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[prismaticbleed]

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! 💜💜💜💜💜

Devastatingly tired & weak today
Suspecting a stomach illness? Felt particularly weird at Mass.


23 hour fasting makes the OCD hell return with a VENGEANCE


Main event of the day=
Our mother called during breakfast (around 2pm) and told us that she was currently standing in line to get tickets for the local annual ballet production of The Nutcracker. She used to take us to see it every year as a child, until about a decade ago? I don't think we've seen it since before CNC to be honest. But it was a childhood tradition, and since it was originally hosted at the university that was beloved to me since childhood as well, going there every year was something I very much treasured-- notsomuch for the performance itself, but for the ambiance, for the experience of just getting to sit in an auditorium full of music and just EXIST. Because let me tell you, especially with our Irispherae-colored mind, we did not spend most of our time or attention watching the dancers. We "zoned out" and imagined our OWN things, Spherae things, of Moralimon mostly as usual, doing their own wonderful things in tune to the orchestra. THAT is what we miss, all of it together in a unique way-- the smell and feel and color of the great wide open room, the dreams we invented, the spectacular stage settings that felt like our own dreamings, the fact that for about two hours all we had to do was EXIST. 
And so, when our mother called and said "I'm here to get tickets BUT the show is TONIGHT and we have to be there for 530"... I froze. 
I had just started eating. I needed to stop at 3pm to pray. If she was going to pick me up and drive there, I'd have to be done with everything and getting dressed for 445 at the latest. This would mean I would have to rush breakfast, and entirely skip dinner-- and my priest and doctor had both just told me not to do that.
So... honestly, I "dissociated." A childlike panic took over, and I have no memory of what I said, but I know I ended up in tears, feeling helpless and crushed and abandoned. See, the sudden announcement to do something I once treasured, but in a situation that was impossible, felt almost like a setup-- there was no reasonable way I could go, so what in the world was I supposed to do? It felt like I was being told, in some subtle awful way, that I was not wanted by the family, that I was not important, that this was a rejection of me as a person, not a simple disaster of circumstance. 
The childhood part of me felt like this was "me being locked out of all Christmas joy from now on," an omen of forsakenness, a sign that I was "no longer allowed to experience the special things of the season," etc. And I ended up in tears. I know this because it felt like I was watching "myself" from several feet away, out of the body, the presence inside it strange and crumpled and pitifully sad.
Our mother audibly "shut down her emotions" (it's so, so sad that we recognize when that happens) and hung up, and I know we had a 20-second meltdown of intense brutal profanity and literally punching our skull until we had a headache until the verbal violence and physical trauma shocked our consciousness into "calming down." It's really not "calm," it's literal shock. It "sedates" only in the sense that the jarring and pain makes us incapable of thinking of anything else, effectively acting as an "emergency stop." But it works. So it happens, by instinct, as we've been doing that since childhood, too. 

