Aug. 17th, 2014

skellaxinscruples: (swirly dark rarity)

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.


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.


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.


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: (Default)

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