's fine. A little unstable, but that might just be my ISP. For whom the bill is more than a month past due, and also I have a second month past due now hahaha. I have money I can't yet deposit in my bank account because of reasons, how obnoxious.

I don't envy my mother her life. Being here at her house is hectic. She interrupted Sonya and Sedona to tell them how to sweep the floors correctly. She has to have my brother come over to convince him to take out another mortgage for her. She has to coordinate so many things, mortgages, people, plans, ugh. I want none of it. I like being at home, with my dust and my cats, with my lack of possessions, with my lack of children. She just got an iPhone 5 and needed someone to walk her through setting it up, even though none of us have an iPhone, and we told her to use Google, but she said she "just wanted to focus on this," and kept asking us things, so I took her laptop and sat beside her with Google open and told her what to do, and it was annoying for me, but she was grateful. Old people being bad at technology, sigh. I don't ever want to be that old. I don't want multiple mortgages. I don't want children. She has increasingly bad arthritis and as such is in constant pain, and only one of her hands is useful, and that terrifies me so much that I try to open every door for her that I can, volunteer to carry everything (even though she is stronger and more practical than me). Aging is terrifying.

I am going to ask her a lot about her life, though, on this trip. Hopefully over cocktails. She's hilariously candid when she's had a bit to drink, but even when she hasn't, I'm old enough that she tells me sketchy things. For instance, as a teenager, she had a fake ID (at 16) and went to the discotheques, and her friend had a sleazy uncle, Uncle Al, who would give them pot and booze and drugs in exchange for one of her friends dancing for him, and they all knew never to be alone with him or else he'd do something untoward. Her mother never knew about this guy, her older brothers never knew either. I also want to know about her father, who she compares at times to me -- she loved him the most of all her siblings, and he was odd and vain and drank too much and was well connected despite being a day laborer. None of her other siblings much liked him, she was his special kid, though. I want to know if she ever felt any stigma from outsiders being perceived as a "single mother," raising my older brother in her early 20s, while my father was away working. I want to know why she has the values that she does -- why is she modest, why does she want to take care of people (a trait I inherited), why does she believe in a unifying energy of the universe (religion, faith, god), why is she a liberal academic, all of that stuff.

I enjoy learning the stories of people. That is why I am here, for instance.

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February 2016

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