prismaticbleed | dec 21 (Reply)

Just personal rambling, don't mind me.

I hate how going out in public is difficult as all heck, when something as simple as being bumped in the arm by a stranger can cause a total dissociative trance.
At least that's somewhat better than someone like Overload or Algorith coming out and attacking them. It's happened before. At least now they're becoming aware of the repercussions.

Old women kept bumping into us in church today, and it was so psychologically jarring that David started wailing and we could barely hold him back inside. Knife tried to comfort him-- "you're safe with us"-- but David surprised us by saying he knew that, but he still wanted to cry. The things he was scared of were out there, not in here... and he wanted to express his pain and fear, to ask for safety, to shed tears on the outside without people telling him to behave or shut up.
It was heartbreaking, to have to tell him that we didn't have that luxury where we were.
So David cried inside, and I assume the AP drove home because I don't remember anything much after that.

It's scary, how few things we can do safely anymore. Daily self-care and maintenance is near-impossible when the body itself is viewed as a murder weapon. Even though it might intrinsically be harmless, those cells hold terrible memories that we can't seem to bleed out, memories tied to abusers that reside inside this cage of bones with the rest of us. Paranoia doesn't quite die when the risk never quite goes away.
The roots of fear are so deep, I wonder if we can even get them out now without massive damage.

I know people have it far worse than us. I know, and it makes me personally feel crushed by guilt for complaining about something so picayune. And yet it happens, and it is frightening.

Next month is hopefully hospitalization. Until then we will survive.