I’m Sorry

I have received a lot of apologies in my life.

I received quite a few just in the last week.

The thing about apologies, is that unless the words are accompanied by true accountability and a plan of action to not repeat the behavior, and then have actual follow through….well then they’re just words aren’t they?

And the more someone says “I’m sorry” without those other steps, the more those words don’t hold any weight.

I have also received a lot of apologies for the same type of behavior or occurrence. Which also means that that person(s) know exactly where I stand and feel about the thing the first time they apologized for it. And the second time, and the third time. If they get that far, because usually by that point my system is already processing their exit.

Or at the very least an extreme downgrade in the place they have within my life.

In my experience, most people don’t apologize in order to heal or repair. They apologize for their own sakes. For their own feelings. In order to receive pardons and forgiveness. To relieve them of their guilt.

The first time could be a mistake or misunderstanding.

The second time, is a choice.

The third time, is a pattern.

There are, once again, very few people in my life where those words mean anything. Because those people have shown me they mean the words when it’s an action or inaction by them. They also mean something from those people when it’s an empathic apology.

I’ve realized when an empathetic apology is real because those people also list out what they would do if they could, or offer at least a safe place whenever I need, or some other form of help or comfort.

It’s never just an “I’m sorry” followed by abandonment or silence. Or a lack of knowing what else to say.

They ask what they can do, or check on me periodically, or send me things to let me know I’m not alone and they think about me.

Apologies shouldn’t be about making yourself feel better about hurting or harming someone else. Being uncomfortable is crucial to growth. If you’re unwilling to be uncomfortable with someone being disappointed or hurt, to learn, to do better, then does that person you’re apologizing to really matter? Or is it still centered on the self?

At least three people in the last week have apologized to me for repeated behavior. One person has been from a place of true empathy and a desire for my life to be filled with less pain than I have been enduring.

Real apologies can be extremely healing.

There’s some apologies I know I will never receive. Accountability that will never come. People who will never take a good hard look at what they did and what they could have done better.

Luckily I don’t wait for apologies.

I know that the majority of the ones I receive are the hollow ones. The ones that can get used against me later.

I wish there were more of those heartfelt and earnest apologies in the world.

I wish more people truly cared about how they contribute to the world and to the mental health of others.

I wish there was more true kindness.

Kindness is a choice.

Kindness is about making a positive difference.

Kindness is not about the self, even if there can be benefits of also feeling good from being kind.

Kindness is a skill that has to be constantly honed.

Kindness is a muscle that must be built and continually exercised.

People often mistake kindness for weakness, but it has been my experience that the kindness people have gone through the most horrific experiences. And they are kind from a place of never wanting someone else to experience what they have gone through.

I don’t trust people who don’t at least try to be kind. I question everything about them. I question the people who constantly point out how unkind others are without ever making an attempt to do acts of kindness, acts that do not benefit or serve them.

People with empty apologies are not being kind. People who apologize and then continue the same behavior are not being kind. People who expect kindness and apologies without putting in the work to provide those things are well, are not truly kind.

Telling someone to do those things when they are not willing to, is unfair. Telling someone to be kind to someone who is actively harming them, is not being kind or compassionate.

One doesn’t have to be cruel to also remove their kindness. That’s called being nice.

I am kind until someone shows me they are incapable of being the same. Then I am nice.

When I apologize to someone, I change my behavior. Especially if that person is important to me and I care about them. And if I can’t or won’t change my behavior, I still apologize for their valid feelings because I don’t intentionally hurt anyone, and have an honest discussion about how we will or will not move forward.

Lots of heavy thoughts lately.

Lots of tears shed.

A few more heartbreaks.

The thing is, I can always learn to survive without anyone. I have been taught to do that my whole life.

If I was choosing you.

If I was working hard to make sure you were in my life.

It meant something that should have mattered.

I don’t actually give true second chances to many people.

I don’t actually give most people a chance to repair.

My life has been filled with too many “I’m sorry”, that I know better. The first time, I usually clock that person in my mind and already start shifting where they are and cutting my internal connections. Because I’ve been conditioned to understand that “I’m sorry” is another way of saying they just want me to drop the conversation because they don’t want to deal with me.

I learn to not count on them. That they are not reliable. Which is also a way people condition me. Because they don’t want me to rely on them, but they still want to be able to rely on me. So they say sorry, but they don’t mean it. They just want me to stay a little longer.

But everyone does just fine when they lose me.

There’s no real regret, but sometimes there’s an “I’m sorry”.

A/N : the medication shortage has finally reached me. The blog posts will get more frequent and less coherent. People take working brains for granted. Time to cry myself to sleep.

Wibbly, Wobbly

Was recently reminded from fairy gay mother that time is a thing, and I seem to keep losing track of it one way or another.

Things have been hard.

I have been feeling the pulls of despair and the stepping closer to another mental/emotional break.

