I've completely stopped trying to, "be". The scope has shifted to simply getting by. "Who I am", has ceased to matter in the midst of this. I've given up so much of myself for no need. I demand to take a more active role in keeping this from happening anymore. There was a time when I actually loved myself. Keeping grasp of that love is key to surviving after she's gone. I don't want to bog myself down by thinking too much of after, but in that; I seem to have cut ties with the whole future.
I can tell on some level that I am still the same person; and that I've even gained skill in areas and ways unimagined. I used to feel that I am less than what I once was. I can no longer say that with certainty, which is comforting. There are ways I was better then, and ways I am better now. It's not so clear cut.
I think they're going to start roofing tomorrow. I honestly feel like it will be so cathartic for me. There will be a chunk of day designated to noise, and I will get to stop being so quiet. She hasn't been able to sleep well, but she still manages to not always be trying to rest. I appreciate that. I know that when chemo starts, she will go back to always resting. It breaks my heart. It's strange to me, how they're so flexible with her making the choice between having chemo and not having chemo, but they won't let her change the scheduling at all.- I mean just her regular doctor when I say that. I do understand the trials being controlled.
My mom thinks I should blow him off. On one hand, I feel like she’s totally right. On the other hand, I still sort of feel like I haven’t been exactly fair to him, and maybe I should try. He completely shoots me down so often, and says he wasn’t intending to, and also that he feels shot down by me as well. I know I didn’t intend to either. Well, not at first. I slipped and acted beneath myself at times.My iniitial intent was to show him the way he was treating me. Instead of conveying an example, I introduced more conflict. I knew better too. When I decide to try to drop all my bullshit and stop playing games, he's still in the process of trying to win. I can't figure out how to stop fighting without letting him win. I don't think it would be satisfying to back down. Perhaps I should try it *just once*. I really don't think he's trying his best either; But I do think he's been trying harder than I have. Maybe it truly is neither of our fault. We definately struggle to communicate. We both have to make an extra to understand each other, and even then, half of the time we fail. A part of me believes that this issue has the potential to bring us closer together if we could ever work through it; But his first reaction to a miscommunication is to completely shut down. I don't think its possible to work through this with someone who gives up so quickly and easily, however; Being silent for a few minutes wouldn't be the worst way to cope. If It were possible to keep it relagated to that moment, instead of letting it permeate every interaction forevermore.
It's funny how one can know something without acknowledging it. So in October, when she went on the 'chemo break', I knew in the back of my head that this was not a remission, and that the cancer would be growing at whatever rate durring the break. So when we were sitting in the exam room, waiting for the doctor, and my mom said, "I'm going to be pretty crushed if they don't tell us the scan came up clear", My heart struck with fear. I kind of already knew that wouldn't be the case. Still; When the doctor told her that she could quit chemo at any time she felt was right, It hit me hard. My mom said she wasn't looking to quit chemo anytime soon. The doctor said we're only looking at a 20% chance that the chemo will work this time.My mom decided to look back into trials. There's one she's already elligible for, we have an appointment this wednesday. That's hard too. The doctor said she would most likely only be elligible for phase 1 or 2 trials, which is scary. Phase 1 trials are focused on finding the toxcicity levels of the drug being tested. Phase 2, I'm more comfortable remaining unclear on at the moment.
I mean, even though the cancer has been coming back, there is something juvinille and stubborn in the depths of me that insists on holding to hope, however distorted it may become.
Perhaps I've grasped the fact that Deep Bllue was mostly a product of my creation, pasted on the borrowed handsome face of Jake. I noticed that he took me off his friends list on my birthday last year. Seriously, the first thing I did on my birthday was notice that 2 diferent people removed me from their friends list, and that my sext buddy's profile now included wedding photos. This especially stings to me because, 1. I should never have noticed that inoccuous bullshit, and 2. They have to make a special visit to my profile page in order to unfriend me. I couldn't help but wonder if these were the only visits my page had received all year. Thoughts that serve to sabotage my confidence. I fought hard, the urge to send them new friend requests. I have to at least *seem* like I never noticed. Sext buddy got married in March. We spoke last in February. I liked him a lot, because he was actually my friend, and he allowed me to be real, and let him know some of the raunchy truths of me. I asked him that if he ever had to stop talking to me because of a serious relationship, to be up front with me, and say goodbye. I would completely understand, and deeply appreciate that goodbye. This is when I noticed the pattern of how a man betrays; just as bitterly and shiesty as a woman, but in a very different way.
