Therapy on Thursday.
I didn't update as it happened (people wanted to ignore it)
numb fronter as we walked in, couldnt get them out at first
spice fronted for a WHILE, very angry
sherlock fronted momentarily
so did garrison
isadora tried but talking socially isnt her thing
jewel peeked in? left shortly
"jessica" writer girl fronted for a WHILE (NOT the brown "jess," no ties to chocoloco?)
clearly said "other people don't like when I get violent"
she hates the mother, that's her main thing. color feels vaguely indigo, like the one from 2008 or so
wreckage tried to come in, I think ashen was alerted
david did too I think
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
@ 11:55 pm
Sometimes I think it's really dumb that I have to write down everything "bad" that happens so I can tell the therapist. I don't want to hold on to this stuff. But, I keep remembering that one phrase: "those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it." I can't help but feel that, stupid and ridiculous or not, that quote applies here. It's awful.
Sunday morning, I think, there was a dream hack. It was
horrible. The pain in-dream was so excruciating that the body collapsed, and I remember almost passing out. I had fallen to the floor, in agony and delirious, and I was half-crazily praying to God to save me somehow. I thought I was dying.
Miraculously, that pain did NOT translate over to the physical body when we awoke. Thank God for that, really!! If it had translated I probably would have really died.
I know why it happened. Sleeping is painful lately, what with surgery recovery, and if we lie flat down it hurts even more. So, we have to carefully prop up the body in a way that won't make our limbs go numb, and will still allow us to breathe, without straining the abdomen so badly we can't get back out of bed easily afterwards (which will happen if we fall down flat). Anyway, since it is tricky, we usually wake up several times during the night hurting. We haven't been sleeping well in any case. There have been lots of nightmares.
Anyway. Sunday, we woke up around 6AM, only having about 5 hours of sleep so far. So we made the mistake of going back to sleep
as the sun was rising.
Here's a note: sleeping during sunlight equals HACKS!!! I don't know why, but it's a constant. The "danger zone" happens whenever you try to sleep when it's light out. It's Plague stuff I think. Bad stuff. So we kind of feared it would happen, but what else could we do?
I'm standing here and the legs are covered in blood and I'm fine, but whoever was out before me definitely was not.
There's a problem lately: no emotions, but
expression of emotions. Like, "I feel like I
should be upset about this, or that it would be
right to feel upset about this, but there's no actual feeling!" Like after hacks. You KNOW you're "upset," "sad," "angry," et cetera, but there's no actual emotion. It's an empty void, a blank space. There's nothing. There's just this "knowledge" that, even if you don't actually
feel it, you
know you aren't happy about this situation. And then someone fronts, and starts to try and scream or cry or something, but there are
no emotions, and the second they stop it's poker face city. It's highly confusing and rather upsetting, to know that there
should be an emotion there but there
isn't. Even worse, we still have those not-so-floating voices (alters?? the therapist is making us question a
lot of things we took for granted or glossed over) who are full of hatred for anyone who shows "weakness or stupidity." There was a problem today; someone was eating as a "coping mechanism"-- the need to organize, to fix something, to clean something, to destroy something. It's all projected coping needs that we can't find a way to meet elsewhere, so it comes out unhealthily. But it was 5:05, and then the grandmother walks in, stops, smiles sadly/flatly at us, and says "You didn't make it."
Now she likely meant well. She knows we like to stop eating at 5PM every day, but sometimes we don't eat "breakfast" until 4PM so that makes things tricky, since we have to prepare the food that day too. So she meant, "it's after 5 already." But it
hurt! What a way to say it! Why would you say it such a way?
Immediately the brain heard those words through the hurt. "You're
still eating, you wretched thing?" "You failed." "There's a strict set of rules you must meet to be "good," and guess what?
You didn't make it." In short, what we heard was, " You failed to do what was good and right, again. I'm disappointed in you, but I didn't expect anything different. You're a disgrace and a shame."
All I know is that this person's "appetite" bottomed out and immediately they wanted to burn every edible item in the kitchen. They fought off the urge to forcibly vomit out of shame right then and there, and walked out to sit on the porch in the cold, feeling utterly filthy and animalistic, like they no longer deserved to show their hedonistic face among human beings.
A few minutes later the grandmother stomps out onto the porch, sighing angrily, half-shouting. "What are you doing now? Stop being so ridiculous. Get back in here."
