If I could type anything intellectual right now, it would be something along the lines of "I feel strongly about this. Others disagree."

I'm not feeling intellectual. I want to break someone's face in. I want to do something showy and violent and rash. I want to show people that they have no fucking clue what they are saying when they say I am being "irrational." Because "irrational" on me looks a hell of a lot worse than me pacing the apartment, voice raised.

I am so beyond angry right now. The word might actually be "hysterical", because at this exact second, it's mirth and laughter mixed with rage and grief.

There are some days when I want to bury what's left of my faith in humanity. Burn it to the ground and salt the earth.

Today is a different day. Today is a day where I'd like to set fire to other people and bury them in the ground. My faith in humanity is precious. Others, tonight, are not so lucky to be graced with my good will.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll be able to explain it on Livejournal. I'm done on Facebook for tonight. Tomorrow comes the real freakout. Here, on Livejournal, safe place, safe people.

I'll be irrational tomorrow. Tonight, I'm so angry that it's making me soul sick.

Cassie's been (re)diagnosed Bi-Polar Type 1. It fits, as she's spent the last two months living out a violent and rash manic episode that involved yanking her kids from the house and stable boyfriend they'd landed in inside of a month to live with a man who had dumped her only months ago. This new(ish) man turned out to be a controlling ass hellbent on beating the shit out of my sister. Shit goes down, he decides throwing her across the room and swinging his fists at her just isn't charming enough and throws her and the kids out onto the street.

I go over, haul the kids, the cat, my sister, and a couple of boxes to my apartment trying to figure out what to do. Thankfully, the old boyfriend (the good solid guy) steps in and says she and the kids can stay there until she gets some money in.

The kids, since they have been home, have changed schools three times and have changed addresses four times in less than six months. They're pretty out of whack right now.

Cassie was (is?) suicidal, cutting herself, unrooted, spiraling out in the atmosphere somewhere. Her therapist has recommended inpatient. Cassie won't do it - but I think what she doesn't understand is that one more freakout is going to land her in an institution, like it or not.

And the kids....jesus, the kids. I cannot count the number of times that they have now been witness to their mother screaming and sobbing about how much she wants to kill herself. When we finally got back to my place, I tried to get Cassie to stay quiet - the kids don't need to hear that, anymore than we did when our parents threatened suicide. But they heard it and they are scared.

Mom and Jim did this to her and I all the time as teenagers. It's one of things that I don't think I will ever be able to forgive them for.

Will Cassie's children feel the same way?

She stopped by my work a couple of days ago. She looks better, she's not screaming, but it's like she was there and yet not there. Like, some ghost just happened to residing in her body, talking and moving around, but not actually being her. It's extremely unsettling and makes me worry even more.

I don't know how active Cassie's search for help is. I've offered to help her in any way I can. I just hope she takes her therapist's diagnosis and recommendation seriously. When they are saying you need to be locked up, shit's pretty serious. And she needs to take a real look at why she keeps ending up with asshats who want to beat her to a bloody pulp. She kept saying, over and over, that "it wasn't her fault this time."

I wanted to scream at her. No, it wasn't her fault that Asshat tried to beat the crap out of her. But it is her fault that she fled from stability after barely a month and straight back into the arms of her precious abuse cycle. It is her fault that she's yanked her children out of two schools and four homes and multiple seriously scary living situations in under six months.

She's never dealt with any of it, what happened to us as kids, what we did to ourselves, what she's done to her kids - and it's just repeating herself.

I mean, fucking hell - isn't the fact that our parents threatened suicide enough to realize that it's bad to do that?!

I'm frustrated and worried and scared and I think maybe even a little resentful.

So there's that. I kinda took a break from the net for a few days, just trying to center myself. I come back and find no small cache of things in which to pour my ire into (The Friendly Atheist - love the site, hate the commentators) and so that's at least business as usual. All else seems to be in working order.

My kid brother FB'd me a couple of days ago. He turned 18 yesterday. It's now time for me to start building at least a familiarity with him. There's plenty of that floating around in my head. (Mostly, it's the level of depth that I will or won't answer questions to concerning our mother and his father.) We will see.

So yeah, that's it so far. Days and days of not writing, here in written form.

Huzzah.

BARRRGH! ASFUEAFNIAODUER! BAAAARRRGH!

 

And that is all for now. Long  story shortened for time purposes (to be elaborated upon later) : Cassie is still sick. Very very sick and emotionally unstable.

I cannot remember the last time I cried because of something so beautiful.

And then I found this. A young man, homeless, abused so severely as a child that he had to run away, with a dream. A single dream to sing.

I've gone through several tissues at this point. My god...if I ever had to convince an alien race why the human race deserves to live, I would show them this video.

This is why the human race deserves to go on. This is what makes me want to go on. This is proof of all of the human beauty that I sometimes forget exists. I cannot think of a more amazing gift.

*jaw drop*

No, seriously, like HOLY SHIT. SO THIS IS WHAT YOU GUYS HAVE BEEN TALKING TO ME ABOUT FOR, LIKE, THE LAST DECADE!!!!

