don't touch me

[prismaticbleed]

 

 

So the weekend was rough. I woke up to screaming on Saturday, after having spent the previous day battling a stomach bug and horrific stress levels from Thursday. And Sunday was spent at my dad's house, mostly listening to some woman I didn't know tell me how to live my life. I knew she cared but she didn't know what she was talking about and it made me very very sad. Then I got sick again. I don't like weekends.
However, my patience has paid off. That is why I'm updating.

I saw my therapist on Friday, after over a month of no appointments. We reviewed my neurology test results, and honestly, I am pretty surprised by the evaluation I got. Not shocked, just surprised.
Apparently I have a high IQ and I show strong symptoms of PTSD? Interesting. He was flipping out over it, haha. But he does agree that my gender issues are our biggest concern, so we're going to spend (hopefully) our entire next appointment discussing them. That will be two days after Genesis' 6th birthday, which is great.
I've been updating my IJ lately with all my minor dark personal incidents. I tend to save this journal for more in-depth evaluations of things. I won't restate those points here, as I'll only be repeating myself.
Oh yeah, and I am abysmally late for a Xanga session as of late, thanks to how difficult it now is for me to function with so much channeling. We've determined that my health is greatly suffering from my stress levels, which I'm trying to work with, but the fact still stands that we NEED to have another session ASAP. I'll plan for Monday, as my bros are out of school for the summer, so I don't have free mornings for a few months.
More time to do series research, I guess. I'm slowly getting back into drawing again, so that should help me immensely there too. The main reason why I haven't worked on several of my series very much is because they have almost no art. Without that visual on my part, it is very, very difficult to get the story down. The single reason why Oneircia isn't as fleshed out as it could be is because of Isabelle. Darn your curly hair and fancy dresses!

On a darker note, though. I was thinking about that, how I apparently show all the symptoms of a badly traumatized person.
I didn't understand how until he elaborated on it... pointed out how my eyes are always wide open, mentioned how I'm always in 'red alert mode.' Always on edge, always panicked. Too much stress, too much anxiety. Too many panic attacks. Body pain, self-harm, eating disorders, nightmares. And it frightened me, because he had NO IDEA what caused all that, but he still knew exactly what it meant... trauma.
There's only one problem.
It's mental.
Now you invisible readers should know this well enough to not need elaboration, but understand that every day, I deal with needing to do this over and over again. I repeat myself constantly. Most of the world does not know how strange my life is. And it is truly difficult to have to constantly check myself, to constantly re-evaluate myself, to make sure my life story is worded coherently and sensibly enough that my therapist, or parent, or friend, or teacher, will understand it... well, without calling me 'crazy' in some sense and tossing me out the door. It has happened before.
But I don't usually get this much understanding from a therapist without going into detail. He knows I have gender problems. He knows I've been traumatized. But I'm honestly afraid that, although I've laid down that framework accurately enough, once I start showing what that framework holds, he may view it as invalid.
I don't care how high my IQ supposedly is; when you venture as far away from the 'norm' as I apparently have, people wonder if you're crazy. And I'm honestly afraid, because I can't say that I'm not.
It all boils down to the truth of the trauma.
Typically, in trauma cases, the victim is treated to eventually understand that "their reactions are normal." Unfortunately, this assumes that the trauma they experienced was a 'normal' trauma as well. They were abused, they witnessed a violent event, etc. It is absolutely normal to become traumatized from such things.
Now, I won't deny that I have experienced several incidents that can be considered 'traumatic' in this vein. But they are not the ones that haunt me from day to day. They are not the incidents that keep me up at night, afraid to sleep. They are not the incidents that leave me sobbing in locked rooms, hiding from mirrors, praying for impossible deliverance.
Those other incidents occurred, and they ended. Those other incidents were out of my control. They happened to me and I moved on.
The one incident that has hurt me so badly did not end.
Yes, some people can be badly traumatized by incidents that may not faze others.
But what about when it's all upstairs? Does that still count?