We tried to explain how we felt, to apologize for being such a humiliation, but she cut us off. "Oh, I don't want to hear this again! You've gotta stop that." Then as we went to walk in the door, she (unknowingly?) shut the door right in our face. There was a moment of shock-- dulled by the fact that we
hadn't felt any emotions this whole time-- and then someone went and slumped against the chimney and
tried to cry. Unfortunately, the feelings of self-horror and hatred were so potent, that one of those "floating alters" spoke up. "Shut the hell up, you faggot bastard!!!" That's the one that
hates crying, and calls anyone who dares to cry because they're "sad" the most awful name they can imagine. They see crying as selfish, manipulative, and downright disgusting. In their eyes, people who cry are doing the emotional equivalent of grabbing someone forcibly by the face and dragging them in the direction you want them to go. It's profane emotional abuse, crying is, to them. So we aren't allowed to cry because it's "evil."
So that shut down, easily enough, because nothing was actually being felt… convincing us that we
were "evil" and manipulative, because who
else would cry without actually feeling sad? The only thing we felt was this ugly, corrosive, dirty feeling of
wrongness, like we were trash, utter garbage, and did not deserve to be conscious.
We ended up back inside the house somewhere around there but the memory cuts out for about two, three hours around that time.
There's too much memory loss lately. It's scary. It's unbearable.
…I lit some candles for optimism, but the black one ended up overflowing like a volcano and spitting sludge all into the pink one, only. That's awful symbolism and it's scaring me a little.
There was a real hack, Sunday night I think. The same day of the dream hack as far as I know. It was in the living room, someone went into a trance from the red lights and that is all I know. We found the culprit, because they tried to attack Chaos and he freaked out, then it went after Genesis, but Infi showed up and neutralized it, so there's no hack data other than the initial "someone bad is here" shock of the culprit fronting and Wreckage realizing it. Yeah, she noticed and tried to kill it, I don't know how it kept going… lots of the hackers can. I think it's because they're on the "downstairs" level, that's not tied to the System at all. It's all Socials and faceless people and floaters. It's a very dangerous, very frightening, very primal level. J---bel and J----ca's kingdom. There's so much malice in those two names, it hurts. I don't want to write them.
So we think that person was "Eros." NOT the guy we've been calling by the name Upstairs, at least we don't think so. This is the guy from 2012, the REALLY EVIL one that caused the whole Celebi trouble in January. Yeah. The EVIL guy. We think it's him, because it feels
very similar to what records we have of him, and it's not a good feeling. So we're being very careful.
The real problem is that he's not the only one!!! There's at least two girls, too. One is Anna, I don't remember/know what her deal is but she exists, we're well aware of her. Long straight blonde hair and all. BUT there's another girl-- at least we think it's a girl? maybe there are two-- which is one we've been hunting for AGES, and it's the one who hijacked Jay's heart affinity and turned it into the most dangerous horrific thing ever. She's not a good person, at
all, not at all, her energy is unmistakable too and they've left EVIDENCE before, on our computer, that they exist. It's always scary to find evidence, we're not used to people fronting without permission or knowledge, especially bad people.
Oh! Before I forget. The therapist wants to know who writes. I'm a "girl," more like I have a female look and I'm a teenager. But gender is "ehh." I don't think about it much. Anyway I'm a girl and I'm young and I'm happy? I'm not sad, at least. I'm more like, unfazed. So that's it.
Back to typing so I don't slip, that happens a lot with self-awareness because the darker minds in the System don't want these new voices manifesting. (Sherlock here, momentarily. Give me a minute to hand the reins back, quietly.)
So. Bad hacker girl. We don't know who she is but she was apparently around tonight. No hack data again, just the instant of realizing "oh no oh no, someone was here," and then a time gap, and then standing in the bathroom with a huge bread knife in one hand and hysterically sobbing "there's not enough blood!!" Whoever that was. I don't know. But that person realized the "no emotions" problem because although they were wracked with tears and pain, there was-- again--
no emotion being felt, which shook them up.
They were staring at a washcloth full of blood and saying it looked like a murder scene. Then they wondered if we should go to the hospital, because "this wasn't normal," they had lost so much time and they didn't know what day it was and this was no way to live, it was unbearable.