There’s a lot of pressure to accomplish things I do not have the means or privilege to accomplish, and can’t just do the things anyway like others in similar or worse positions than I am in.

Teapot and I have been discussing my frustration in my inability to just do the things like I did however long ago it was before the first mental breakdown when everything went to shit. I understand that operating at that level was never actually healthy or sustainable for me. It’s hard to deal with when I feel like I really need to tap into those abilities, but I know the physical and emotional cost would be too high.

I took some steps over the weekend. Not as big of steps as I would like, but took them all the same. I managed to get all of the laundry that has been sitting in baskets for months, folded. I still need to find hangers for those things, and a few more things to put away in drawers. That’s more complicated since the room is not clean enough to just put things away, so I have to move things in and out of that space. I have a bunch of cubes to go through and try to organize into the new storage system, put in storage, donate, or just throw away. I get overwhelmed with the amount of steps to do a thing. Even with brain dumps.

I tried to not get upset with myself or talk down to myself when I needed breaks. I took whatever breaks, whenever, no matter what they were for. Sometimes my back started to ache, so I watched tv for a couple of hours. Sometimes I got really overwhelmed with my thoughts and feelings about everything that has been happening, so I’d just sit in the garage in the cold and try to connect to my body.

Honestly, reader, I spent most of the weekend self medicating.

Which means I didn’t get my room completely cleaned. And I didn’t get caught up on the coding class. I didn’t even work on it at all.

I still haven’t played a video game or read a book for my enjoyment.

Most times I just want to spend some more time crying.

Ebbf has been checking on me fairly regularly. Providing support where he can. I’ve also been hearing about his new adventures and some struggles. He was obviously around for V1 with Rochester, and the aftermath. At least he’s well versed on why the progression of V2 is affecting me even worse. Now is extra worse since I’m also learning to feel all those feelings.

Which makes me think, there’s a lot of different emotions that people ascribe to being the worst feeling to experience. Grief and loss of hope are tied at the worst for me. Anger after that, but that’s because I have a history with how anger has been used and abused.

I’ve been sitting in a lot of grief. Most of my life. Some days more than others. Lately it’s been more again. And by lately, I mean a year in reality, but the last few months have been more concentrated.

Since this last Friday, I think I’m starting to lose hope. I spend a lot of time and energy on something/someone who finds it really easy to step away. I keep thinking we’re a team on trying to fix this, but that’s seeming less true.

Ebbf has always said that silence is an answer.

The bigger problem with silence, when that’s the main thing you’re getting from someone for days/weeks at a time, is it allows for you to create your own narrative. And sometimes that creation of a narrative is coming from a place of survival. Especially when silence has never just been silence in your life, and none of the things you’ve asked for to help with in those moments were provided, it’s easier to slip into places you don’t want to be.

It’s been difficult to be kind to myself as all the big feelings and trauma wounds have been coming up. I’ve discovered a few things about what has and is bothering me and why. Other things just hurt and I haven’t figured them out yet. Maybe I never will.

Need to do some therapy homework still. Going to be another list where most things aren’t going to be possible. Basically on what does healthy look like to me now, with all my new information about my physical and mental health. Which means, ultimately, more of doing extra work and expending more energy than I have to try and accomplish what I can. To still hear people tell me from the sidelines how they “wish they could help” and “you’re so strong”.

In other news, I was depressed enough this weekend I made a poor financial decision. This is exactly why I know I need to not be rushed on coming to terms and accepting that my relationship is dissolving in front of me and Rochester made his decision a long time ago. Because I tried to rush myself this weekend to a place of acceptance as the silence has continued, and instead I found myself looking at things I didn’t really need, but that I did really want. And the only way it would ever happen is if I did it for myself.

Like most things.

I’m not returning it. I’ll deal with the consequences of my actions.

Doesn’t actually make a difference in anything anyways. And it’s pretty. And made me feel better for a second.

I’ll be taking a harder look at my budget and removing my ease at ordering things in another week when I can settle the room.

Time to Transplant

So…therapy hurt today.

I kinda went rabbit hole, spiderweb, spiral in session again.

One of the things that I kept coming back to though, was that I didn’t know what not being in a trauma response was supposed to look like. I don’t know how to tell if/when I’m no longer struggling between fight, flight, and fawn. I don’t know how to tell when I’m healed.

Teapot asked me what healed looks like to me.

And I immediately realized how toxic and ableist my response was going to be. I recognized it and voiced what it was, but still launched into it.

Being healed meant being more neurotypical. It meant not needing as much. Ultimately, it meant being smaller and quieter.

Unlocking that today basically scrambled my brain for the rest of the night. I’ve been more forgetful and clumsy.

That version of healed is not one I actually want to be. It’s in exact opposition of everything else I’m trying to accomplish, so now more than ever it makes sense why I felt like I was still constantly struggling. Being my authentic self. Being kinder to myself. Being more accepting of every part of me. That can’t be true and live in the same space of that bullshit I uncovered.