"It's all in your mind."
I am so sick of hearing that. "It's all in your head. It's not real. You'll be okay."
Why do some people treat the inner reality of the mind as invalid? Why are psychological horrors taken less seriously than physical ones in some cases? Both physical and mental sufferings are equally damaging, are equally grave. So when I finally collapse and confess that I have been terribly hurt, but only on a mental plane, I am often not taken seriously. And when that happens with therapists, I lose my chances for a better life. They view me as unstable and unsafe, and unfit for continuing in my original line of thought. Delusional.
Let me repeat a line from an entry I wrote while still in the local psychiatric ward...
"The supervisor just asked me if I was okay. Answer? NO. I wish I could just say "I'm not safe, stable, or secure here. Get me the heck out." But that doesn't sound intelligent or sane. I try so hard to sound intelligent & sane so people take me seriously, but then I don't speak up when I'm emotionally distraught like this."
It is sick, sick and sad, that I have to constantly censor and edit these TRUTHS in my life because I know how some people react when I don't.
I know I'm weird. I know I don't fit inside the box. I've known that since I started school, since I was first exposed to the social system I would have to face and deal with for the rest of my life. It was made very clear, over and over, that I did not fit. Something was 'wrong' with me. It may not have been said outright, but I could feel it, I could see it. My life did not line up with the stories they told, with the games they played, with the values and idols they treasured. None of it made sense to me, and I was fine with that.
I am fine with that. I don't mind being the 'outcast.' My life is better for it, personally.
I am not fine with the fact that, because my pains are equally unusual, they are not seen as real.
I am not fine with the fact that, often, this extends to everything about me. 'There's no way you're telling the truth.' 'Don't be so ridiculous.' Ignored. Invalidated.
And people wonder why I keep my mouth shut.
I'm tired of keeping my mouth shut.

But I'm getting off topic, to an extent.
I have been traumatized, several times, by Julie. This is common knowledge to those who read these journals, but to no others. And it is very serious to me, but it is not serious to many others.
To quote from another journal of mine...
"People wonder why I'm triggered by so many seemingly innocuous things? Do you have any idea how easy it is to inflict abuse on someone if you're hellbent on doing so? She uses everything, anything... Everything is a potential threat, a risk of being ravaged. So I'm never safe. I'm never safe, and I hope you can't imagine how harrowing that is, for your worst enemy to live behind your eyes... I've been manipulated, beaten, slandered, raped, even murdered-- and that is terrifying-- but it's all been mental. So I know I cannot talk about it, ever. I don't want to demean anyone else's trauma, but what do I do about my own? Am I cursed to suffer this forever? I'm so sick of being too afraid to sleep or wake up. And this has been happening every single day for longer than I want to think about."
I can't believe I'm STILL dealing with this.
How many times have I repeated myself now? Simply because the horror and pressure of keeping it all silent gets too much to bear?
I really want to tell this to my therapist and have him UNDERSTAND. But if he thinks I'm insane, I won't be able to transition, and that may kill me. No joke. There are too many risks with this form; I am painfully aware of that after this past week.

Ugh, I don't want to talk about this. I'm sounding ludicrously selfish and I'm not elaborating on points and understandings that I'm assuming are implied, which is likely making this entry feel overwhelmingly incorrect. I wish I had a better grasp on the English language. I rarely seem to make any lasting sense.

...

I'm just tired is all.
I'm tired of spending every moment of every day in panic mode, constantly guarding against hacks. I know they can happen any time, anywhere. They have happened in my sleep. Waking up, shaking, my body rebelling against me, unable to function for days afterwards... it is horrible. I don't care if it wasn't physical in the traditional sense. It hurt, it was awful, and I don't ever want to go through that hell again. I am so tired of it.
I can't run. I can't call for help. I can't go to support groups, can't casually discuss this with advisors. I can't seek justice.
To them, it's all in my mind. To them, it's not real.
To me, it's the most horribly real thing I've ever experienced.
They don't understand.
It hurts.


My thanatos splinter is working quietly again.
I noticed it today, during dinner with my mom. That powerful destruction drive works even when I don't realize it. I wondered why I had an eating disorder that felt forced? Because I was trying to destroy things, not eat them. It was simply the only way I knew to destroy things without getting 'punished.' I wondered why I loved to burn things as a child. I wondered why I could never hold on to old art, old possessions. I wondered why I abused myself so badly, even without immediate cause. Everything torn, cut, burnt, eaten, destroyed on some level. I just didn't understand why I did it until today.
Destruction is a form of creation. When I recognize something as being in the way of creation, as blocking beneficial progress on some level, my immediate reaction is to destroy it.
We don't need this much excess. Destroy it. We don't need this meaningless filth. Destroy it.
We don't need this wrong body, this hindering shell.
Destroy it.
It was almost too late when I realized there were some things I could not recreate.
You wanna know how I got these scars?...