Then there's a somewhat different memory? An instant of someone leaning against the doorframe and laughing deliriously, staring at the wrists and saying "I could end this right now!" It was the sudden realization that we had a
really sharp knife and we were
really hopelessly distraught and it would be SO quick to just… end it all. Instantly. But something made them change their mind, because that person disappeared and then there's another time gap… yada yada yada. It keeps happening like that and it's not fun.
Anyway. They "couldn't reach God" and every time they tried to ask "do you love me" "do you forgive me" etc., the damned floating voices would jump in and lie and say "no," over and over, making the fronter feel trapped in hell and unsaveable.
Then Infi showed up. All I know is that Infinitii showed up and said "
I love you," making it
very clear that they weren't ignorant of the situation even so. I don't know what happened after that, I can't see it, just that ze and the fronter (did Jay come in? no? somebody else.) were talking for a little bit and now I'm here? Typing? Geez. It's 9:25 PM. The last time we remember looking at a clock it was 8:25 or so, in the kitchen, putting the knife back in the sink. Geez. And getting matches for the candles.
Someone was standing on a chair to do that (the matches are on top of the fridge) and saying (with no small amount of disgust and shame) that they felt "lonely," that they "never had any friends" because to them, a REAL friend was someone that you didn't HAVE to talk to when you were upset like this. A REAL friend would understand, and just sit with you if you just needed company, to be assured someone else kind was there for protection and compassion, who wouldn't want to chat emptily or do small talk. Which is stupid, and which is what all almost-"friends" would force us to do in the past. Real close friends talk about real close things. And we never had that, but we
needed We never got close to anyone really, they never
wanted to be close and it hurt. We only ever had… let me count. AMG, AAA, CL, SD maybe, BP, BD almost, Angelbee, and that's it. Seven people who were near-friends, and of all those, only ONE of them (CL) EVER treated us like one. CL treated us like a sibling, there's precious little memory of that time period of life and the only real snapshot we
have is of walking across the playground with her, and she was just so
happy to be with us that this surge of real honest
love welled up in us, like the love you'd have for a dear friend or sister, and it was one of the first real things we ever felt. CL left us for good a few months later, but… that was real, and honest. It's worth noting that this was approximately the same life-time period that Jezebel evidenced during, so the forces were already in opposition. Ugh. Anyway, yeah. Seven people, two of them who were only "cool acquaintances," three of them who were borderline abusive, and one of them (AAA) who was never really an "official" friend (i.e. she would talk to us often but we never hung out or did stuff together) but who we adored nevertheless, as you know. So yeah, we
were lonely. Are lonely, I guess, if this evening's admittance by who-knows-who was honest enough.
We did have internet friends, I guess? I forgot. They've fallen into the "lost years," the ones scrubbed dry by programming or trauma or whatever. We don't remember them at
all; whoever befriended them is LONG gone and did not leave any first-person memories that we can find. But that's not relevant now, and that stuff physically hurts to look for.
Where was I. Oh yeah. After that hack, and bleeding all over the bathroom (we got really dizzy, not sure if it was from blood or stress or whatever, but it was a little worrisome), and losing even
more time, and wanting to throw up, and feeling utterly isolated, yeah we were kind of lonely. We were unplugged from headspace too, and to be honest I don't know if that helped or hindered the situation? There is a LOT of hate for headspace on the downstairs level, with the socials and other faceless fronters, because to them "headspace" is synonymous with "the world and people that only exist because of hacking." In other words, "headspace is a living reminder of hell, and as far as we are concerned, its very presence promotes more suffering and pain." So the socials HATE headspace, and will deny/ slander/ curse/ try to annihilate it at every opportunity. Sadly, because of that split, there's no way to get
help from headspace (someone just shouted "we don't want it!!"). Well, there you go. Don't shoot the messenger, guys, I'm just typing. ("For who?") For anyone, I'm just keeping records of this so we can actually deal with this trouble with the therapist maybe, and keep it from ever happening again.
I hope. We wish. This has been going on for 7 years, plus-- no, longer than that, almost 10 now. We aren't sure. When did the hacks really start? So much time is gone, but
so many of us are
so young, we can't tell.