All I can do is wonder how young I must of been for that first to be planted, and how many more people pushed that seed of thought along, in order to keep that weed alive and still there today.

I know how much work I have done. I know how many steps I have taken and how many tears I have shed to start figuring out who I am as a person and acknowledging all the things I have endured, and how much I truly deserve.

How have I been overlooking that this whole time?

If we want to stay with the plants metaphor (which is ironic since I’m not good at keeping them alive), I’m thinking now it was less a seed, and more like root rot.

I’ve been in too small of a pot for too long. My roots have been bound up, desperate for more room. There’s been too many other plants crowding me and taking up all the resources and nutrients. I have either been over watered or neglected. Never given the right amount of sun. But somehow I was still hanging on.

This whole last year has just been digging. Digging down and down and down. Uncovering all these things.

I kept telling myself, ever since 2018, this is my year to grow. I kept saying it, but somehow I still felt like it wasn’t quite working. The progress was so little, it was hard to ever feel like I was growing. I had to have other people tell me they saw differences.

However, since starting work with teapot, I had started seeing progress. I had been able to point it out to others without any prompting.

Now that I know the core of things, it’s time to cleanse it.

I’m ready for the real healing.

I’m not afraid anymore.

Brothers, Boxes, and Bruises

The great unmoving has begun.

Brother got his keys to his new apt on Tues. I have to admit I’m a little envious for a few different reasons, but the happiness for him is outweighing them.

His apt is super cute and way bigger than any of the ones I’ve managed to get on my own. Different area helps that I guess. We’ve gone over there twice so far this last weekend. Starting out with grabbing things from my storage for them to use. Taking pics of things because otherwise I will absolutely forget what I own. Kinda already did with everything being in storage.

The good news is, I can loan it out no problem. I sadly don’t have an actual escape plan and timeline yet, other than hoping for Summer 2023.

It’ll help them out and make it to where I can get a different and smaller unit. I also worked out with him that if there’s things they really love, but buying it brand new is a block, we can work out them giving me small payments for what they want to keep. Discounted obviously, since they got use before they found their way to potential new home.

Then I can just put whatever that amount is to replacing things when I get ready to move. If I even decide to replace whatever it is.

Found out that anyone moving, triggers my need to clean and get rid of shit. Already told dad that we’ll need to get in my storage and plan a dump run. Bro and I found two bookcases that are broken to a point that repair would just be dumb. Get them out and gone, can rebuy something whenever I leave.

Also the amount of clothes I have in storage that do not bring joy anymore will be getting attacked. I brought home about 10-15items that I *think* I want to keep, but they need to pass the sensory tests first. I’ll do a deeper dive/purge once we finish deciding what’s going out on loan.

So far we took over half my kitchen boxes, coffee table, chaise, end tables, and the love seat. We have set aside the two surviving bookcases, two blue cabinets, side table, and rice paper screen as solid yes going over. Still need to finish finding the other kitchen and cleaning supplies. The charger and attachments for my vacuum that he is also borrowing have eluded us thus far.

My injuries as of today is a giant bruise on my left thigh, smacked in the face by a steamer trunk on day one, smacked in the face again on day two but by the coffee table this time, and I cracked my head on the corner of his marble counter in the kitchen.

Fun fact: signs for a concussion are the same as my base line life. So dunno if I gave myself one or not.

I convinced him that we should setup a surprise for his gf. I’m super excited. Because I like doing things like this for people. Especially people I care about or that make people I care about happy.

Hopefully she’ll like it.

Not sure when we’re heading back. I told him I could do runs out there with him after work for the rest of this week, but have plans for the weekend once we get through Thanksgiving.

Pretty sure I’m ending up cooking, but also seems like maybe dad will do it. TBD I guess.

Mom’s home from the hospital and seems to be in better shape with this surgery than the last two. We are, already, constantly having to remind her to not do things. Her on higher doses of pain meds is making things uncomfortable for me. But I am maintaining my boundaries.

I think dad only took a week off from work though, so we’ll see how things go after that. He is trying this time around, and mom isn’t making it easy. Surprised he hasn’t blown up more than he did last night. But he did remove himself once he started to yell, and calmed himself down and tried to talk to her again. Can say for sure it was mom not wanting to listen or have empathy this time. I’ll take whatever small progress I can get out of him for now. Because he also didn’t then try to shift her off onto me. Baby steps.

Out from the Drafts

I started writing this awhile ago, just to release some emotions. I kept getting these different audios on tiktok about the loneliness of healing and being the person no one would pick. That you were a lesson, a phase, you showed someone their worth so they could move on to the next person and give them the things they couldn’t or wouldn’t give to you.