It is still so hard for me to say no.
I drown myself in responsibilities, in debts, in goals I have no means to achieve, simply because I want to make others happy.
Yes, I am still struggling with this.
I used to take art trades all the time, when I joined dA. Nevermind that I didn't have the tools or programs to complete them. Nevermind that I was losing sleep over homework each night, to the point of getting physically ill. Nevermind that my family was incessantly loud and stressful, that I didn't have any safe spaces and had to hide on the porch just to think straight. Nevermind that I was battling with a new superego who I thought was trying to kill me, that I was battling with an old id who I knew was seeking my absolute destruction.
I still faked a smile, acted overly cheery, tried to be everyone's superhero. "I'll do everything you ask!" Slowly killing myself with it, not understanding that I mattered as well.
It all fell apart somewhere during 2008. I could no longer keep up the act. My integrity rotted, my reliability became useless. I was unable to hold onto any promises, and yet I still kept making them. "I can't let these people down. They need me!" Even if I had no way of doing what they asked, I would accept. To me, saying 'no' was almost sinful. Selfish, cold-hearted, wrong.
I began to use people. Or did I? People offered to help me, to work with me, and by accepting, I felt as if I were manipulating them. I felt as if I treated them like machines, like tools. I cared for them but I felt so detached from them. Using and helping... I can't tell the difference.
But I never said no. I always felt obligated to be everyone else's Atlas, to hold the world on my shoulders, even if I couldn't possibly keep it aloft. In the end, I only hurt people by compromising who I was for who I felt I should be for their sake.
Even today, I find myself doing this. Unconsciously, falsely, I'll find myself doing things, saying things, thinking things that have nothing to do with me, with any of us. No, they apply to a soulless shell that died four years ago, when I realized how it was running my life. But it came back, vaguely but dangerously, this ego we are trying to hard to kill, and it continues to blindly work in the spaces when I forget I am driving.
I live my days in shame, knowing that those around me love that shell and not me. I grew up in an atmosphere where, if I did not fit what was exactly expected of me, I would face the consequences. I shoved myself into the mold out of fear. I never stayed in it completely; I was too aware of the beautiful things it locked out. But I spent enough time in it to be irreparably damaged.
People wonder why I seem so different now then how I had acted as a child.
It makes me want to cry. Can't you see? I have not changed!
But they only wanted the false shell they had helped build.
They didn't like it when I told them who I truly was inside.
I am scared to show my face some days.

"Children are to be seen and not heard."
Did you ever get that as a kid? I did. It haunts me to this day.
I've often heard the expression that you 'shouldn't do something unless you'd be comfortable with your parents-- or grandparents-- watching.'
If I lived by that, I'd be dead in days. I'd feel too guilty to even eat around my caretakers. Why? Because I am still a child, on the inside. I never grew up. And, children are a nuisance. You know how many adults think that, don't you? I'm an annoyance, a hindrance! I have no right to make my own decisions. I have no right to infringe on their utopia, not until they decide I've become an adult as well.
Unfortunately I missed the boat somewhere down the line.
I'm hoping that once I live on my own I'll be able to conquer that somehow. Live as a spy, haha. I used to do that all the time as a kid. No one knows that I'm a kid in an adult body! I'll sneak around and maybe no one will notice.
But there's always that fear of being discovered, of being caught turning a corner and having my disguise torn from me. "Hey, kids like you aren't allowed here!" Kicked out. Punished. Shouted at. Beaten. Locked in the cellar. The Devil is watching you sleep. Look what you've done, you terrible child. You've invoked God's wrath. Beg for forgiveness, or face the fires of hell.
Yeah, my childhood was pretty scary at times.
So I'm still living with that fear haunting me, I guess.
I never grew up, and I don't think I ever will. I don't feel it's possible for me, on an inner level.
I just hope I can make it in a grown-up world, so to speak. It's scary out there, and kids like me don't get taken seriously...

What am I talking about?

I had inner peace, two weeks ago.
I still do. But it is peace with who I AM. It is not peace with who I am forcing myself to be.
I cannot exist as a negative paradox.
If I am truly happy with myself, but this world will not let me be myself without my falling into life-threatening danger, what do I do?
I cannot forfeit my life. I was placed here for a reason. I was placed here to help others.
But I cannot help others, not well, not honestly, in this current state of physical life.
I have no fear of death, for I know death is simply an inevitable change.
I am terrified of dying without having brought good into the world.
Have I? How do I know? Doesn't it matter?
I never understood how some people could focus their lives on their own self-improvement, and not go out and try to actively help others do the same.
Is that impossible? Is it an empty goal? I cannot make anyone do anything, but isn't inspiration important? Am I seeing it wrong?
There is still so much I have to learn.

