glassware

Okay, uh, I've only been awake for an hour and a half, and already stuff is nuts.

Last night, I consciously (gave ONLY Tar the ability to hurt me, no one else could slip now.)

(had a TRAUMATIC nightmare, nice job man. had to force myself to lie back down for an hour just to calm down)


(first talked to spine about slot concerns. as we spoke she agreed that she was NOT A HEADVOICE. headvoices ALWAYS know what they are when they are manifested; spine did NOT. she appeared in the system from an outside place and didn't even know who we were-- we had to CONVINCE her to join us! so yeah she said she belonged in a secondary slot, not a main slot. i said vermilion was still open, but maybe red-violet existed as a slot too, i couldn't tell. she said that was "too important" of a slot for her, said vermilion was fine. so i warped us to the color room that we were in during my hospital visit in november (where nathaniel went permanently green + mothy), the ring with the literal slot positions for reassignments and stuff (where the fish that even??? is it a floating location?). she was standing in the red slot, walked out of it, i could feel the discord between her and that color, she obviously did not belong there. she moved into vermilion and it began moving into place, then she smiled at me and said she knew what she was now. then surprisingly her ENTIRE form changed, she is actually a PARNASSIAN after all!! her soulgem is an upside-down isosceles triangle. she said it was to remind her of "what she once was," when she was a pseudo-headvoice and worked so closely with lynne and i especially.)

(then visited the cathedral. suddenly struck me as bizarre that, not only was it so small, it was built on SAND. what kind of a foundation is that! so i went outside it, held out my arms, and said something like "if i can change headspace at all, then let me do it now." immediately the entire beach began to swirl around me (like the dreamsand in rotg, it was awesome), and the cathedral itself lifted up from the ground.)

(i spent a little while trying to figure out where it should anchor. i tried another beach, then a cliff, then a forest, none worked. i changed its size and everything. nothing would click! then i remembered when it temporarily moved into the central city around easter last year? so i moved it back, reluctantly because it didn't feel "right" amidst all that metal.)
(also i realized that i can't remember the last time i saw the city in the daytime, if ever. it always seems to be at nighttime, with nebulae and stars in a cloudless sky)
(glowing, white, orb above?? looked more like lotus temple, bigger on the inside??)

(statues! spectrum ring in center, monochromes at four points around it, cathedral window in center ceiling AND floor?? was that one a gate??)
(the cathedral is now on a ring of steps/ stairs? then a pillar beneath. really cool.)

(city changed too. vegetation everywhere now; trees on the top of every building, vines and climbing plants branching everywhere. also some BIG trees, skyscraper-size, among the buildings; their leaves and branches went everywhere. also MANY of the skyscrapers changed to crystals? really pretty stuff.)

(stuff started to get dark again later, headspace fracturing and getting frighteningly erratic like it was last night? ALWAYS a bad sign, hacks imminent. infinitii called to me and told me to get out of there, i forced myself to wake up.)

 

 

chokehold

 