I've relagated my longing, to include only the most legitimate lost bonds. No more using my imagination sado-massochisticly. I've always thought that people who use the term, "dead to me", were being really harsh. Maybe they've always understood things I'm now freshly learning. Like, how every relationship in life will eventually die. Even if the other person is still living. I think I miss them with better perspective when I mourn the relationship as though it cannot be reconciled. I get too wrapped up in figuring out how to contact them, and what to say to bring them back to my life when I don't accept that it's over. It's a difficult thing for me to do. Almost as hard as when I thought that forgiving required me to no longer feel hurt.
My mind works better when I write more. -That makes sense too. I hold myself more responsible for completing my thoughts and ideas when I am writing. I still try to allow some form of freedom over it though. That way, I can let myself drop a subject line that isn't taking me where I intended to go. Or the flipside of that; Allow myself to try to catch reference a bunch of different thooughts as they all happen at once, in an instant. I freestyle better when I do it all the time, and let the dumbest shit come out of my mouth before i get anything profound. I used to write more poetry.- Playing a song on repeat would make me feel *compelled* to write something.
It's more difficult to write when the thoughts sting to capture. I'm a quirky enough person though, maybe that's just a challenge in disguise; to find creative ways to make the heavy stuff more fun. I just thought of spongebob squarepants jellyfishing when I wrote that, and I almost didn't mention it because I'm not really a fan of the show, or that joke. (Lmao)- but it was a perfect example of little ways I can have fun with stuff.
I was trying so hard to make the house look spick and span because we were getting it appraised. As usual, I kept getting distracted by colorful supplies for future projects of every kind- Especially sewing, with bright ribbons, buttons, and zippers. Things reserved for specific ideas, and grab my attention in new ways. I had been keeping my ribbons upstairs in my sparkly blue cylinder box, and remembered that I kept a whole drawer full of ribbons downstairs; Which I decided to transfer them to, because I was running out of room in the blue box. Strings of irridescent sequins that were once a part of a belt that lost its elasticity; I recently gutted it for its good parts, and for a sensory exposure exercise, covering myself in the loose fibers, indulging in a feeling I've actually grown to loathe. It was really good. I got a lot out of it. ;
I decided to be strict with myself, and put all these beautifu things away, in one place where I would eventually go to break it all out and surround myself with these colorful odds and ends again.
Giant spools of elastic, felt patches shaped like leaves, flowers, birds, and frogs. Spools of satin cord, spools of several different colors and sizes of ribbon, as well as several random whisps of ribbon from places. Various lengths. Enough to make a flower out of. This most beautiful white lace, that I even tried to dye a tiny piece blue, and it stayed stark white. Wide zippers that I bought in 2013, that always make my eyes sparkle. They weren't really that espensive or anything, They just made my heart jump whenever I'd llook at them and imagine the coin purses I was going to make with them. It was so hard for me to put it all away without starting something just tiny, just for a minute.... I did it.
Just to have someone throw it all away. It would have been better if it went to someone else who would appreciate them, instead of the trash.
I can totally see a new advantage of the way I naturally do it- Having several small collections of similar things in different places. That way, If something happens to one of those stashes, it doesn't devistate the entire collection. Damn it I feel so stupid for putting things away. It was completely against my nature, and I love my clutter. I should fucking take a picture of this desk right now. It's absolutely rainbow. All of my special things in that little set of drawers was thrown out in the split second when I left to grab dinner for us. I guess, the more I think of it now, it must have been meant to be. I even decided to be so kind as to stop and drop off our many bags full of give away items at the goodwil on my way home, because I was already having trouble seeing out the back window and I figured we would be adding to the stack. Those ten minutes or so, could have been the difference between them being there or gone when I got back. Of course I didn't get *everything* I'm finding little things here and there. It's not all gone. Just mostly =/ It's kinda cool that out of everything in our entire basement, that is the only stuff I'm really trippin on. If I thought hard enough, if I was there, if I actually knew what all was lost, maybe i would feel different. Probably worse, because they just came in and threw away everything, including the clean laundry I just washed and hung on the rack outside the washroom. It was completely absurd, like removing a hand to get rid of a hang nail.
It seems ike he's already made up his mind about me; Who I am, how I am, and why I am. -And completely stopped getting to know me, because "he already knows" but he doesn't fucking know. He's completely wrong about most of it, because every soul is constantly expounding.
I think, originally; their statements were each rooted in truth, but as time has passed, they've both become more creatively condemning of each other. We used to be 3 best friends. It was a lot easier to let them each vent about each other to me, but recently, something really big happen with one of them, and I feel like I'm being completely lied to, by both of them.
