attempted apology to popsci in a doc, which was sent over skype. if i'm still blocked, that is going to take an eternity. i had to fucking end it. i have no more energy left in me for this. if i get accused of something in return, or my doc ends up being altered to make me seem nasty or abrasive and then is posted to the web to slaughter me socially, i can at least confirm that my career is dead in that regard, and retreat to the confines of a nice corner. i'm doubting it will happen but i am sincerely scared.
please don't make my attempt to try and say i'm sorry a public event....
i risked this because i am tired of feeling this way and i'm sure you are too
i'm sorry alright
speaking of drama...
mother and i got into a feud over trivial garage cleaning shit. so much for civility between us, civility be damned when there's a thousand different reasons for us to begin fighting over nothing aside from a few differences as to what needs to be kept and what not? she also repeatedly called me 'uncaring of the past' because i told her to stop constantly being distracted by the lure of the albums she kept eyeing that she's actually suppose to be sending to my grandmother, but that's besides the point. eventually, we lapsed into a screaming interruption fit that lasted until we were hoarse, and even when we tried to speak rationally, there was no agreement or understanding. i was left simply with nothing gained, but all my will to argue lost. i am hurting already and my mother's contribution when we were seemingly starting to have some better relationship, has hindered that even worsely.
i can't hate her, anyway, hell, a bit ago, she was nearly hospitalized under the premise that something was possibly wrong with her brain. i don't know what hurts more, the sudden lurching of your mother's mortality onto you, and the fear that something is sincerely wrong, the responsibility thrust onto the shoulders by doctors who are forcing you to sign for you when you barely feel like an adult yourself, the excess of legally binding papers with terms and conditions applied in print so small even a person without visual aid would damn near need a magnifier, and all the other added pilings of what happens if something is wrong.. her CAT/CT scans took an hour to two to complete, that which felt like the longest of my life. I had not honestly been in the ER since my admission to the mental hospital, and the regular ER for a few hours back in 2014, where i was almost immediately stuck with an IV by doctors who'd trouble finding my vein properly due to dehydration, when they eventually settled for a protruding one in my hand that hurt like hell to prick. I had not been in that sterile, bleached whiteness of constant movement, even late in the night, since then. To say that the personal and exterior connotations stressed me would be an understatement, while I forced myself to retain a strength to juxtapose my mother's obvious physical weakness and inability at the time. Her results came back right, and she was then released, after they finally gave her meds to aid her pain.
the last time she'd whacked her head on a blunt surface was from a seizure, this time it was from likely drunkenness, though she swore she fainted. that combined with the fact that she'd stopped taking her medications to prevent seizure or stroke from occurring again, had me greatly concerned that she'd some damage. The only wound present now with her is a black eye.
I may hold a lot of fury towards my mother, but I cannot hate her in her entirety for what she has done to me. Don't think even I understand that myself sometimes when feeling esp vindictive. It's not anything but hurtful to have seen her looking so weak and blathering on in a slurred incomprehensible speech whilst I just had to hold her frail hand. My mother when I was younger went through a time where she was so sick after the initial seziure that she was literally fucking wilting, and to see that again, at another age, would break me, I think. the concern I have for her is great, despite some of my apparent indifference that a lot of people think I have. she's not well, and I don't know how to better her, but if she drinks herself to great inebriation and eventual addiction that may shorten her life indefinitely, dies because of foolishness, even if I am not around to see it, that hurt will seep into my veins and probably never leave. I know not how to help my mother, as I know not how to help anyone who doesn't want to be helped.... I don't know how i'm exactly properly dealing with this combined with the rage, and as shown during the hospital visit, I'm still incredibly brittle, spiting my status as a legal adult. Sometimes I feel like the child in me who was stripped barren of her childhood is calling out and knows not what to do, and that was certainly one of those times. to feign being strong is hard, but to suppress the urge to just wail into nothingness while nobody watches and nobody comes emerging from shadows to help you, is all the worse.
I'm sorry, friends. It's hard. And even after tonight, I'll admit, I'm still not out of words I want to write. I think i'm going to go another round with the journal, start one again, finish my ever ongoing fiction that's lingering in development hell if it means I can exhaust an endlessly flowing stream of what seems to be my emotional reconsideration.
If I can't right things in regard to my own relationships, the least I can do is work on fictionalized ones. I dunno.
My mother prior to our screaming found a journal written by my father during his latter teen and early twentysome years, in a similar instance where he too was friendless. Accounting how he watched others antics from afar in what he called "unintelligible gibberish", written backwards on the cover in his ironically sarcastic fashion. I'd not read much of it and now that it's in his possession he probably will not allow me, but what I did read does remind me of how alike we are, in a sense. I don't think we willingly remove ourselves from social interaction out of preference, I think that withdrawal has always been on the basis of fear. I think those brief tidbits somehow only give me a greater appreciation that I have someone like my dad as an influence in my life somehow, because if he could overcome his social anxiety, maybe I can too. Maybe all the mistrust I have is just preparation for another reawakening. I could always start my own diary, instead. certainly beats never shutting the fuck up here, even if this blog is purposely not listed on any of my sites for the sake of privacy, I have yet to actually restrict it from public search or privatize it entirely, I just don't see a point.
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
Is there a moment when you just can't anymore?
