0413

 

Something Chaos just said to me, with the brightest eyes I've seen on him in ages:

"Water responds to vibrations. Crystals can be programmed.
You literally set me up to be the best I could be."


That... I have a lot to say about that.
Right now it just... there wasn't even any regret in it. Water and gems can pick up bad stuff too, but... but no, here he is looking at me like I'm a sunbeam, and he's just smiling in that gold half-way that feels like a sunrise, and...
All the credit. There it is. All of the absolution.
...You know what, maybe he's right. Maybe, as he is an empath and that unique structure of his catches things too, maybe he has caught some horrible stuff from me. Bad days, old programming, anger, fear, depression, doubt, hacker residue. Bad things.
But what have I practically poured into him almost every single night for most of my literal life so far???
Love. Just love. I love him and God knows, God knows, that every single night I still hold him to my heart even if I'm terrified and confused and lost. And that radiates too. That catches too. That's what turns water into geometry. That's what a crystal looks like on the inside.

That's what he wanted me to realize. That's what he means. I'm not... I'm not some horrible damning influence on him. I've...I've allowed for that, and I've fed that, I've put my very soul into THAT, into allowing him to become something as gorgeous as I always knew he was, that he could be, from the very beginning. I set it up without realizing that I set it up. But I hoped, God knows that too, I never gave up on that either.


I'm feeling a lot about this. I'll need to write more about it in the future.

 

 

 

041315

 

 

I'm kind of freaking out tonight.

I might be starting my first job in FOUR YEARS next week, and I spent most of today having panic attacks and throwing up and sobbing confusedly, it was ridiculous.



I had a massive religious/existential meltdown on Sunday which left me just as sick as I was today; I was crying so hard I was choking. That's typical, what with religious holidays. Divine Mercy Sunday reduces me to a contrite, paranoid, zealous wreck every single year.



I still find myself thinking awful things.
Part of me is still convinced that having a mental illness, or being "neurodivergent" in some way, means I am morally flawed.
I'm ashamed to admit that I've been diagnosed in the past with schizoaffective disorder and that I'm on the autism spectrum. I hate it. I hate being "broken" and screwed up and abnormal and allegedly "unable" to function like a "normal, healthy, good human being."
It's stupid. I'm sorry for using that word but I'm throwing it at myself here. I really do feel as if I am unintelligent in saying these things, unwise and willfully ignorant.
I don't want to be "mentally ill." Not if it makes life this hellish. But I don't want to be "normal" either, not with what they've told me "normal" is.
I want to be able to accept and love who I am without being utterly ashamed, and feeling useless, and being convinced I have no right to survive, or ask for help or accommodations, or to make mistakes, or to be "different."
No wonder my chakra system is messed up. I'm still struggling with the concept that I have a RIGHT to exist. That very thought feels like blasphemy, to this day.
"Someone like you does not deserve to exist," the programming in my brain says. "You're a freak. You're being selfish, and demanding, and inconvenient, and offensive, and lazy. You're not sacrificing enough for God. " et cetera.



Therapy has been making me pay more attention to myself when in "idle mode," so to speak.
I never realized, I stim a lot. I was always ashamed to even consider the possibility, thinking it was attention-seeking, but… it's not. It's a coping mechanism. When therapy gets frightening, when ugly scary memories come up, I find the vision fading out and my hands moving by themselves. And then my brain says, "is that bad?"


I HAVE to hold this new job for AT LEAST a full month so I can pay back all my debts. After that we'll see how we're coping. I need to take this a day at a time.

 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

@ 11:33 pm

 

 

Please forgive this bitter wordspill but I need to express this somewhere where I’ll be heard. I’m sorry for that but sometimes it helps.

 

I hate, hate, hate being mentally ill.
I feel like such a freak, like I don’t deserve to exist, or live at all, because I’m a “burden” or I’m “lazy” or “too weird” or something similar.
I hate asking for help or accommodations or similar assistance because I’m mortified. I feel that I’ve “brought this illness upon myself” and therefore it is “emotional manipulation of others” when I ask for “special treatment” for it.
I DON’T WANT TO BE SICK but I don’t know what it’s like to be “normal” either, I don’t think I CAN be normal even if we WERE healthy, and that’s scary too. Does that mean I’m being willfully ignorant? Does that mean I’m rejecting the right choice? What am I supposed to be?

 

I hate having these damn sensitivities that make it difficult to function.
I hate the manic phases and depressive hells. I hate the massive dissociation and time loss. I HATE the sensory overload, I HATE hearing voices, I HATE this shit, I hate it, I really do, I am so goddamn tired dealing with this all my life, I’m miserable, I try so hard to be happy but the paranoid zealot child in me is convinced that happiness is selfish and sinful, and the bewildered terrified teenager in me is convinced that happiness is the word abusers use to justify their behavior. I want to say it’s all nonsense, but those parts are still so loud yet.
I hate hearing my therapist tell us that we really did experience some screwed up things, and I hate the gut reaction on my part to defend the people who did those things, even when their memory makes me want to vomit from anxiety and shame.
I hate being sick. I hate being in pain. I hate not being able to shut off the sickness or pain because I feel that not being “invincible” means I’m “not a good enough person.” It terrifies me.

 

I want to be happy for once in my life but the problem is that I feel I don’t DESERVE to be happy, or that the quality/state of life that would be most healthy and beneficial for me is “too weird” or “NOT NORMAL” or otherwise “not allowed,” because I’m SICK IN THE HEAD, and this religious stuff makes it worse, I haven’t found a community anywhere that is willing to help us out with this, all we want is to feel like we’re allowed to live.

 

I don’t want to hate anything.

 

I don’t want to hate anything. This isn’t me, I’m a happy kid, I know I am, I’m too damn bright on the inside to handle so much of this.
But parts of us are so bitter and sad and angry because there’s so much guilt yet, so much shame, so much fear, so much regret.
Then the therapist has to keep reminding us that we have a dissociative disorder so of COURSE we never “ran away,” because we SHUT DOWN. We were trying to survive, however unwisely. The price we paid was just too high, too high, too high to bear.

 

I want to be better. What does it mean to me, to us, to be “better” though? Not what the family says, not what the people outside say. For us, what would be “healthy?”

 

That’s what I want. Somehow. I still want that. I’m trying.

 

I’m just very overwhelmed today and I’m kind of scared about some equally overwhelming changes in the immediate future but we’ll manage. We’ll manage.