oct 29 2014

[prismaticbleed]

Just a brainspill to pass the time.

It's only 11PM and I am so tired, spiritually so. I'm just going to go to sleep. I didn't sleep well at all last night, I woke up about 8 times and kept having nightmares. The one I remember... I was trying to steal cereal from a store? I didn't have money and was trying to sneak it out, but my bro and his girlfriend were there, and they kept following me and staring at me. I got so upset I gave the cashier my money and just left all the groceries, I didn't want the guilt of having them now. But when I left they followed me, I ran but they cornered me in some dark corner of the cellar, where I was hiding behind a sheet of metal. I was holding a rusty axe to my throat with tears running down my face, wanting to die but wanting those two to leave and being exhausted and being scared of the pain. They found me and all I know is that Laurie took over, beautifully brutal, and I swear the dreambody actually switched to hers. She got us out of there. That's all I know and that's comfort enough.
She didn't say anything about the axe. I understand why.

I cannot remember the last time I genuinely laughed or smiled, and that is frightening and heartbreaking.
'Tuning in to bliss' or whatever isn't working because that term got disrupted somehow. Wrong word now, it's sad. And so much 'happiness' is emotionless now. I can't remember how to feel emotions. Things are too numb. I told the therapist, I forget what she said. I think it's a coping mechanism or something. Moral corruption. "Good people don't rebel, don't have opinions, don't judge." So I don't judge anything as happy or sad or good or bad, I just sit here and let life wash over me like bleached foam, I remember when that used to be ocean water, that was a long time ago.
Not allowed to feel. It's false. Feelings aren't real. Who put this into my head. Who put it there, who taught me this, is it right?
I'm tired of listening to aliens and angels and false prophets and angry gods. I'm so tired of being terrified to question their whims and orders and chiding and coddling. Leave me alone. Maybe that will condemn me to hell but I cannot freaking function when you won't stop whispering into my ears. It's too loud, I can't see. I can't live. Is that what you want?
The worst demons are the ones that look just like angels, and all the evidence supports that too. The devil quotes Scripture for his own purposes.


I am so damn tired. I want to stay off the Internet for all of November. Especially Tumblr. That place is so toxic. Toxic toxic, poison. Not worth the effort and time. The people I care about there can still see me here. I need to leave that place for a while, heal my head. Our head. That differentiation is important. Things have been so vague lately.


I bought squash today. It's comforting to cook, to cut apart and separate after. I need to do things with my hands, disassembling, to calm down often. Just taking things apart, organizing pieces into piles, moving them around again, making different groups, over and over. People think it's weird but it helps so much. I spend 5, 6 hours in the kitchen every day now because the only thing I can shred and compartmentalize is food. I don't eat it. I just move it around really. I need to buy a box of things that I can do this with instead, get out of the kitchen, there's too much noise and people in there and that just feeds the stress cycle. I'll think of something.
I thought of making a stimming box or something. Like pieces of different textures, little things that make sounds, pretty clear plastics and glossy bits and colors. Maybe. But I don't like so many material possessions. I'm cleaning things out the way it is. Less and less.

On that note I might be homeless soon. Sorry I didn't say so sooner. I don't like thinking about it because it's existentially disturbing on some level, not knowing how we'd take care of ourself on our own right now, where will we get money for safe food and transportation and things. I don't like to think about it. Positive, positive. We need to focus on the positive. We CAN do this, we have the power, we've done it before. But I haven't laughed in weeks and I only smile at night and I'm so tired, I want more alone time, I want a place in this damn house where I can dissociate for three hours and NOT be hacked or otherwise mangled, I want to be able to go into headspace without smelling the old blood and feeling the lightning buzz in the air. I'm tired. We're tired.

At night it's better. At night there's hope. I think. They said hope was sinful, a vice, a false thing to lead you astray. Is it?
If it's not, if hope keeps you walking towards better days, let us have it. Stop telling us hope is a wolf in sheep's clothing. Is it? It hurts to think about.
At night there's hope. E told us of a dream ze had about Chaos, the other day. I haven't stopped thinking about it. The night before ze told us, we had been so sad, and he was there to comfort us. We didn't say or do anything and we didn't move, too tired. That was okay. He said he'd be there, and didn't push the issue, didn't make us do or say anything different. Thank you. Too many people outside did the opposite. I want my mind to be full of the better options, of respect like that. And the next morning ze told us of the dream and I just looked at that message, "of all days to hear that," and I keep thinking of it.

There's blood all over the legs and it's odd, I don't know when it got there. I don't know who put it there and when. Back to the dissociative days I guess. At least there was retribution, that at least keeps things moral and holy, that at least fights the demons back.