The stuff below isn’t anything profound. But today I am feeling like there’s a lot of feelings and words swirling around inside of me, and what’s the point of hiding them in the drafts for a week when they’re still on your mind. I’m second guessing saying some feelings out loud. Because I’m scared. So I’ll focus on this instead:

No one ever tells you…

How incredibly lonely it is to be healing.

Or how when every step you take toward yourself, there is someone you are taking a step away from.

With every piece of your heart and soul you mend, you’re not only reclaiming yourself, but burying a part of you too.

That you will be in a constant cycle of relief and grief.

That the days will start to get easier as you settle into you, but you will still have moments of overwhelming sorrow for a future you once wanted.

As you figure out who you are, without all the noise from other people, who didn’t have your best interest at heart, you’ll grieve every moment you let that noise silence you.

They don’t tell you that once you start to find that peace within yourself, your heart will ache for a healthy and whole connection.

The type you never experienced before because now you know who you are and what you deserve, want, and need and you wonder if anyone could ever actually meet that bar.

Because all those scars remind you.

Of everything you are and everything you did to stay alive.

Of everything you will continue to stay alive, and how much quicker you will need to walk away from people now.

That you are not going to be for everyone, and you will not mold yourself any more in the hopes that they will stay.

You’ve settled in the knowledge that they can walk away too.

They can decide you’re not enough.

Or that you’re too much.

But you have you’re peace anyway, because you know they’re wrong.

You are just an ocean, and they are a pond.

You’re no longer accepting that your only purpose in life is to heal others, while you live in heartache and pain.

You are not their lesson, they were yours.

They reminded you that you settled again. That you gave every part of yourself to someone, who didn’t understand the real meaning of what you were giving them.

If they were the right person for you, you wouldn’t have to change or beg for them to stay.

You wouldn’t shed tears over asking for the bare minimum, because your person would never treat you like that.

You’re ok with being alone now, but sometimes…sometimes it would still be nice to share with someone.

To have someone that cherished you as much as you cherish them.

Someone to grow and learn with.

Someone to have late nights and lazy mornings.

Someone where even time loses meaning.

Someone who saw all the pieces of you, and still loved you. Still chose you.

But not just the version of you that made things easier.

This version.

The healing version.

The messy version.

The version of you that no longer tries to smoother out your darkness, because it makes your moments of light so so much brighter.

The version that still has so much love and passion to share…but this version….

You hold it deep inside at times.

Because while you can now look forward to what a safe and secure life alone would look like, there’s still dreams and hopes.

You know being vulnerable is necessary, but you’re still scared.

Living with fear, instead of trying to avoid it.

Holding hands, moving forward with your grief too.

They have been constant companions while you heal.

Sometimes you wonder if it’s better to just write a letter to your younger self.

Apologize to her for the life and love you weren’t able to find, and may never.

But oh, tell her of the adventures you will live instead. Tell her of the love you have found that is different. Of the people who have done all those things for her already. Tell her that when the world broke her heart, she chose to live.

Let her know, that every other thing you wish you had done, you did.

A few hours and yet…

Usually after therapy, I’m activated. It varies in degrees depending on the week, that specific day, external, and internal happenings, and lastly what we discuss.

Yesterday I was activated a little more than usual mainly because of content. I had two triggers over the week and they were for things that are rooted very deeply in my trauma.

Trying to get everything out in an hour was extremely difficult and honestly I didn’t manage it. I often feel like in order to be understood I need to give someone step by step and the cause and effect before I can actually get to that single sentence of what triggered me.

I don’t know if that’s a trauma response, or how my brain works, but likely a combination of the two.

So after sessions like that I generally try to do nothing. It very rarely works out for me. Even when I make boundaries of, it was a rough session and I need to not do anything. Often times I let that boundary slide, mainly because it winds up easier if I just do the thing, or to keep myself in practice of still like eating when I’m feeling overstimulated. Because once I move out, even the rare occasion of someone else making me food, isn’t going to be a thing.

Other than that though, I try to just not think about anything. To give my feelings a break. I’ll put my noise canceling ear buds in and scroll through tiktok for a few hours or info dump with someone.

The next day is for processing.

Got up at 5am again to hit the gym. I almost let myself sleep in since this is an extra day, but yesterday I had been feeling motivated. Pushed through and still went.

However, in the few hours I’ve been awake, hitting weights, and then walking the dogs, my brain has already been poking at big revelations and untangling the deep roots.

How do people focus on a single thing?

I had 3 different ideas on what I wanted to focus on for a blog post to process. Should have wrote them down as I was thinking on the full thoughts , but also didn’t want to be focused on my phone.

I have noted new phrases that gave me the “Ahha!” moment. Like:

“I’m not responsible for your happiness, you are.”

Or various variations of that phrase.

That one definitely traces back to childhood and still today, and was one of the few things that had hit me so hard during an argument/heated discussion/emotional charges conversation with Rochester when we broke up, that I actually lost my grip enough to not contain my physical reaction.

