A voice in my head keeps saying, “you’re hurting me!” every time I see certain pictures.
I have this friend, I think she’s actually psychic! If that sort of thing is real anyway. The implications of such a thing being real are horrible, as most implications are, but I try not to think about it too much. What really sold me is that we were talking the other night, when I died. She had suddenly become very distressed and exclaimed without any clues or prompting: “ It just felt so hopeless and sad for a moment, like you were sinking somewhere and there was no way to pull you up”
Imagine my utter horror! “SHE CAN SEE ME!”
No one should be able to see me. I have the urge to go into hiding again.
I found myself thinking at some point within the last few days, “I want to be a dog!” I want to follow someone around and love them unconditionally. I want people to cross the street when they see us coming because they’re afraid I might lunge after them. I want to be praised for maiming someone in defense of the people I’m supposed to protect. I want people to mourn my death, but not take it so seriously as to be damaged forever. Just get another dog! A cute puppy!
In the last two or three days I went on a really great date, got offered positions at 2 bakeries that pay more, are less work and are closer etc. I wasn’t supposed to be around to accept those job offers, or go to that bookstore with her. That was the plan. Each night, despite how good each day had been, I would also be out there in my backyard. Next to the bucket of cigarette ends, smoking, sometimes unsuccessfully choking back tears, and hoping this would be the cigarette that triggers the massive stroke I’m supposedly very likely to have if I smoke while on HRT, the injectable estrogen I’m on supposedly being the worst offender. I’d walk back inside and see that one or two or three of you had sent me a message, an email, about how much you appreciate me, how much you relate to the things I’m saying, how much I inspire you to go on and infinity more kind things beyond what I think I deserve. I’d get in bed, scroll through my phone and accidentally see a picture of my little sister somehow. Each night. The same way. My chest would cave in and I’d wail for half a minute, its all I could allow myself. I’d wail. Then I’d weep.
When youre painting on a canvas, and you make a mistake, you have to either paint over it, or do your best to scrape off your mistake. If you paint over it, your mistake is still there, under the new layer of paint. Itll always look slightly off to anyone who knows well enough and is able to see. Even if the only person capable of that is you. It’ll still be there, you’ll still know. If you scrape it off, less noticeable. However, now the canvas, the fundamental base of the painting is a little bit damaged and yet still, however tiny the amount may be, traces of your mistake always still linger. This may even be a worse situation. A tiny splinter in your nail bed you can’t quite get out, versus a larger one, you can pull out easily. Do you see?
I CAN CHANGE! I’VE CHANGED SO MUCH ALREADY!
THINGS CAN GET BETTER! THEY HAVE SO DRASTICALLY ALREADY!
IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW BAD THE START WAS, THINGS CAN ALWAYS END AMAZINGLY!
I hope so! I feel in my case, the foundation of the building was simply fucked. Building a massive tower on top of such a compromised foundation is only begging for a horrific crash somewhere down the line right? I want to turn this into a positive message somehow. People really like that, but I can’t. Not without being dishonest. The whole point of this thing was to be honest for once.
I was trying. I was getting better, I was being more vulnerable, and positive, and soft, and wholesome, and empathetic, and considerate, and nice.
I got too close to the sun. I am trying to win the race for the people of my village. I want to be able to do that for them, but someone took a giant mallet and burst a hole right through my chest. My legs are broken, my vision is cloudy.
I’m tired.
I’m going to get up again, and I’m going to start running. I always, always do. Maybe I’ll even still win the race!I am not free.
Autopilot. I am still going, I am still streaming, and editing and posting and responding and going on dates and going to work all of it.
I am watching myself and a not insignificant part of me just wants to stop. Just be done. I need a breakthrough, some good luck, some sort of sign that it makes sense to keep going.
I’m tired. I’m too tired. No one is coming. I want to stop, at least for a little while. I don’t want anyone to see me.
A video came up on my tiktok feed, it started off:
“This is my mom”
Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I still can’t.