Ten simple rules for happiness.
1. Free your heart from hatred. I have done this.
2. Free your mind from worries. I cannot do this yet. When I do, I abandon my physical life completely. That can't be right, can it? When I stop worrying, I realize that life is just a game, just a crazy journey to realize what we've had all along. I know that, and I love this game. But what now? I still need to exist here, in this society, but I cannot do so right now, not safely, not when so many others are making life so much more difficult than it has to be. What is my next step? How do I stop worrying, when that feels so similar to carelessness?
3. Live simple, stay away from drama. I would live simply if I could get out of this house. But what is 'drama?' Is it simply highly turbulent situations? What if I love those? What if I love seeing that unfold, and trying to untangle those knots, to bring relief and understanding out of a painful situation? Ignoring the pain will not solve it. I would rather dive in and bring light to the source, no matter how badly I am hurt. Surely I can't be doing that wrong. Am I?
4. Appreciate what you have. I truly do.
5. Laugh and smile. As much as I safely can. It's hard for me to not take life very seriously, though. It worries me that people view that as a bad thing. Yes, life is a game, it is a bright and amazing playground, but there is so much pain here too, that needs to be worked with. I can't just laugh and smile when others are crying in pain!
6. Learn how to forgive and forget. I see no reason not to do so.
7. Love one another. The words I live my life by.
8. Never take things for granted. It has caused me terrible pain in the past.
9. Give a lot more. Is it possible to give too much? Should I? I am indeed willing to give everything away, but then I would be left without greater means to reach others, without ways to keep my own body living on this earth. I don't know if there's a limit. I'm too eager to pass it, to abandon all attachments... and that feels horribly selfish to me.
10. Expect a lot less. I'm not sure what this means. Expect less of what? If this means saying I deserve nothing, I can get behind that. But then we can get into self-loathing territory if we're not careful. We can also become jaded, pessimistic, if we expect too little. Maybe I'm thinking too much into this, but it hurts to wonder. If I'm doing this so wrongly, why do I feel miserable when I follow the instructions others give me?
But maybe it all ends up on a completely different note.
I still believe that every soul has its own path to the ultimate destination, to that indescribable sense of... geez, connectedness? Brightness? It's not something I can put into words. But I know what it feels like.
And maybe that's what I need to focus on. Reading all these different thoughts gets me confused and worried after a while. "What if I'm wrong? What if I'm doing everything wrong?"
Maybe there is no 'wrong way' if your goal truly is to live in love and light.
I don't know. I think I just need to get off the Internet for a week again and focus on my writing.

There's just so much to think about.
I have a lot of research and reading to do. My mind is a mess right now.
I feel like I've taken a couple steps backwards, and that worries me. Then again, at least I recognize the feeling.
Ironically this always happens when I look to others for advice on how I should be living.
I guess I'm just too used to being told that I'm wrong. I need to
get over that, but it's tough when your life's on the line.

I'll leave you be for now. I deeply apologize if I've offended or hurt anyone.
...
Maybe I should just stop writing like this.
I repeat myself too much. I try to live up to too many expectations.
It feels like a cage, sometimes. Being online, keeping up communications, trying to be a sort of role model to others.
I really don't know if that's self-centered or not. Part of me says yes, part of me says no.
But typing is making it worse. I'm not helping anyone by talking about myself, am I?
I need to leave. I need to read, I need to learn.
I need to write about other things, things that can help people, that have nothing to do with my physical life.

I'm a mess.
Something is holding me back, I know it.
I'm happy with who I am; why do I still feel miserable?
Is it simply my life situation? Or is there something else?
I'll find out.




...And I keep getting caught off-guard by reasons to live.
Why. Why.
Why do I have something so achingly beautiful and it's so unnatural in the eyes of others that I can't talk about it offline.
This hurts. It hurts and I love it and oh God I can't believe this is part of my life.
What do the self-help books have to say about this, huh?
What do they say about feelings that make you want to jump in front of a bus in a good way?
Destruction, creation, one and the same in this sense. Feelings so crushing they effectively annihilate and resurrect me.
There isn't a word in the English language to express this agonizing brightness I'm feeling right now.
What is this?
Why was my grandmother so afraid after that blessing I received last year? When I told her that the Holy Spirit hurt, and it was beautiful?
Why does happiness leave me empty? Why do fun and games and laughter leave me sad and confused?
Is this what I'm really looking for?




I'm going to sleep. I don't want to be awake anymore.