Which honestly scared me so bad. My bag had been falling off my shoulder and instead of just trying to fix it, I had let myself toss it across a parking lot (not towards anyone, but away from me because I couldn’t deal with the weight and the slide of strap across shoulder. Everything was too much).

Having had the threat of violence over my head my whole life, both directed at me and watching people harm themselves, I distinctly remember my absolute horror of giving into that moment. The shame. The terror that I was becoming those people. Panicking over making someone else feel unsafe.

In my experience, when someone has expressed that they’re not responsible for someone else’s happiness to me, it’s directed at me, and normally around the fact that I’m actually standing up for what I needed. Other times it’s about someone else, and those times can vary on who the unreasonable party is.

With me, there is all this pressure and expectation that I will take care of someone else, but the moment I ask for the same, well, me being unhappy if my own fault. Nothing to do with them. Even if it’s something they are or aren’t doing. Things that are out of my control so I try to talk to them about it to see what’s going on or asking for something to change because it’s hurting me.

My thought is always, you are not responsible for my happiness, but if you don’t want to be a part of it or do things to help it along, why are you in a connection?

If your only goal in being with me, in whatever form, is so that I help make you feel good, validated, and taken care of and you can set me aside when I become “inconvenient”, well you’re a shitty person.

If you don’t want to contribute to or see my happiness, than what are you? If you just keep taking and don’t meet me halfway, don’t give more than the bare minimum, that’s just a parasitic connection. I don’t need that in my life.

Thought gear shift –

This morning I’ve also been spinning on trying to figure out what about me makes others so insecure. There are times I feel like I’m a walking trigger for other people, and I don’t understand how or why. It feels like I’m often labeled as the problem and disposed of instead of that person confronting their insecurities.

Which both things are attached to topics in therapy of my ability to read people, but then also being told by others that I’m “crazy”, “over sensitive”, or I “just don’t like the person”. Which like I guess to a degree each of those things are correct but also extremely wrong.

I’m not crazy, but I am mentally ill. And those illnesses come with built in pieces for survival that most others don’t have.

It’s like….we’re standing in the same forest and it’s at night, it’s dark. Because of how your brain works, you have enough vision to see you’re in the forest, and there’s trees, but that’s all the sense you have of the space and that’s all you see. Because of how my brain works, I have better night vision. I see that we’re in a forest and there’s trees too, but because I can see better…I see that those trees have things in them. Some of those trees have fruit, things that are good, helpful, that would be healthy for us. Others, have predators. There’s birds of prey, big, wild cats among the branches, and scratches along bark that warn that this tree is not safe.

So I try to tell you what I see. But because you can’t see it, you tel me it’s just a tree and I’m imagining things. I start to doubt myself, keeping one eye on that tree with the predator and keep hoping you’re right and I’m wrong, but eventually you to we walk under the tree, and the predator strikes.

I am over sensitive. To people and their patterns of behavior. Because years of trauma. Years of being told my worth is what I can do for other people. Years of being told I am actually responsible for someone else’s happiness even though they’ll never be responsible for or try to help with mine. That means I pick up on so many subtle cues because I was taught that I had to be able to analyze, predict and manage someone worse wants/needs/desires. If I didn’t, then I was ungrateful, spoiled, inconsiderate, and selfish.

Finally, “I just don’t like someone”….well that’s usually because I’ve already seen patterns of behavior that my brain is telling me isn’t safe for me. Or my jellies are signaling something isn’t right even if I can’t point to what it is specifically. I see the claw marks, but I don’t know what type of animal it is or if it returns here. But I’m going to clock that there’s potential danger here and to be more vigilant.

Though again, what does the last point matter when the first two have already been determined by someone else. It makes me hesitate to say anything anymore. Definitely after having people I’m seeing through constantly gas lighting me and the people I’m trying to warn. Shifting it back to me being a bad or manipulative person to cover their behavior that is exactly that.

I want to protect people I care about, but it is also not my responsibility to make them see reality.

Paraphrasing Teapot. They pointed out that when we have a different set of tools or when someone is just not willing to see reality, that doesn’t mean I need to take on the burden of proof.

They also asked how I handle knowing the reality when someone else doesn’t. How do I feel and react when that person finally comes to that same reality?

I told them, I was just sad. That there were layered emotions of broken hope, because I wasn’t wrong, I’d really like to be wrong about people. I’d like it to just be my trauma over compensating, but that’s usually not the reality. I’m sad that the reality of thing I saw is now actually hurting the person I care about because they’ve truly become aware of it. I’m sad that I can see these things at all, because I feel like there’s so part of life that I can no longer experience.

Whelp…this sat here, open, for a couple of hours. I will take that as a sign that my brain is done thinking about these things for now.

You lose some and you appreciate more

Pride dress is not getting finished.