Today has not been fun.
Let's start in the most banal way possible: I've unfortunately had to introduce gluten back into my diet, as I've been literally eating nothing but vegetables for a while and my energy levels are running low. Problem is I either have severe anxiety reactions after I eat it, or I get possibly psychosomatic bodily reactions that leave me shaking and make my vision spin like a top. Either way it's horrible and it ALWAYS happens, God knows why.
Even better? Even AFTER the surgery, it makes me get terrible hernia pain. Nice freaking job.
So yeah, after that disturbingly vivid rape/murder dream this morning, all the pain I've been through with this stupid body today, AND that godforsaken reset-scratch not having worked the way I wanted it to, my suicidal tendencies are back full force.
I would seriously cut off my left arm if it meant I would never have to eat again. You have no idea how much I loathe having to do that "to survive." To heck with that. I would rather starve, but thanks to my bizarre upbringing, I've got this hard-wired predisposition to only eat scraps, and ALWAYS eat scraps. "You're not allowed to waste food," but "you're not supposed to eat that." So now, when I see harmful or unhealthy food, I don't want anyone else to suffer through eating it, so I force myself to IF I can't throw it away in secret (because I hate food and would burn our entire kitchen to the ground if I could, regardless of our financial state).
I HATE being hungry too. No, not "stomach empty and actually hurting as I haven't eaten in over 24 hours" hungry. I LIKE that pain. I HATE when I am forced to eat to avoid passing out, and then my body is all "holy sharks there IS food!" and decides it's starving. SHUT UP, YOU GLUTTON. Eating makes me feel like a complete whore and I hate it vehemently. Emphasis on "hate," seriously. I cannot put into words how much I despise that act.
Ironically it might even be tied into my "orange problem," to use ridiculous shameful jargon again. Eating makes that worse, and that makes eating worse. They are tied together somehow. And, they both cause me the most traumatic pain (the "curl up in the corner screaming and sobbing hysterically" kind) when they force me to take things in. I don't care what the context is. If stuff is going INTO my body, I will feel so horrendously violated and terrified that I will want to die, literally and with mindless fervor-- and, if there is a weapon or harmful object nearby, I WILL IMMEDIATELY ATTEMPT TO DO SO.
So that explains why my worst dissociative/ abusive meltdowns ALWAYS follow eating of some sort, and always have. It demands an immediate retribution, a balance, an atonement.
However. My mother accidentally saw the leg scars from Holy Saturday (because, as they happened in a dissociative state, I forgot they were there and stupidly wore shorts with her around the other day), so now is she not only coming with me to my therapy appointment on Tuesday, but she told me flat-out that if she saw any more scars, I'd be shipped straight back to the psychiatric ward.
To be blunt, that makes me really freaking angry.
I don't know how to make people understand. Maybe it's my lingering in this cursed Red slot, or maybe it's the bad Black energy that Infinitii warned me about... either way, for YEARS upon years, since I was a tiny kid, I have had a dangerous obsession with pain. I clearly remember writing an old entry about that here, but it demands reiteration. I really was smitten with pain and death back then. My parents never knew about the worst of it, as it stayed in my head-- the darker adventures of Zimbo and the Jewel Aliens and so many others. People would bleed, and die, and I would watch with rapt fascination, unmoved by their sufferings. Maybe I was even incapable of empathy back then, who knows. I know I still get that now, on my bad days... the total apathy, the wanting nothing more than to watch those events play out, regardless of who has to pay the price.
Lately, though, I've been the one paying, and I love it. That's what I don't know how to explain to people. I am obsessed with self-destruction. I love the feeling of starving, I love the feeling of blades slicing through my skin. Sharp pain is my favorite. Dull pain, well, that's the kind I don't like as much-- the pain I have now, from my terrible digestive issues and surgery recovery and sleep-deprived muscles. I don't like this pain anywhere near as much, as it doesn't feel like pain; it feels dirty, filthy and wrong. Then why do I keep perpetuating the situations that cause that sort of pain, you ask?
Simple... because, as I mentioned earlier, dull pain must always be cleansed by sharp pain. Overeating means I get to slice myself up with a knife. Getting angry or sick means I get to bite, or punch, or otherwise inflict blunt trauma. There's always a remedy for the filthy pain.
That's what I'm having trouble communicating to other people. When you don't LET me abuse myself in those sharper ways, I will abuse myself WORSE through "duller" alternatives, in the desperate need to "cauterize" the lingering psychological dirt that rubs off everything and sticks. Every hellish trigger catches like a burr, and you can't tear that tar out-- you need to burn it. Taking the matches away is only going to make my hands bleed all the more when I start clawing at the parasites.

When I suffer through mornings like this one, I need every iota of pain in the world to feel clear again.

It's why I love Laurie so much. Yes, she started off as a "personification of pain," hence the superego title she gained almost instantly. Her formation anchor was abuse-- it was sheer pain, of all sorts, but the sharp kind, the kind that stings like lightning and doesn't fade. When that faded from my life, and I needed it to heal, she was born from the ashes, and immediately took out her axe.
It's why I am terrified that I ruined her forever by wearing down her edges. Her brutality made her sacred to me. It literally made her a living force of divine retribution, cutting through the dark threads of sin and despair, freeing me from their tyranny.
When I bleed, I bleed out. THAT'S my native energy flow. It's sacrificial. I have this constant driving need to purge everything, and I mean EVERYTHING. I don't like eating because it's just more stuff that I need to get rid of somehow, eventually, so I force myself to throw it up immediately. I don't like the fact that I can't lose weight because that's more substance that I cannot stand and fervently wish to tear away. I don't even like people touching me for this same reason-- every point of contact is more tangible data being transmitted, quickly overloading until I snap and release it all in brutal physical attacks. Make sense now?
Cutting is the quickest way to purge the overload on any level, because blood carries the weight. Pain helps to "shock out" the foggy sense-oriented stuff (which, incidentally, is why I can't wear certain clothes; the simple feeling of certain fabrics can make me start screaming and clawing at my skin, trying to erase the sensation), especially when it's auditory, as that is some of the WORST lingering filth and I can only erase it through sharp pain. Blood, however, carries out the internal stuff. Bleeding erases the rage and terror and mindless screaming.
Whenever I can't bleed downstairs, and I'm desperate, I run to Laurie upstairs.
To this day, she will take out her axe, and do her job.
People downstairs would think me mad if I admitted that one of the most relieving sensations in the world is having my skull cleaved in two upstairs. It's a direct dump of all the pent-up pain on that level; just crack it open and bleed it out, all at once; it's incredibly cathartic. If that doesn't work quickly I usually get an axe to the face, which is arguably just as helpful-- once my head is gone, my self-identity disappears for a while! That way I don't have to feel or see or hear or do a single thing, I can just be vaguely aware of the bleeding and breaking bones, and relax into the nothingness. At least, until Laurie forces me to respawn, that is.


Anyway. That's enough of that.

 

 

unreachable

Okay, update two for today because I just remembered several things I forgot to talk about what with the insanity that has been life lately.