Ever since I was about 16, I've had issues with my bladder. -And since about then, I listen to people peeing. I wanted to know if mine sounded any different. At first- it did. Most other women sound like they're spraying at a higher pressure than I was. Mine sounded more like it was just leaking or dripping. The other day, I heard a lady who kind of sounded like pouring. I have never heard anyone pee like that before, lmao. I wonder if urologists listen to their patients pee.
So, a super long time ago- actually, last year! I noticed that Mr. Deep Blue, and another person, removed me from their facebook friends. First off, I hate the fact that I'm pathetic enough to notice. I had to suppress the urge to send another friend request. I decided to try and think of a positive spin on things. With the other person, there is actually a probable chance of me encountering him in public, since he is local- and I bet he would say hello, too. With Blue, there is still a chance, but it is improbable. Still, I know that if they're meant to be in my life again, they will be- but probably not. I'm actually finding that I care more about the local friend, as of late. Probably because of subtle things, like, him inevitably crossing my mind on some subconscious level, every time I drive by where he used to live. The more I try to fight it, the more I think of him. It's a prominent route of journey, meaning that it would be ridiculous of me to take a different way because of him. Also, I let my friend's daughter play games on my phone, and she sent him a text message. I still had his number saved, like a dummy. I guess there' my lesson.
( HauntedCollapse )
I mean, holy crap. I'm hatefully harsh. I tear myself apart until nothing stands, and I don't need you to do the same. I've got that department covered.//
...and consciousness makes a fool of that idea. It feels good to get some kind of conformation. The more I try to fix my computer, the more fuck-shit-stacked the problem gets. I accidentally copied some files when i meant to move them to my external hard drive. I cancelled the task, and while it was still in process of cancelling, I initiated the move of those files. This caused the files creation dates to be reverted to 1984, which is actually a defense mechanism when the system detects a file corruption. It would all be so awesome and genius if it was more accessible to change the creation dates of these files; which is what I learned, needs to happen in order for me to recover these files. It was a whole bunch of my music and I super don' want to lose it =[.
I wonder if there is a way that my external hard drive can be accessed through terminal, or if I absolutely must move these files back to my hard drive. If I do, would it hurt my case if I paused this endeavor for long enough to free up a little more hard drive space, because it' so cram-packed right now, that I honestly don't think it will accept the files back at this time.
What the hell happen to voice post? It's one of the key reasons why I choose to pay for the livejournal, even though I didn't take advantage of it as often as I would have liked myself to. When I call the special 800 number to make a post, a representative from some company- I can never understand them when they say the name because they talk so bloody fast.-i wonder if they're do it to deliberately to conceal themselves. I will look into the matter again. I know they made it possible to post audio recordings, but that isn't as cool to me. I had a number to call that was just for me to talk. That's similar to how my prank caller was, lol. It would be cool if my prank caller would call again. I still have the same number.
I am such a motherfucker sometimes. I set myself up for stupid shit, like decide to shoot a random video of myself, knowing I feel fat, I choose to have the camera the most unflattering angle; Looking up at me from below.- Why? To be a fucking jerk, obviously.
I keep on getting backpacks , and smaller ones. I made 2 black denim ones. I seriously have the right sized backpacks to fit them inside of eachother just like Russian Nesting Dolls. I used to be, and am still obsessed with those dolls. They are so0o frreaking awesome! The coolest thing is that they start off as adults, and turn into children; Or so it seems that way within the display.
-Upon second glance, they're made exactly like us. The essence in the very center of them being the smallest one within; The child. All others, merely a layer of representation of the center self. Of the sociological growth, and pressure to become something other than what we originally were.- But we're still just the same as always. -Always will
I didn't update on the looming possible bad news, which actually turned out to be good news. Isn't it funny how God has a way of making us feel satisfied, and blessed even; To be in the same exact situation that we were already in- Thankful that it doesn't continue to press into our time ..
Twill continue? Maybe not?
I am not the monster which I worry that I am.- My worst fears are of myself. To inadvertently become a predator.