Something I forgot about is even if you’re not intentionally cutting on the bias, some parts of your pieces will still be. The neck line stretched over the last few days and there was no way for me to fix it in time.

I could have just draped something quickly to make up the front since everything else was pretty much done, but I decided that was ultimately not what I wanted. I wanted that exact style of dress, and if I do the quick fix I wouldn’t be happy. It’ll get finished eventually. I’ll redraft the front. I still have the mock-up and honestly I remember now it had some gaping top, so I can just slash and snip that. Spend some more time cleaning up seams. Maybe I’ll have something special to wear it for in the future.

I’m really proud of myself though. I learned so much with the 3 new techniques. I also relearned how to do something better. Still fuck silk though. My stitching lines are not straight, much like me, but hoping to hide them a bit when I work on it later.

Also got to reflect on how much I’ve grown again. A couple years ago this would have sent me into a tear filled rage depression spiral. Therapy and meds man. I’m disappointed a little, but I’m fine. No crying, no panic attack, no self hatred.

Now I’m trying to figure out the backup outfit. I would have liked to lean more into the theme, or have something that was really cool and fetish or leather. But alas I do not. And so much of my stuff is in a 12×12 unit. I miss having my own space and access to my things.

I think I came up with something that mixes alt and geek and I know ultimately I will feel more comfortable in with going to an event solo. I am a little worried it’s too dressed down. It’s funny that one of my biggest problems was trying to decide what collar I wanted to wear. My collection is getting bigger than I realized. I wish I wore them more honestly.

I’m glad that tomorrow is filled with some good people before the event too. Fairy gay mother and pirate haven, and then my Mando buddy. Idk if I’ve mentioned him in the blog before. Will have to have to go back and check so I know if I gave him a nom de blog….might need to write myself a legend now but I digress

More disappointing things happened today, specifically around my bday celebrations.

Pisces apparently does not actually get it. I gave someone a manual on how to hurt me again. So she will not have bday privileges in the future. That’s a one a done situation now. I thought since she also had bday trauma and I had been very open about mine, that she got it. I was wrong.

It started with her proclaiming that she wanted to go with my bro and I for the fishies and gummies day, which honestly I just mentioned and had not offered an invitation. She would plan everything! It would be great. As fairy gay mother predicted, it went pear shaped real fast.

First, after saying she would plan it, there was no communication. I checked in a couple weeks after she said that with just a “hey did you still want to go with us”. Defensive “I said I would plan it”. Uh cool.

Next strike, she was picking where we were going to eat because she had never been. I let that one slide. Because I honestly wasn’t picky about where we ate though I know now there was a place I actually wanted to go but deflated and didn’t stand up for myself since it had hurt a bit.

Then my brother asked me what was going on since the 3rd is marked as a super busy day and he was concerned that they might limit tickets (you have to buy online and reserve the exact day in advance now). Checked in again with Pisces about the plan. Are we getting the tickets separately? One card and split later? When?

She didn’t have a preference but couldn’t do anything for at least a week. Ok cool, I’ll just grab them now to ease sibling anxiety and we can deal with logistics later. More moodiness.

Fast forward a few days and while I’m trying to ask about when we were getting nails done, she informs me that one of her friends is coming too. Now I know this person, but not well. We just all get our nails done together. I was not asked before this invitation was extended, just told it would be happening. This time I say something. That it’s making me feel awkward and originally this was just me and my brother but I was happy to include her, but I wasn’t ever asked about the new person. That this is specifically the type of cycle I was trying to avoid this year of my birthday becoming all about other people and not focusing on what I wanted and needed.

She uninvited the person. But also makes it seem like I was worried the two of them were mad at me. What? No. You should be fucking worried about me being mad at you. Which I wasn’t, but fucking still.

All of this is now making my brother and I tense. He’s also mad that it’s not being about me now, and our chill awesome day is becoming whatever this is. We talk about maybe it’s better to drive separately instead of carpooling.

Brother is continuing to have a stressful week, so today I reached out to Pisces. Hey, just a heads up may need to meet there, but I can let you know for sure closer to the day. Obviously driving together still preferred.

Her immediate reaction is my brother hates her. He has literally never met her before, just is privy to most of our morning FaceTimes. I say no, it’s just been rough, worried about him, and want to give him some time that day that’s not around people.

Whelp. She decides she’s not going anymore.

Basically, since things weren’t going the way she wanted, she just bailed on the whole day.

That’s fine. Back to being a day I know for sure I’ll enjoy, but honestly really didn’t need all this bullshit that has brought up a bunch of hurt all over again. I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count how many times people in my life have done this to me. Guess I know what my next therapy session is about.

Ranted to mom. Ranted to brother. Ranted to Sprinkles. Wrote it out, so now I’m good honestly. Not. Worth. The. Cortisol.

There’s plenty of things over the next two weeks that I’m looking forward to and that brings me joy.