*facepalm*

How To Keep Someone With You Forever: You Create A Sick System

http://issendai.livejournal.com/572510.html?view=3875166&style=mine#t3875166

Thank you, Mr. Dew, SO MUCH for linking to this!

They say it gets harder to make friends as you get older. The sense of communal interests, the ability to meet like-minded people, and scheduling time to get out there and meet others becomes more difficult with every year, every added adult responsibility.

And it does. I know that.

So right here, at this exact moment, I'm trying to cobble together the facts that I crossed lines with the last friend I attempted to make, and didn't even break conversational levels with the one before that. I know by the time I am 40, I will not think of this in any sort of pained manner. I know within another five years, two years, possibly even the next year - it will not be embarrassing or a point of personal contention. I know this.

But right now, I'm feeling a little sad for it. How does one miss a friendship that you never had? And yet I do.

It's getting harder to make friends as I get older. Much harder. And so the energy I put into trying to make a friend - once, maybe twice a year, if that - turns a bit more sour than it used to when it doesn't work out. And perhaps it wasn't all my fault with WG and perhaps it was. Perhaps my mistake with the last one was attempting to friend someone who was far too young for me to be able to relate to (20 years old.) Perhaps the problem is that I try way too hard and yet not often enough. Perhaps this, perhaps that, on one hand and then on the other, etc etc etc.

This is not say that I don't have friends at all. I do. But the two closest to me are busy or else live 20 miles away. And the few others I could call friends are kept at arms length - they are my gaming group and don't need to know all of this. It's more or less the failure that seems inevitable when I try to make friends on my own.

I suck at making friends.

I didn't used to. Or maybe I just didn't care as much because the available pool of potential friends was greater.

Oh, listen to me and my First World Problems. I don't make friends easily and whaaaaaaaaaaaa! Yeah, I know.

CemetaryConsort, you said recently that I need to get out from under this rock on my back. I think that's not far from the truth. There's this odd disconnect creeping up, almost as if my dreams at night are more real than my waking life. Some days it feels as if work - as much as I don't want to be there - is the only external thing rooting me to this reality. I feel solid there. I feel as if having to answer to someone other than myself proves that I exist, proves that I am part of some tangible construct. Something other than the vast spaces that I wander in when I'm thinking or feeling. Something physical, something I can touch and that has a taste, a smell, a tactile sensation under my hands.

I told David while watching Inception that it would not be so hard to convince oneself that reality is a dream, to become completely unattached from it altogether. To make yourself believe that what is around you is false and what you dream is what is actually real. Really, for me, it would be a week or less of work to do this to myself. That's all. Maybe just a few days if I went off my meds.

That bothered him. He says it would not be possible for most people.

I told him, quoting Marya Hornbacher, that one could easily do the same thing with your reflection in the mirror. Stare at yourself long enough and say, over and over, "Not me, not me, not me" and you could easily trick your brain into thinking there is honestly another person in front of you. It's like saying a word over and over until it loses its meaning, I said. That's not disturbing, that's just the brain turning over itself for a few moments.

That also bothered him. I think he worries when I talk like that. But for me, these things are not such a stretch in reality for me. Maybe he's right - maybe it would be harder for other people.

Something tells me it would not be and that people are only comforting themselves from what they conceive as madness (but really is only a self-inflicted mindfuck.) A trick of the light, so to speak.

I have no intention of trying to convince myself that this world isn't real. And I have no wish to make myself feel as if there are two people standing at the mirror when it is only myself. But sometimes I can understand how other people would do such things.

Sometimes I can even understand why why other people would want to do such things.

Maybe it's a good thing that my friend-o-meter is broken right now. I can't imagine these thoughts being casual conversation.

It is very warm.

Seeing as we still don't have internet, I've taken the laptop to the apartment's net center - which happens to be next to the laundry room. I have laundry to be done, though, and that makes it at least semi-convenient. It is also good for me to be outside of the apartment - three days out of the week David takes the car and I remain at home. I often use this time to get in some serious napping, but that can get tiresome. (Ha. I just described napping as "tiresome". I crack myself up.)

I finally got some sleep that wasn't visited upon by awful dreams. This makes a difference. I was able to track down the cause of the recent wave of nightmares - during the Choice War, I'd shared that one entry - the one I can't bear to reread - multiple times, which is specifically about my sexual abuse. Whether or not I can again go over that entry, I still know what's contained in those words. So it was pushing itself to the front of my mind. Accidentally, unintentionally, but prominently so. Not the first time I triggered myself and it won't be the last. But being able to trace it felt good.

The insanity that comprised The Choice War has left me feeling spent and unexcited about joining in (or starting) other political fights. This is major - I'm always up for a scrap, down for the throwdown, ready to rocket personal tension past the breaking point. But so far this week I've had no interest in doing so.

That's probably a good thing. David and my sister have both told me that it's lucky I'm not physically strong, as they could see me getting into barfights on a regular basis. They are probably right. But even then, I'm not sure I could. I'm not a violent person by nature, just confrontational and aggressive. Besides, I don't like entering a fight in which I have no hope of winning (or at least taking my opponent down a few notches). I'd get curbstomped if I tried to engage in a fistfight.