We keep forgetting about "childhood trauma" too. We
laugh at it, actually. It feels like all fairy tales, like some scary story made up to make other children behave. We don't remember
having a childhood. Our memory doesn't "start" until 8th grade, really. 2003, going into 2004, that's when headspace put down its first "roots," even though Jewel manifested years prior, and others (Julie, Jezebel, etc.) even earlier. Still, all of that feels foggy and vague, almost like a prologue, or something slightly off-kilter. "Solid" memory, the "beginning," is in the 8th grade classroom. 2003, let's say. And then time disappears for several years, and the next thing we have a "solid" memory of is 2011 or so. Is it? Did Cannon leave any solid memories? No?
It's weird. Cannon and Glissando both were at MU, that awesome university, but although their memories are
very clear, it's nevertheless fogged-up by the third-person viewpoint. It feels… vague. Like we were asleep from 2004 to 2008, and began waking up slowly. There's little data until closer to 2009, I think? And then it's gone AGAIN, because whoever was on dA for the "OCT period" (the short-haired kid
here) is TOTALLY missing from
all our records, we have NO clue who they were. Then 2010 was Utah, which was only know from data because there's NO actual data of that…
You know what, let me do that. It's 10PM, we're going to bed at 11 today because 1) although I would LOVE to stay up and type, it is NOT safe to sleep during the daylight!!! so 11PM is now the set bedtime, and 2) we're going to accompany the grandmother tomorrow morning at 8 to do family shopping and go to her bloodwork place. Any time we get to go in a car is gold. Cars are BEAUTIFUL. They are blessed spaces on wheels. Every car ever is a safe place, a sanctuary, and we love them. We can talk to them too, a little, like Kit in
Young Wizards. Serafina (the PT) talks to us the most; she does not like when people hit potholes and she doesn't like when people say she's "not as good" as Bethany (the Suzuki). So she's kind of moody. But we're nice to her, we really do love her, and she's warming up to us more. Bethany we don't get to talk to often (we don't get to drive her much) but I'm curious, and kind of scared, to try. She's been in several accidents and there has been at LEAST one
massively horrifying hack while IN her, poor thing. We haven't even listened to that file yet.
…Okay, I just had to leave the computer for a second and NOW all the terrible sadness and hopelessness is settling in. How do we deal with that? Just meditate all the time?
To be honest, that's why we
haven't been meditating. It's… when we
do, we don't want to
stop. We'd unplug from reality and meditate for like six hours a
day if we could. Is that detrimental? Is it "good" to totally dissociate from the physical realm that often, that totally? "Be in the world, but not of it," they say, but for God's sake we don't know HOW to be "in it" at this point, most Buddhas weren't "mentally ill" as far as we know, and it
hurts like a crushed heart to hear people say "well mental illness isn't
real” because sure, we know that all this suffering is ephemeral, but then…
I don't know. What about the PTSD, then? What about the D.I.D.? Are they saying that "oh, your PTSD isn't
real" even if someone was raped, or caught in an explosion, or something equally horrid? It's hard to find the fine line. On one hand, there's awareness that this life is temporary, and all the horrors we may endure here are equally so… and on the other hand, there's the awareness that this life is still
valid, right? It's still
real in some way, right? And… is it
wrong to be scared, when something scary happens to you?
I don't know. This drives me mad, especially because it's the REASON why we aren't feeling emotions anymore!! SO many people have said "your emotions are just knee-jerk reactions to stimuli that don't really exist!" and glorified "detachment" and "emptiness" that we have scraped out our soul and now we don't know HOW to live in this world because we just want to meditate all day. We're in pain and we can't even
feel it because these people keep saying
it's not real. Bullshit.
BULLSHIT. "You have to accept suffering before you can transcend it." That means stop kicking this under the rug and let us HEAL for God's sake, we're
scared and we're
frightened and we're sad and lonely and confused and angry and you just keep doing that stupid "SMILE (
☺)" reaction and acting like we're just poor fools!!! Well maybe we are, but that puts us right in with every other beaten and kicked child in the world. Would you just "SMILE" at a five-year-old whose mother just whacked them in the face out of pure malice, and who was crying bitterly as a result? "Don't cry child, she's not really your mother! The pain isn't really real! (Smile!)" FCK YOU.
I am so sorry. FCK YOU.
That too. That freaking mother. "WRITE A BOOK!!! WRITE A BOOK!!! HERE HERE'S ANOTHER PUBLISHING COMPANY TO CONTACT!! HERE'S ANOTHER WRITERS GROUP TO ATTEND!!! BLA BLA BLA!!!!!!!!"