Facing the Trauma

The weird thing about facing trauma, is that sometimes it really does highlight how far you’ve come.

After the nightmare, Fairy Gay Mother sent me an email. She usually does. It’s one of the things in her very long list of things I like about her. The consistency is *chefs kiss*. Especially when I tell her I need something from her. Previous to posting the nightmare blog, I had replied to another email saying that I was in need of her words for that one.

And she delivered.

One thing that stuck out was, “maaaaaaaybe your trauma dreams are you wishing so hard they never happened, and reality pushes back, and says no, this was in fact a thing that happened”. So smart that one. Lucky our paths crossed when my life was crumbling.

It hit me in the feeling of truth and after a bit of a rough night of self soothing from several layers of hurt. Not in the hysterical crying sense, but the slow leak of tears that says something is in fact too much.

Decided then and there, that was the topic for therapy. I realized that even in my therapy sessions in past with other therapists, I skated around it. Never got into the full timeline and how it unfolded. This therapist is trauma focused though. Considering we only had an hour, I did still have to condense pretty heavily, especially since I had first talked about what led me to the decision to open up about it at that moment and her checking in that I felt safe to do so and wasn’t just forcing myself.

At about 15mins to the end of my session I started systematically shutting things down. Had to. Had to stop talking soon, and had to make sure I could without completely falling apart since I go right back to work after. Which I was honest with her about when she asked how I was doing and if there was anything I needed for closing. Nope. I’m good. I self induced numbness.

The rest of the week has been hard. Trying to turn the emotions back on. Problem with that being, other things creep in. The small reminders and pokes of trauma that happened after that. I was going to sleep really early, and sleeping in until I had to get up to take care of the dogs and work. I started spinning on old wounds about my body, because I could hear his voice, and every voice after it that said something was wrong with how I looked.

I turned that inward and started attacking myself for still not doing the things I said I would for myself.

It’s hard to be gentle with myself.

Today I had to say no to something. I could have left it at just saying my mom is sick (she actually is, waiting on covid test now, but we think it’s just a cold but better to be safe). Part of me wanted to hide behind that excuse. But I had just talked to them about something else that should have felt way scarier and wasn’t. There’s that growth I was talking about. So I was honest. It’s a rough week, mom is sick, the idea of this keyword with that keyword is bringing up too much trauma because it’s aligning to closely to when things happened without my consent in the same house. Ok maybe didn’t say that last part completely but the rest of it I did. And saying what I think would be healthier for me right now.

This week has just been a lot.

My trauma is a lot.

And I’m so very tired.

Back to the body hate that was happening, I did work on some emotional exercise worksheets today. I scooped up a web class from a trainer that was specific for people with trauma trying to get back to their fitness journey and how to navigate that. It was really helpful, but putting everything into practice is still going to be hard. Which the trainer said is normal and to just keep practicing to master your mindfulness and eventually it’ll be easier because the goals will only be about you and not everything that has been put into your head by others.

Some nights I wish I had real cuddles instead of squishmallows. But you work with what you got. Tomorrow I’ll try to get to the gym by myself. Try to be patient and understanding with myself. Try to just be in the day. Not the past or the future.

There’s just so much to undo from everything, it can feel really overwhelming at times.

Good byes and Good things

When cycles and chapters of my life end, it often comes with the reminder that they are not always up to me.

My life had a very funny way of repeating a cycle recently.

Thing happened that I didn’t get a say in. Vented to person. Person agreed what happened to me was wrong and can’t believe thing like that happened to me. Some time passes. That person does the exact same thing to me.

I won’t pretend to understand why that happens. I won’t try to anymore. As much as my brain wants to latch onto the whys and a sense of justice, in the end it really doesn’t matter. In the end, it just attacks my mental health, so I’m going to put it down. I don’t need the long explanations anymore.

What I do need to focus on, is when someone does that, they are showing me how they value me. At that point it’s my time to decide what I will do for myself. Walking away or accepting that the dynamic has changed and change what energy and how much access to myself I give that person. Because we no longer change ourselves in harmful ways to keep anyone or anything around. Choices. We have them.

Between the pandemic and the last few months. With this cycle repeating but in a different part of my life, I think that means it’s time to put it down. Maybe not forever. If the last few months are also any indication. But it is showing me that the chapter in my life is ending and that decision was made by people that I thought were close to me. Maybe it being less extreme but mirroring made it easier.

Last time I was so angry. To be fair it affected much more of my life and mental health. This time I was hurt for a little while, but have settled into acceptance. It’s ok. We don’t always get to hold onto the things and people that had made us feel good before. Maybe it served it’s purpose. I did grow so much thanks to that period in my life.

Ultimately, today I’m happy.

It’s nice that I can move through my emotions a little better. I have tubs of costuming that I will need to decide what to do with. Hanging onto them seems like a waste of space for an activity I may never go back to. It’s not a decision I need to make right now, but soon. Since I do want to cull my storage unit before moving again.