( What I already saidCollapse )
- Current Mood: contemplative
- Current Music:The Dahus- Fuzzy
-Project Semicolon. I looked at the website, and I love the premise, but it doesn't represent itself as well as I think it should; As well as I could. I especially love it because I, as a writer, adore and, not-incorrectly, but overly employ the semicolon. "Your story is not over. A semicolon is used when an author could've ended a sentence, but chose not to. You are the author, and the sentence is your life". Its a movement of hope and second chances, and tattoos. The tattoo is big- to get a semicolon on the inner wrist. People who have been personally affected by suicide in whatever way that makes them want to make themselves a living testament of hope, in progress of a life's sentence. I have been playing with the idea of getting the tattoo, especially since I've seen so many awesome ones. I used to cut myself when I was 14-22. It has been more than 7 years for most of my scars, which is the time it takes them to fully fade. My scars don't pop out and take notice of the whole room's focus the way they used to do. I am ashamed of myself for it now. I don't understand it at all, which is a good thing, I reckon. I accidentally cut my finger a few weeks ago, and it hurt so bad. -I just couldn't imagine my own mindset when I used to do that kind of thing deliberately. I mention this, to say that my forearms are already very marred in a way that resembles suicide; Strong enough to conjure assumptions in viewing eyes. Perhaps though, not colorful enough to represent the truth about me. -To say that living on is not a failure of my attempt; But the success of a greater thing. At the very least, a longer story. I think the subject line was caliente because I really liked the line I wrote about, "No gray area". Not entirely sure. I only make sense when you look indirectly. I appear random in your direct focus, but tie together divinely in a 7 second relay-delay, way.
--I saw a dermatologist last Friday. He said I've been doing everything right, and prescribed me a stronger version of the stuff I've been using, which was Retinol. The stronger stuff is called Tretinoin. It's pretty fascinating stuff to me; Which is the silver lining to a shit-situation; So, I'm glad. I'm trying to be as fascinated as I can by it, because it bypasses the anger phase. I wouldn't allow myself to do too much research on it before I had access to it because it gets shoved in my face for literally every skin issue I've sought remedy for. It's also pretty mysterious in that although scientists know exactly what it does, they don't know how it works.
Mooney, and I have determined that my strange static cling, and hypersensitivity/affinity against hairs, are a result of my bio-magnetic energy, aka, my magic. This is also one reason for the forehead acne as well, because I'm a friggen magnet in the worst way, until I can hopefully harness and/or control it on some level. The universe is comprised of strands, of which are compelled to my force for some reason other than frustrating me, I presume.
He witnessed, and confirmed the electric, tickling strand sensation of my energy when I hovered my hands over him. Perhaps a best friend would confirm my magical ideation, when said strand opposes my sanity; but I do believe he was being honest. Either way, believing this has made me more sensory seeking.
I know I haven't been messaging as much as I was. I do think it's healthy for both of us to write each other. Though Jeff makes a strong effort to make sure I don't isolate myself, I put on a courageous demeanor for everyone. I figure I'll "fake it till I make it", yeah? In writing/typing I form words that I couldn't bear to shape with my tongue.
My computer issue is a bit more complex than I let on before, in that I don't know exactly what is taking up so much space. The bulk of my files are music, which are all on my external hard drive. I sort of suspect that I have some setting wrong, and it copies every song I try to play from my computer, back to my hard drive to play it. That would piss me off though, because there is a checkbox that is unchecked on itunes to, "copy all music to itunes folder". This wouldn't be the first apple glitch of its kind. Uggg. On the iphone settings, there is a checkbox that I have unchecked to "enable group messaging". At one point, this entailed that I could send one message to several recipients individually
...AT THE SAME TIME! I ran out of characters in the last message. 2500 are not many, really. I usually send my first message of the night before reaching the character limit, in fear of it being spontaneously erased, or that it will be my only message for an unknown length of time. Some days it seems impossible to form words. Other days, I'm textually inclined. This begrudgingly
[Private versionb]:coincides with my computer's functionality. I think. Maybe I have that backwards. Some months I am attached to my laptop. It comes with me to every room, including the loo, the car, the yard. Some more recent months the laptop has become rooted to a table, and I use it 2/7 days, to send messages to you. The iphone is being used at a fraction of its capacity as just an MP3 player, tethered to the sound system across the room. If my service got shut off, I wouldn't realize for weeks. I don't know why I run so hot and cold this way, about pretty much everything. You'll find my middle ground when you ask me to make a decision though; Because, can I? No, LMAO. I'm straddling the fence to figure out which mistake I should make.
[message version]:correlated to my computer's functionality. Or something like that. There are different phases of myself, like; For months I'll keep my laptop with me in every room, including the bathroom, and under my pillow when I sleep. Then suddenly, not so suddenly, more recently, I'm disconnected from technology, and compatibility with it, My laptop has grown roots to a table, my iphone performs less than half of its capacity, being just a music player to me. I have been trying to switch gears, to get my tech on and fix my issues, finally? Though, it starts with this tornado of clutter I have created around me.