Fck off, FCK OFF, STOP.
Everyone wants me/us/whatever to "write a book." WHAT BOOK!??!?
What the hell do you want us to write????? What are you expecting????
There's our personal chronicles, these Archives,
sure we could TRY to write a book out of them, we'd LOVE to actually, but that's NOT EASY, ESPECIALLY when every two seconds you're telling me IT'S FAKE, IT'S BULLSHIT, GET OVER IT, STOP ACTING LIKE THAT, STOP SAYING THAT, ET CETERA.
I wouldn’t BE saying things if I wasn't FEELING them. I'm trying to be HONEST. Would you rather I
lie?? I don't know. I don't
know. I WANT to write this in a book and put it out there but it HURTS, damn it it HURTS and it's terrifying to look back and see that there's NOTHING for YEARS, God help us how can we write
anything if there's so much empty space and unanswered questions??? I don't know.
I don't know. And then there's
Dream World, Jewel's magnum opus or however you'd call it. She's terrified because so many people have ripped that story right out of her heart and tried to mangle it into their own liking. It's been so horribly corrupted, she can't
see half the characters anymore, she can't find the timeline after 2003 right now, right where ours stops. She cries about it a lot, how all she wants to do is share that story, her love and joy,
our hope, and yet it's been so battered. She's scared, that she might not be able to get it right in time, or the right way, or something. But we all feel her fear, more of a wrenchingly awful bottomless
mourning, and it makes our situation all the more depressing.
Ugh. This entry is going places I don't want it to go. Where was I. Cars.
Not going to talk about that hack file. It's an hour long and I know Wreckage talked on it and so did the veil-person (the purple one) and Julie maybe? I don't know, I don't want to think about it, there's a potent jagged aura around that entire event that is horrifying to look at, sorry to keep using that word but it's the only one with a "vibe" that fits the feeling I'm trying to express. Horror is different from terror, and fright, and fear. You get the picture, I hope.
Cars. We're going in one tomorrow. I'll type again when I get home, maybe.
I wanted to list memory bits, for the sake of having that data written down somewhere, and also for the therapist. Oh, plus she has us doing this thing, let's start a new paragraph for that, I mentioned it earlier.
It's supposed to snow tomorrow. Okay, so the therapist asked us, "who does what in your System?" But she meant on the
outside. And we DON'T KNOW. It was very jarring, kind of existentially nauseating, scary, to realize that we
don't know who does half this stuff, and the more questions she asked the more shaken-up we got until we almost felt like crying from shock but nothing happened. We're losing
so much time and we NEVER REALIZED IT until she started asking things we never would have considered asking ourselves.
"Who eats" is tricky enough, Emmett
should be the one eating but that's been very rare over the past few months. We don't
know who eats lately, but so many people are tied to pain and purging and maintenance that it's a little easier to get a grip on that.
But then she asked, "who
cooks? Who
cleans? Who does finances? Who goes to the doctor? " etc.
We have absolutely no idea. And as we looked, hoping to find answers, we found that there was
no data. We don't know who cooks or cleans or does finances or goes to the doc because for the most part, there's NO MEMORY OF THOSE THINGS. There's some vague "location" data, of course, the eyes are always seeing… but as for actual conscious stuff? Movement, talking, choices?
None. There's nothing. And THAT'S scary.
She asked who exercised. We mentioned that weird faceless beige-tan guy who showed up last summer on the elliptical, and who keeps flickering in and out. But we also mentioned that exercise is
dangerous, TERRIBLY dangerous, and the reason why we were out of shape for years is that originally we
couldn't exercise without getting
hacked. Which was bad. Running outside is safe but we can't do that until our surgery heals.