It will at least set me loose to fully focus on something else and not just live in a sense of missing out or anxiety that because I’m not on social media, I’ll be forgotten. I mean. The fears were valid, but now it matters less. Also considering just suspending those accounts now. One I had already set to private and started wiping the bio, but I don’t think I want to delete completely and lose the usernames.

In other news, I’ve been painting again. Since I had the house to myself, I 100% made a painting with my butt. It was perfect timing too with the emotional blind side. It gave me something to focus on, and continue to heal past traumas. It was cathartic and I hadn’t meant it to be. Is it a great piece of art? No idea. But I liked it enough to put varnish on it.

I’m trying to get back to writing the novel. It’s been a bit of a struggle with the last two months. Ideas and plots are still forming at least, so I’ll have places to pick back up from once my grief settles.

Last night I ended up smiling more than I have in a very long time. That heart racing, cheeks hurting kind of feel. I’m choosing to be present in that instead of the things that made me sad yesterday. And contemplating a nom de blog alias update for someone.

But right now, I like keeping it myself. That bit of glow that’s just mine. Well, outside of very mild gossip with my ebbf and sprinkles. Mostly with sprinkles. I write things up for her as if they were in a book.

Self Isolating, Questioning

December through February is the hardest time of the year for me. The holidays hit a lot of people hard and we all have our reasons right?

This time of year always reminds me of loss. It reminds me of things crumbling away under me. Relationships ending, people leaving, people dying. It doesn’t help that I get seasonal depression on top of my regular depression. This year with the pandemic still going, I’ve self isolated even harder.

I’m having a hard time maintaining connections with people. Even people I care deeply about. I managed to respond if I get a message first, but initiating contact has been tough this year. I’m not really sure why. Maybe because I’ve been feeling like I’m in a constantly state of questioning lately of who I am.

I don’t feel connected to any communities anymore.

Even ones I had really wanted to stay a part of. My few opportunities to engage with them are being blocked. By the pandemic, by concerns of family who are more high risk. Me being me, I take those things seriously but also inside I’m frustrated and mourning. How do I know the difference between moving on because I’m growing, or if I’m giving up?

When you’ve been ripped down so many times it’s difficult to find yourself again. As a person, there are core things I absolutely know about myself now. As a member of a community? I had started that journey but then lock down 1, 2, and 3 happened. Physical spaces weren’t safe because of covid. More and more people moved to online and social media. But too many worlds intersect there. It left me in a place that social media was not safe for me emotionally or mentally. I had to make the decision to not be in those spaces for my own safety.

Knowing that and separating myself from it, further separated me from everyone.

I don’t regret that decision, but there’s still grief there.

Stopping my cycles of self harm were more important but it’s still hard to know that by doing that, I’m not seeing the lives and moments of people I care for. To feel like I’m missing out on so much.

Alternatively, I wonder if I just shouldn’t scrub all those versions of me from off the Internet. Pack it up. Accept that I don’t belong in those spaces anymore. But part of me grieves so bad. It feels like my abusers have won if I do that. And I am anything if not stubborn at this point. I tried giving that persona a rebirth, and maybe it failed. Something to explore in therapy someday.

Along those lines, I started looking for a new therapist and I think I found one. I’ll have to wait a bit until they have room in their schedule but as I told them, I’d rather wait for the right therapist. They have experience in all the aspects I need. Mainly trauma recovery.

It’s probably while I’m feeling bigger feels right now too. We did an intro session to make sure we’d be a good fit and even if it wasn’t a start on deep diving, I still have to flash my brain with every trauma I’ve dealt with to give them an idea of what we’re working with and towards. It’s left me a bit emotionally raw.

On top of that I’ve been sick for the last week. (Finally starting to feel better. Luckily not covid, but still a pretty nasty illness that even forced me to take time off work). With layers of a flare up and hormones. Not sleeping. Family issues and boundary problems.

My heart has been heavy.

It’s just weather, and I will not always feel this way. But I’ve been holding it in for a couple of weeks now. I stopped using this, my blog, my writing, my coping mechanisms.

They’re called habits for a reason. Why it’s so hard to break the ones that harm us, and so hard to start the ones that heal us, I’ll never know.

I’m trying though.

Being in the constant state of wanting to simultaneously run away to a remote cabin and be alone forever, but also wanting friends, family, and connections is difficult to balance. What parts of me are not just responses to trauma?

There have been bright spots, but I’m afraid to talk about them. I’m afraid they’re things I just won’t finish again. I’m just, afraid.

My life has not been full of things going right. So now that some thing are, now that I can see the light and feel hope again. I don’t want it to go away. I’m taking the steps to be a happier and healthier me. It’s just hard to wait. It’s hard to feel like it won’t get jinxed somehow.