All that being said, my laundry is nearly done and the heat has made me sleepy enough to indulge in that nap I was talking about earlier.

Yay for naps!

The internet has been broken for a few days.

(Well, more accurately our house's connection has been broken. But one could make the argument that the internet as a whole is comprised of broken people and broken things and thus is, by way of association, broken itself.)

So I'm here at game writing a post while we wait for the other members to show up. I feel incredibly nauseous today, in no small part due to the fact that I woke up from my nap after having a sickeningly graphic dream about my stepfather. I've been unusually sensitive to sunlight lately, feeling as if I want to hiss and scratch at the daylight.

Hey, maybe I'm becoming a vampire. But then I'd have to find a nighttime job...and I hate working nights. Cest la vie.

I'd like to say there's been something exciting going on, or something that has given me great pause and reflection. There hasn't been. About the only spike in daily living the last few days has been an argument with David, at which I'd flown off the handle and later had to apologize for. Residue from The Choice War. I think I'm also feeling a little bit of that anxiety let-down that you talked about earlier this year, Rayhawk. It's not quite as if I'm depressed, but the affect is flat over the last couple of days.

I can't wait for the sun to go down. There is no place in this shop (we game at a local nerd-shop that specializes in Magic The Gathering cards) that is shaded and it's making reading things difficult. I also indulged in a touch too much caffeine, I'm sure that's contributing to the queasiness, too. You'd think I'd know better than to do this to my body after almost 31 years. Apparently not.

Tonight one of our gaming members is catching up on schoolwork, so instead of Mutants and Masterminds (and my character of an ex-Victoria Secrets model turned angelic superhero) we will likely be trying a game called Settlers of Catan. I've heard good things. I hope I have fun.

WAIT! FUCK YEAH! WE'RE PLAYING RISK:GODSTORM! Love that game. Competitive and with ample opportunity to talk shit about every other player. (My favorite part of competitive games)

Smack talk commencing in 3, 2, 1....

To the wonderful and amazing donor who paid for an entire year of my Livejournal account.

THANK YOU!

This journal is my only sacred, safe space, and to keep it ad free for the sanity and well-being of my sake is extremely important to me. I was panicking because I wasn't sure how I would be able to come up with the money to pay for another year.

Thank you, Anon Donor, thank you so very, very much.

And another thank you to all of the donors who gifted Planned Parenthood under my name. Truly, fully, and gratefully, thank you.

This is why I have to come love and feel safe here.

Thank you for being a part of that.

I think, more than anything, the lesson for my 30th year is learning the limits and boundaries of myself so that I can better respect the limits and boundaries of other people.

I jumped back in, snarling and hackles raised, last night. I was so tired and wore out from Cassie and the kids that I didn't try to filter even a little bit and, upon awakening this morning, looked at it and went "Oh Jesus. I did that again?!"

I am so, so tired. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. So exhausted. I apologized and tried to explain that. It was received well and for that, I am utterly grateful. I really came off as a jackass. And I've been able to let it go today.

Don't get me wrong, a part of me still wants to leap back in, guns blazing, barrels hot - but a larger part of me is seeing just how messy I can be. How messy conversations like this can be, and how that mess just multiplies by millions when you add in the voices of hundreds of Internet users into the conversation.

I'm still a little confused. Half the time I got my ass jumped because I wasn't being nice enough. The other half I got slammed because I was thanking people for being nice. It kept shifting - the expectations and rules for how these things go depending on the specific people talking at that exact second. I don't always know how to handle that. I don't know where the middle line is. Sometimes it feels like everyone has this book of rules that tells them what to do and I, for some reason, just decided to skip class the day it was handed out.

It's like I'm a cranky, worn out two-year old who really, really needs to take a nap, but is so tired that he won't sleep and instead just winds himself up more and more in his exhaustion.

And I know I've got an addiction to high adrenaline, high temper, messy situations like these. I've learned to keep it mostly to online debates and debacles - which is MUCH MUCH MUCH healthier than where I used to take it - and that's good, but it still lands me in unpleasant, uncomfortable, and outright upsetting situations sometimes.

There's a host of reasons why I'm like this, and a lot of it boils down to "stunted brain shit from abusive childhood affecting the growth of the hippocampus and other whacky chemical imbalances making your brain more like a game of Jenga than a puzzle. Oh, and you've always got shaky hands." I know I can work around it. But sometimes I don't know if I have the energy to, or if I really WANT to, or even if it's necessary.

I don't always know how much I should be true to myself versus learning to change for the better. That's the really hard part for me.

I guess that's one of those life-long lesson things.

I'm so tired right now. This has been a major event for me. Crazy, that a single online debate could actually be so deeply cutting inside of me that it feels like it's rerouting the flow of rivers and creating new mountains from the shifting of metaphoric tectonic plates.

But it has, and to say it hasn't, to brush it off and go "Oh, haha, it wasn't a big deal" would be lying.

I will be able to make more sense of it as it goes on. For today, I think it's time to retreat. Get back to my own safe place, pick up the pieces of myself that I've scattered everywhere in that thread, and try to get some rest.

And hope that my period gets done soon. I think that'll help, too.