"Who writes, who does art, who does music," she asked. Another worrisome question. Creativity was always
very separate from our System in order to protect it, because if hacks/ etc. ever touched the Leagueworld stuff, we'd die. Quite literally. Everything would go to hell. So no one in our System did art, except Jewel, who broke off from us during the lost years. Razor tried but couldn't tap in. We have some musicians, notably Glissando, but Nienna and Zwei like to sing and Einsatz likes to listen. Problem is, for unknown reasons music is also tied to
mania, so we are actually terrified to play the piano anymore because then that
one girl comes out and goes
nuts, and her energy signature is like a circuit breaker shorting out, blowing up. She's
dangerous and we do not like her. She's part of why we stopped singing for over a year once the dysphoria got bad. It would trigger her and then things would-- again-- go to hell. And hacks would happen in her wake too! So that wasn't good either. Writing, though, that's our field now… sadly, for some part, as Jewel
lives to write and she hasn't in a very long time. We used to have a poet, we don't know where they went. We lost a
lot of our writers, actually. Those of us who write in the Archives… we''re a different breed. This is just talking onto paper. I'm one, Simeon is listed, one girl who "hates the mother" and goes by "Jess" because she can't find another name. She spoke here for a bit before, her energy sticks. Jay types, Laurie has typed before, not often but she has. Sherlock types. Mulberry did once, I can see the text in my mind. But yeah. That was an easier question to answer.
"Who does self-care," the therapist asked.
No one. Cannon put a stop to it in 2009 or so, with the dysphoria and hacks and atonement, and since then it's been very bad, minimal really. Bathrooms in general are hack-places and we don't like spending longer in one than we have to.
"Who went to school," was the last question. Cannon, that we know. She took the one art class, that unannounced decided to make her do figure drawing. And all hell broke loose. AGAIN. It's ridiculous how often that has happened. Where is it coming from?? Why??
But we don't know who else was at the first college, other than Glissando, who was only there to sit at her laptop and write music. Spinny got in the way there sometimes, but she was manic and negative and not really a "person." We don't know who went to the second college. We don't know who went to high school or elementary school. Blame the social interaction, I guess, or at least the threat of it. Thank God we were ignored for the most part!
I can't type anymore. Apparently my attitude is detrimental? Or at least not nice, or fitting. It's "rude" without meaning to be rude is what I'm getting. Sorry guys. I'm out of here.
We'll write the memory data down tomorrow, when we have appropriate time. Now is too late.
I cannot tell you much else for tonight; there is a pervading sadness and helpless frustration that is being exacerbated by the heat in this room and the company here. I do not want to mire in this mindset so I am going to attempt to unplug the mind for as long as possible to allow it to heal. Good night.
…Hold up, no. Don't end this yet.
This is Jay. I usually show up at the end, sorry for that, but it feels fitting.
Knife just walked up to me, in tears, asking "what happened," and I just felt… more
complete, more whole than I have in… I want to say "years," but it's probably just days. Days are becoming mini-lifetimes by now, in any case.
But there he was, crying, knowing there was pain, asking where all the blood came from, what happened?? We looked, it wasn't bad actually, nothing deep like Razor does, nothing major. But it had
happened, that fact alone was heartbreaking. Knife said Julie was totally distraught, and honestly guys I am not surprised, because I saw her sitting by herself after that hack on Sunday, and the look on her face just
ached to see. It was grim, determined, almost too stoic to decipher-- but there was this
knowing in her eyes and a
pain in her posture that I understood too well. She hasn't forgotten what brought her to where she is now. She knows what happens with hacks. And they are still happening. That look was something I can't put into words, but it broke my heart to see it, and God knows I want this to stop just as much as she does.
But then there's the lack of emotion. There it is, the Plague. It sneaks into my confetti-colored head and it
smiles, and it tries to make me believe that it's
fine that hacks are happening, why do you care? It's not real, who cares! Except I'm re-reading
Young Wizards and that thing feels way too much like the Lone Power.
Oh. About that. Yesterday I power-read through the entirety of
High Wizardry, which we originally read over a decade ago, and which there was only the faintest recognition of. The last chapter was a roller coaster of an experience, and the last 20 pages or so had me in legitimate tears. I will
not spoil it for you (good Lord
go read it) but I will say that I actually had to
stop, two or three times, because there was such powerful relevance to headspace and I kept thinking
Infi, Infi, this is all Infinitii's message-- and when I closed the book around 1AM ze was there, and I was a mess, and I cannot forget what happened in those first moments.
I was crumpled up in a corner somewhere, in headspace, in a bright place of white light… but miserable. The final chapter of the book had forced me to realize just how much awfulness was in
me, in our collective self-- all the selfishness, the bitterness, the dishonesty, the rage, every derivation of negative death, every contribution to entropy. I saw it all and I felt every regret we had and it
ripped through me like a blade and I was devastated, I couldn't bear it. I ended up in that corner, wanting to just disappear, ashamed to exist with all that trailing me, us. And then something velvet-black against the light walked over, paused, looked down with something untranslatable in its many eyes, and said: "Jay.