I think I'm forcing myself into too much of a box. I think my life needs to be more abstract. Art is so draining now, except when I just do swirls of color and things. Drawing concrete solid forms makes my head hurt and my eyes want to cry. Why? Is that because of college? We've heard of some systems being unable to draw people because of abuse memories. But I don't want to be ruled by that, those days are over. Except the family keeps triggering us so bad. Except Jeremiah was out again last night, trying to protect the children from errant blind bodies outside. It's so sad, to not know anyone here who can talk to us, who can listen to us.
If I had money I would just play with creative things. I'd buy beads and fabric and gems and stuff and just make things. I think. I'd like to try. I'd buy little canvases and do paintings like Cannon used to, just broad swathes of gouache and watercolor and glitter. Inkblots! We actually made so man inkblots, we love them, we want to sell them but how? We'll put them on etsy maybe. Love inkblots. That's the sort of art I LIKE to do, is that okay? Does that make us less of an artist? If we like weird fragmented hazy ideas and things. Is that less? Does that count of art?
Music too. Handbells, so many. Cellos. A piano. Thumb pianos. Bells! Like church bells, a choir. Metallophones. Timpanis, for those lovely drum rolls. The back of a piano, those open strings. Wood, wooden sounds, percussion. Just play things into a microphone and layer it, build on it, let it flow. The symphonies in our head slowly taking shape. A flute, an english horn, an orchestra. Sweeping notes and feelings, can we hire an orchestra? That would be so cool. But abstract, that too. We need a microphone. Step one. Get one and we can start.
Is this why I can't "write a book?" Because the structure, the linear-ness, is hard for me to understand? Again, does that make me flawed? If other people get frustrated with me, if I inconvenience them? "The customer is always right." "There's no market for your work." "We can't sell this." What do I do? I'll still have these idea waterfalls. But how to sort them... like the squash, like the pieces of things, circuitboards. Not puzzles, that's one-option-only. Set outcome. I just like taking things apart and putting them into a new order I thought of, something nice. It's what I'm trying to do with typecodes. I need visuals. It's easier that way. What am I saying.
I'd love to write a book but I've never seen a linear story. I see bursts here and there, maybe only a handful of actual 'events.' Everything else is data, is "knowing," is intuitive. That makes it hard to draw people too, I don't "see" so many of them, but I know what they look like... I've said that before. And I know what they are like, too, even if I've never seen them act as a person. It's hard to put into words, into a book, that sort of imagination and things. I wonder what other options there are. I'll find out.

I might be homeless soon. Don't think about it. I have to.
The mother disowned us, that we know. The father might let us stay with him for a month or two tops. He did before, in 2010, we don't remember. He got really really mad though, impatient with our difficulties in the long term. Understandable. Brother is not safe, especially not with the girlfriend. Not safe at all.
Grandfather does not want us here. Grandmother "needs us" currently BUT the second she discovers we are trans*, we will be on the streets. I am trying so so hard to hide this, it's making me sad and paranoid and that is feeding this numb depression. "Don't feel anything." Don't exist. Now the body is changing, scary in some ways, so scary, but now it doesn't look or sound like her. That's a godsend. We will take that. But... no one can know. Except we can't hide it. There's hair on the face, the voice is breaking. People keep asking. Everyone is asking. People suspect. One day it will be unavoidable. And in this family, who still holds ancient prejudices, where will we be? Not in it. Gone. I wish it were otherwise. But it's not safe here anyway.
To live on our own... should we? To have one friend there, or two, would be nice. Company is good, to keep track of time, to keep us from dissociating and forgetting to eat or bathe or move for too long. To help us function on bad days. It would be ideal. Does that make us weak? Does that make us manipulative? They said we were, we don't want that happening again. Ssh that's over forever, done with, thank goodness. Memories are dripping away now, almost gone, free to go.
Where would we go. Looking at other states, better rent prices, better rights for LGBTA+ people, et cetera. Nice weather, lots of trees. Thinking of somewhere in New England maybe, just ideas. Or a bit below us. Not too far at first, of course. But away from here, where we are shackled to the past. SLC showed us how blissful that was at least, no one knowing who drove this body before, the freedom to BE. That feeling stayed. Stays. That's a nice thing that we want again, once the body is changed enough. A new start.
We'll do this, we can do this, here's some hope, it's nice. One step at a time.

It's 11:30. We really want to go to bed at 10PM every day, that's the truth. We get so tired. But we force ourselves to stay awake, because it's at least quiet at night. We want to get up early and have sunlight, but then it's not quiet. We want to go out and do morning jogs again, to have lovely quiet slow mornings, to take the daytime to create and work. We don't want to struggle with fatigue every evening just to have peace. Hm. We'll try again tomorrow.


This is a jumble... tomorrow is Thursday. We'll have to sleep in then. The grandmother is cleaning, Overload will lose her mind. The sensory overload is hell. It's only one day a week, only one day. We'll deal. The vibe is so so bad but we'll deal. Maybe we'll go outside.
I can vacuum though, I love vacuuming it's fun, we could do that all day. And we do need to clean this room more, organizing all the books, lining everything up in straight rows on the shelves. That's good too. Then when it's all done we will... cook... a tiny kabocha squash. It's so small. I will take a picture of it for you it's great. The farmers didn't know how to cook them actually, we got to tell them how when we bought them, it was so nice. They listened and were happy to hear it. It's like a sweet potato. You can eat the skin, it's the best part. Kabocha squash. It tastes like a cucumber egg sometimes, it's great.

OH I promised you guys autumn pictures and I FOUND the camera but I could only get three pictures because it rained and most of the leaves fell. Here look.



Okay we have to sleep. She won't stop talking to us in that scary scary way and I want to cry. I want to tell her to stop but then she'll get mad and spite us for the next day or two, she doens't understand. but i want it to stop or at least i want to be numb enough to not care
see this is the problem, what is it? what is the problem? we are the problem, for having a problem
that's nonsense, it's a lie
no it's not
sorry. sleep


A positive note? Um, oh, I tried writing music again the other night. Just ideas. I got something! I'll try to work on it more later. Parnassus and Rosewindow stuff actually. I wish I had more sounds to work with though. Ah well, we do what we can.

I just realized Xennie might still be awake so I'm going to go wish her a good night too, bye everyone~