I lost the closest thing resembling a close friend to me in the past few weeks, and my reliance on her was greatly leaning on how I generally felt about myself in turn, and it's all rubbish and rubble.
One of the few times since it happened, I cried again today angrily, thrust my hands into the air, heavily breathed at the clogging of my senses by the natural inhibitor of mucus. I wailed on a floor, ended up smacking my head against my steering wheel, and begged a God who I don't even beleive in, but she does, to at least convey some kind of message that I loved, I cared, and I missed her. That I would do anything to get her back. I prayed. I don't fucking pray.
Aka, Elaine, whatever, was so meaningful to me that it was ridiculous, and was one of the most compassionate people i had met online, ever, who helped me emerge from my shell of horrid doubts and crippling embarrassments, and made me feel like I was a possibly okay person. Though our contact was far sparser up until the incident for awhile due to my emotional baggage, every time I talked with her was a delight and I was thoroughly left with a lingering sense of hope and a feeling that maybe I was half as competent as a human being. It was surreally beautiful how much she had in her heart to pardon the lot of my worse behaviors.
I don't know why she was unwillingly dragged into something not involving her, that involved me, let alone one of the involved parties who she seldom?? interacted with, as far as popsci/rokujouchikage goes. My hurtful words should not have involved her being dragged into it, and those words solely were my fault to begin with.
Yes, I was the one who sent popsci a slew of angry and scathing skype messages, containing such wording as "stone cold bitch". I did that on my own accord.
Yes, I've pissed on popsci in the past out of my own vitriol above all else, and that is in no way justified, so I'm just going to come out and say it.
I have very little composure left in me to keep pushing on at this rate with the Durarara fandom as far as the political correctness aspect pans out, and that is an honest to god fact. I cannot properly refer to popsci because popsci will always be emotionally be a woman to me, and that is hard to comprehend to most of you. The only popsci I'd like to think I know is the one from the past before the invasion of the trigger tags and the gratuitous warnings. I do not agree with popsci's sociopolitical views in any way shape or form, nor with the policing I've constantly had spouted at me for "misgendering". There, I said it, now sue me for slander. Popsci is a woman, and will always be a woman, and that's unchanging for me, so she's a she.
That doesn't excuse the fact that I did constantly throw punches at popsci in the past, out of my own vindication no less, and have repeatedly tried to beg her to stay or speak to me when she obviously finds me to be gratingly annoying.
Now I'm pretty sure AkaEl understands there things because I've actually stated them to her. Popsci will always be a girl, I don't believe in this delusional grandeur modern teens and twentysomes are inventing, etcetera. I used my "not liking modern sjw bs" motive as an excuse to belittle popsci for my own satisfaction, and that was a disgusting, grotesque use of something that crossed the line from "I don't agree with you" to "I think you're a fucking useless human so I'm going to belittle you". To be fair, I was off the popsci screaming for a while until I sliced up my legs, and then I went on a tirade out of spite.
That enough admission for ya?
All I want is what I had back, honestly. Not what leaves a sour taste of what could've been in my mouth, not what prickes me and makes me bleed, not what piles me into emotional ruin, but the good aspects. I miss the Akanejima, I miss the Akane Awakusu-Nasujima Takashi, interactions like hell, but it's not even just that, i want my willingness to be happy back, the idea that I don't have to somehow cling to notions of the past that plague me. There are ghosts dangling above my head that I have had much trouble ridding myself of, and exorcizing them by means of therapy doesn't always fully absolve me of that pain.
There is a constant guilt in my gut and the feeling that someone will fault me eventually, that is paranoia, that is disorder, and I thought by now, after no much alteration that i would be able to surpass that. Two years clearly wasn't enough to fully stop me from making mistakes, and mistakes that're apparently considered to be monumental when someone else is trying to force the fall on another for them. That's the thing about El, I don't think if they'd tried not to blame her somehow, we'd still be able to talk, and there wouldn't be so much ache in my heart especially. Nonetheless, it's like, after two years, yes, I have still spewed some nasty things, and that is faulty, that shouldn't be done, and that implies that I've apparently learnt "nothing". No one has any fucking idea that when I was younger I would constantly and consistently destroy things and property with my physical being, how could they? Nobody understood that when I was younger I was literally having episodes where I slit myself up weekly at fucking best, but how could they? Nobody can view me through the camera lens and actually see my past, nobody can peek into my brain?
It's just, all these years have felt so long, grueling, and confusing, and yet I'm constantly told that I am no closer to betterment, and it's painful, it's painful!! And no one can see me behind the scenes scraping walls and counting the days it's been since the last accident.
Nobody sees it all, so why do they judge?
I guess it's in our fucking nature to choke the life out of the other members of our species by means of all being fucking assholes to one another, ourselves included.
I hope someone conveys the message to El that I can't. God, maybe, if he's actually a reliable mean of communication. I can't undo my mistakes, I can't revert myself back to age eight to change my uprbringing and save myself years of turmoil and pain, I can't do anything to alternate what the naysayers new and old already think, and I don't know how to prove myself better.
I am not weak, nor strong, brittle, nor solid, tangible, nor intangible, pretty nor ugly, I don't know what I am. But I will not rest until I at least get some of my life back.
Posted by dizzier at 11:54 AM