One of the things that I keep forgetting to do is to get the ink in my printer refilled.
This is *really* ironic because not only am I smack dab in the middle of a draft, there’s another project in the back of my head that basically requires working printer ink and glossy paper.
After four days of attempting to contort myself sufficently enough to kick myself for forgetting to write it down I remembered that I remember things much better if I can look at them at the same time—this being why, at work when suddenly something is changed, I’m very likely to bust out the phone to take a picture of the changes and study it. Back when I didn’t have a phone that could do this would take notes on literally every detail, sometimes in the shape of the detail.
Yes, I got made fun of at work for this… But I got things right.
And now here’s the note to get ink just like at work…
Because when I took this shot I realized I’m also out of paper.
A few weeks ago I made a fairly large transition. Cutting people from your experience, even when they are miles away, hurts like stepping on glass with a tender foot, a pain that does not go away readily and refreshes itself with the slightest touch against it, even when it is unrelated to what happened.
It burns like withdrawal. Even when they were bad for you, you want to go back, even when it was your idea to get out of there. You think, “maybe there’s another shot,” and you justify maybe possibly going back for “one more hit.” In times like that, one is happier than ever to have a group who will grab you by the shirt collar with a shout of “HO, DON’T DO IT” and a litany of reasons why you should *definitely* not do it.
And for a long time, it doesn’t get easier.
It’s like getting clean. Especially when they were bad for you in the first place. You can’t see it, so you don’t know what it’s doing to you. And you wonder again…should I go back?
And you bleed. And you grieve. And you struggle. There’s an empty spot where you know what was going on before—even if it was horrible, even if it hurt you every time, but at least you *knew* — and you don’t know what to do.
Then you suddenly can see everything from the outside, looking in. And you rage. Because you *know* that this was not what you deserved. And you *know* that you should never have had to go through this much to see that this wasn’t what you deserved. Yes, in life we must make mistakes, but sometimes, when you make mistakes, the mistakes also make you, and they leave scars that mark you for a long, long time. And the only way to take those scars away is to shed the skin you wore for so long — becoming a raw version of yourself, because it’s the only way to heal now. The insides, exposed, with everyone able to see what you really are until you can defend yourself again…
It’s frightening, but sometimes it’s best not to wall all the way back up. Some do not understand this, and they play a role perpetually. And you cannot trust them. Yet I tried to, so many times, and was hurt over and over.
So what if people think I’m ‘too intense,’ or anything else. I cannot be anything but who I am. And I will not play a role for anyone to accept me.
And I do not ask anyone else to play a role, in turn. You be yourself around me…
Or don’t be around me.
I’m not awake yet.
I have a “Morning Rituals” playlist on in Spotify. It’s surprisingly easy listening but with deep enough lyrics to keep me from dozing off.
I’ve severed a few ties since my last little photo diary thing. I’ve also had to deal with the abrupt increase in a medication. I’ve been so tired and rather panicky, I’ll admit, that simple reading commitments have gotten shoved onto the back burner.
It’s like… even when it’s someone you don’t need, someone who has repeatedly hurt you, you can form a bit of an addiction… and that takes time to recover from. Yesterday was the first day I didn’t look at the date that I broke it off—and he went immediately into denial—with a hit of sickness in my stomach.
…granted, I could still punch him.
Today’s the day I start reclaiming the little things. I raided the petty cash by an amount enough to get my hair professionally done as soon as I get a chance… I’ve seen a folding table that would perfectly replace a piece of the apartment I’ve been forced to live without… and I’ve been trying to get my sleep back on track.
The last couple years were a strange, dreamlike haze, the kind that you doubt the reality of but for a very long time have no solid reason to try to break apart—at least, until the one thing that is completely wrong happens and you have no choice, watching the pieces flutter downward.
… it’s probably better that I’m awake now.
Picture is unrelated. I’m just really proud of this shot. It’s marshmallow macaron tea.
Want to go out. Not sure how to present. I’ve been LITERALLY middle of it for so long that “What in the everloving HELL am I gonna wear” is an UNlimited question.
While I wait for the power in the building to stabilize, I’ll check the weather. Yesterday was stressor city (the damned “People Coming At Me With Their Hands Raised” trigger got popped) and I’m considering just making a Bento and hitting up places for photography.
Luckily it’s a gas stove.