First, although I'm settling quite nicely into this post-scratch timeline, I've realized a problem. Stuff from the old timeline is lingering, in places where energy sticks.
Yes, our past actions and history were "deleted" when the scratch-reset occurred, but they still happened, and their consequences still echo through space and time.
Tumblr contributed to this realization too, with a post I just saw on my dashboard concerning Doctor Who: "it’s just been The Doctor solving all the problems encountered by simply resetting the universe so that none of said problems happened or ever will happen, but everyone conveniently remembers the events prior to the reset anyway."
Sandman warned me about all of that. He said that even if I deleted my personal timeline, it would "still exist" in that vague sense, and it would also be accessible to those who knew how to reach it... and I do have a Doctor-esque fellow actively trying to reconstruct our past-life after it was torn to shreds.
Don't get me wrong, I love my boss to death, but the fact that no one would let me permanently die just ticks me off.
Why in the world else would I go through all of that psychological torment to sever myself from headspace?? I was trying to get a "game over." I DIDN'T WANT TO CONTINUE.
But, apparently I was "supposed to." My dying in the scratch attempt wasn't something that could happen, apparently.
Then again, that's what I was talking about in this entry...

And then there's the glaring yet astounding fact that other people didn't want me to die.
I never factored that concept into my decision. It really didn't even cross my mind.
I wanted to die, to fade away forever, and I didn't care whether or not people would miss me. I still don't.
I still lie awake at night, praying for it to happen again, that this time I would be wiped out when the record broke, that this time I would fade away when the second hand stopped moving. I pray that, this time, no one will come back for me, and I can finally fade away into oblivion.
But every time, I remember what I was told.
"Child, you don't understand the extent of what you have just tried to do."
For some dumb reason I'm supposed to live. I don't understand why. Apparently it's important. Apparently I'm important.
All I know for sure is that I'm sick of being a narcissist and I hate being important already.
I don't want to screw up, and take everyone else down with me.


Anyway. That's enough of that.

In other news, I was forced to log back into my series-based dA account lately, because extra-fenix was selling commissions and I used my last $5 to buy THIS for Xenophon for her birthday.

Why yes, that is her, as a Chao.
I absolutely could not pass up that opportunity. It was too perfect.

I do need sleep though, and I need to try and fix whatever the heck in me caused that depressive meltdown just now.
Plus headspace is just... insane, lately. I still don't know whether or not I should continue my huge "go back and review + document everything" project concerning my old entries, because that takes up a lot of time and effort, and it wears me out. Still, it may be required, what with all the old things resurfacing.

I don't know. It just doesn't seem worth it, some days.
I mean... one of the biggest reasons why I tried to scratch everything to pieces on the 24th was so that I could work on my series again. Unfortunately the scratch attempt itself was so psychologically harrowing that I couldn't work for that first week, at all, and that weekend was when my boss suddenly appeared and was all "dude that was not cool," albeit in much more Sandman-y language.
But, since then, I really haven't worked on my "work" at all... and part of it is actually because (once again) I'm sick of being "important." Part of me is actually sick and tired of everyone asking me "oh, have you done any drawings lately?" "are you still writing music?" "you need to get your book published!"
Stop. Please, just stop. THIS IS NOT ABOUT ME.
I've said it a thousand times and I will say it again: I only do this work because I was TOLD TO. I was given dreams and visions and all sorts of other messages telling me "you're the only person that can write our story down."
And you know what? Now, I honestly wish that I could give that honor to someone else.
I really wish I could just watch those stories unfold, instead of being in them. I love seeing other people get involved in the story. I love seeing their joy in reading and becoming part of it. What I DON'T love is being forced to be the "focal point" of all that simply because I'm the "author."
I would rather just be part of the crowd, loving those stories just as much as the next guy.
I don't know. I really don't know what to do here. I've lost all sense of purpose in my life; it feels utterly meaningless and I am literally counting the days until I just don't wake up anymore. I can't see my future like I used to when I first started to move into the White slot, back when I split my identity for that purpose. Maybe I should do that again.

Here's another thought. I just stumbled across a video on Youtube with a hero and sidekick pair, and the sidekick literally did EVERYTHING the hero told him to, without complaint, even at the risk of his own health or well-being.
I want to be like that, so badly. I want to be so selfless that I don't give a thought to what I'd "like or dislike" in any situation. I want to be able to suffer through hell and back if someone asks me to, without looking back even once, and doing the whole damn thing over again in a heartbeat if they weren't happy with my efforts the first time.
I want to be a nobody. I don't want an identity at all. I don't want a self. I don't want individuality or wants or needs or preferences or opinions, and I sure as hell don't want some godforsaken black tar shit insisting to the contrary.

Right now, I'm going to sleep, and forget everything.



Look who's running off again
Stupid useless aging wreck

But he will live this life
On his own time
On his own time

All their daggers have his name
But he loves them all the same

And he will live this life
On his own time
On his own time

We all circle back on decisions we made
Discover we're in crisis yet again

It's only your life
It's only your life
It's only your life
It's only your life