It wasn't until about an hour later, when we finished breakfast and went to do the "inter-meal bathroom cleanliness rituals" (because our brain has to make a "clean break", pun intended, between meals or everything gets blurry and confused; we need definitive transitions and divisions between events & contexts it seems) and therefore ended up in front of a mirror-- the inevitable location of thought salad spills; something about looking into a mirror at a reflection we don't recognize makes us dissociate and triggers bizarrely "delirious" mental unloading like what one experiences under anaesthesia or before an exhausted sleep-- that it hit us, like a Word from God, just WHY we "hadn't been allowed" to go to the Nutcracker this year.
Now, of course, we HAD prayed about this. Immediately after we had been hit by the phonecall disappointment and misery, we realized that the experience was actually directly, specifically on topic with what we had JUST been writing about in Scripture study-- lament without relief. Sometimes-- in fact, quite often-- we have to pour out our hearts in deep sorrow and repentance and contrition and honest awful grief before God, without seeking any reprieve or "breaks." It's not like God is going to say, "okay, you've cried enough, go take a breather and come back." No. To be sincere, there cannot be any interruptions, OR any seeking of such. If you're going into a lament with the express expectation of being done in five minutes because you're tired, then you're NOT honestly lamenting. The point in this context was: when we hung up the phone, we "wanted to feel better right away" because the sadness was so terrible. But it would not go away, and we didn't even understand WHY we were so sad (what I wrote previously here, did not occur to us whatsoever at the moment; everything happened too fast, and in a "social mode" context, which means there was absolutely no time to think/ reason/ analyze/ remember whatsoever), and even when we got on the bike to pray, we felt all sick and tearful inside, and it was hard to concentrate on anything else. So we just lifted our pitiful heart up to God and said, hey, I have absolutely no idea why You're putting us through this, or why You let this exact situation happen-- the offer doomed to fail, the emotional distress as a result, this feeling of the entire thing being a scheme of sorts, just to "demonstrate" that we were no longer part of the family or even allowed to participate in our favorite season anymore-- but listen, I trust You. I know You HAVE a reason, and a Good one, even if You don't ever tell me. But please, just help us surrender into that, and in faith, to let go of this despondency. That was the essence of our prayer, however it was phrased. Our lament was wordless; it was the very woe within us lifted up as an offering of honesty before Him. But we weren't demanding it go away. It hurt horribly, but we were saying, "we trust You even so." And only that gave us peace, deep down beneath the ache, that gave us enough stability to go on.
So. When we went to the mirror, and our conscious thoughts melted into that strange blur, God finally told us WHY. 
God had been preventing us from a massive occasion of sin.
The "rejection" had actually been a GRACE.
Realizing this, we were so humiliated, chastened, "hearing" this revelation from the Lord spoken with as much Fatherly Love as with stern Fatherly discipline. He knew what we hadn't even considered, having been in that child-mind, forgetting that we were multiple, and there were MANY of us existing in the years AFTER childhood that would NOT have entered into that experience in an edifying way.
Here's the short, blunt, brutally candid reason: 
We would have been ogling the dancers.
That's it. That's the horrible bottom line. 
We cannot deny that, since childhood as well, we have been attracted to women. In the most boiled-down binary terms, we would be a lesbian. And this means that, when we go to a ballet production, our eyes and thoughts are going places where straight women are not. 
Ballet outfits are, in any case, terribly revealing. They are skintight above the waist, and entirely revealing below. The girls have these beautifully taut muscles in their backs and arms, perfectly perky breasts like ripe fruit, thick strong legs that look "good enough to eat" as our mind says, and with how they dance there are... well. There are numerous "panty shots." We may be asexual, but we still have a sexually catastrophic history, along with systemic hackers, and so such sights are not safe for our psyche. It's highly triggering, plunging tulle-pink hands into our trauma memories and dragging them up into blinding stage lights, even as some other part of our mind is dizzily drunk with the exact same hands, tracing their softness, eyes wandering upwards to study their swanlike necks, their blushing cheekbones, their Christmas-candy lips, breathing hard with the exertion of art as snowflakes fell upon their sculpted shoulders. 
If we went to that ballet, especially without any such prior awareness of this internal threat, we would have been caught entirely off-guard by a sudden "oh no, I forgot that's what this was like" barrage of feminine sensuality paraded before us and burned into our mind for like two solid hours. 
God said "no," and told us to stay home and eat our actual dinner, because those girls were not meant to be a feast for our eyes.
Honestly it should be illegal for both straight men and lesbians to go to ballerina performances, our brain thought at that moment. For allosexual folks, it must be particularly dangerous, having those bodies twirling about before them with very little left to the imagination. I don't know. 
But once we realized this, that we had dodged a very real bullet of temptation and trauma triggers, ALL the upsetting emotions from earlier just EVAPORATED. It was startling. We now were very grateful that we DIDN'T go, even if the "concept" of going to the performance itself-- in the sense we described it initially, as an "experience" almost entirely detached from the dancers-- was still something we mourned missing. But we would have better, safer chances, ones allowed and enabled by God, not pointedly forbidden as they were today. 

So yeah. That was today. It's been... quite heavy. 





Night =
I decided to just crack down on the last few 2014 System info files in the "entries to repost" folder, and get them uploaded however possible, even if it meant leaving them a bit of a disaster as far as font formatting goes. I just want the data in the archives; we NEED to review and update and expand upon it soon anyway; God knows we've been putting that off for years, for multiple reasons, the worst being a general neglect of the innerlife in general, the direct result of an awful existential doubt that we even exist, in light of family stress and religious fear and trauma avoidance. 
...well. I got to the last four files or so, and all of them are from a very particular year. 
2017.
...you know what, it's Advent. It's now or never. Let's begin. 
So I did.
Yes, I FINALLY STARTED UPLOADING 2017.
This means that we will ACTUALLY READ WHAT WE WROTE during that year FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE IT WAS WRITTEN.
This means we WILL be getting FLOODS OF MEMORIES BACK, for both good and ill, and we CANNOT RUN. 
This is as good and beneficial and welcome as it is terrifying and dangerous and difficult. But I WANT to do it. I am TIRED of running. I WANT TO LIVE AGAIN, even for the first time, and I CANNOT do that IF I DON'T KNOW WHERE WE CAME FROM BEFORE EVERYTHING SHATTERED into whatever scraps we're holding together with fine threads now. 

Just watch. I guarantee you, as we continue in this long-awaited endeavor, things will start to move and change AT LAST.