You do realize, I know all of those things, completely?"
I did realize, and the aching shame was unendurable. I said nothing.
"I still love you." I looked up then, self-hatred and disbelief coloring me bitter.
"How
could you?"
At that, Infinitii's expression softened, just a little, just enough.
"How could I not?" So that was that.
Sorry I can't quite do it justice. We spoke for a bit after that and it felt so entirely
cathartic I was shocked; I couldn't remember the last time this chest felt so clear.
Here are some other bits of data the other writers here forgot to/ didn't know about to mention--
- I knew I was in trouble Sunday morning but the body was so
exhausted we had no choice but to sleep. I went to Javier's room and slept there hoping he could help protect me, but apparently when
I sleep I get "yanked out" of headspace and so he was helpless. He also was not at fault, which I had to emphasize when I returned and he was almost hysterical with misplaced remorse.
- Lynne slept over in my room on Saturday night I think? Just for fun, as I'd been talking to her all that day and anyway I miss the platonic closeness I used to have with everyone. So that was nice.
- I was also talking to Kyanos on Saturday night, as we did our nightly walk. His eyes glow, he does have stained-glass wings, which he said settled in after he was assigned his surname (Kathedrikos).
- I'm trying to tap into people's energy fields again, upstairs. Scent is the easiest as it's the most ethereal, so I'm starting there. Lynne is still rosin/ violin wood/ peaches, while Laurie is still blood/ steel/ lightning. There's also this odd subtle "vibe" to them both that I found interesting-- kind of how for a lot of people, the smell of homemade bread has a "vibe" of comfort and security, due to associations with that sort of environment. Lynne, unsurprisingly, has the vibe of our old violin music school-- comforting and bright, but warm and safe, without feeling "stagnant" like a home. There was a slight bright edge of excitement to it, the knowledge that you were "on the road" but that place was a safe haven in the meantime. Lots of warmth. Laurie, though, has this somewhat personal vibe of protection, again unsurprisingly. But I say "personal" in that Lynne's vibe is more "expansive," like it
feels bigger, while Laurie's is very contained, just me and her really, without being "too close." It's basically the knowledge that she's got your back, elaborated into something that feels, oddly, just as "at home" as Lynne does in a different way. Just wanted to mention that.
- Marigold smells like marigolds, the bright warm summery kind. David smells like a blanket (a very cute scent actually) and freshly fallen snow (which surprised me). I can't tune into Jeremiah's field yet-- he's too reticent, which is understandable and okay. Kyanos is-- as he was-- fresh morning air with a late note of honey. Nathaniel smells like a tree. It's hilarious. It's extremely subtle; leaves don't have much of a scent as-is but it's unmistakable. And there's this over-scent I cannot place, something very fine and silvery, delicate stuff. It's not mint, there was some once but there's none now. Leon, though, has this unusual smell of something like brass? I briefly tuned in and I got that vibe-- not the sharp metallic scent some metals have, but this oddly warm and golden tune. And there's something over it that's either vanilla or frankincense and I cannot tell. It's
really interesting, as I haven't "checked" on anyone's energy like this in a while and it's amazing to see how it varies over time, with people. Lastly, though, I am happy to report that Knife is still all woodsmoke, but I'm thinking that odd sweet-rich undertone is actually
roses, like old dried roses or something. I don't know. It's been ages since I last smelled one but I'll have to find one now, see if the data matches up. Anyway that's that, sorry for the rambling but this is really fascinating to me and I value it.
I tend to get larger blocks of residual data than others, and I'm present for Upstairs stuff typically, so there you go. It is important to write this down. Attention gives power. Attention needs to go to
us. There's a lot that still needs to be written (especially about therapy last week, which I'm working on, and the "memory list" we apparently need to write? oh, and a list of "safe places" for therapy this week) but I'm starting to get slippery. It's late anyway, we need sleep.
I haven't read a jot of this entry at the time of posting this, so I apologize if there's anything unfinished or in need of editing… I have no idea who wrote what, as usual. But I'm glad something was written.
We'll try again tomorrow. Here's to that.
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