That’s how much money I need, fast.
The factory has us working two days a week and I have the phone, light, and internet bills due. The most urgent of these is the light bill: the heat is alarming and besides, if it goes off, they WILL evict.
If I’m lucky, the Housing Authority will reduce my rent on Friday. I will have to live with the blistering allergic reaction to the bugs, the aching rash covering my right arm, hand, and foot.… that could actually get scarier. More on it later, when my stomach isn’t nervously flipping inside out.
The entire situation is fucked.
If you can help? Or know someone who can? Send here: https://www.paypal.me/CyggieStardust
(as usual, disregard the deadname…)
I’m going to attempt to sleep. It’s second day of the work week…
I can’t hear a damn thing out of my right ear. It’s like my entire head is a set of headphones with one side out.
I fucking hate when that happens. It makes me dizzy.
Now imagine if that’s YOUR HEAD.
In the morning I’m going to the clinic if this hasn’t cleared up. I need my ears.
My cat, Ion, went missing.
I’m so worried about her.
She’s not equipped to be out there. She’s so round. She’s not the best hunter. I’ve seen kitty treats thwart her.
What if she doesn’t come back?
One of the more interesting symptoms of my mental illness is that I have hallucinations.
Well, had—my meds were finally adjusted to keep those in check.
But the interesting thing about them was that they were…just like, bats.
They didn’t really do much besides… well, be bats. They just hung around. Everywhere. Sometimes one would get too close to my face and I’d flinch. Try explaining that to Joe Passerby.
Adjusting to life without the bats was strange. I’d gotten to a point where I couldn’t remember life without bats. But they went, and I was free.
Peripheral vision was suddenly actually something useful, at least.
I still have flashbacks to the day I woke up, in my stepmother’s house, to the accusations of theft from the pantry. I was wasting away at the time, a dangerous ninety something pounds. My stepsiblings were getting plumper and plumper. I was whipped with a belt in the laundry room while forced to hold the hanging bar, dissociation keeping me from giving that woman the satisfaction of a vivid pain reaction.
Every time I am around her, I remember this day.
I haven’t trusted her completely since that day.
Even on the days when we partake, a faint part of my mind remembers it. It’s engraved in my mind. When I’m around her, my guard just stays up.
It’s in the front of my mind because the anniversary of the beating is coming—
That’s right. I was lashed like a thief on my birthday.
The thoughts are…intrusive. I’m trying to get rid of them. It’s not working.
I can feel the impact points on my back, still.