Tag Archives: cryptic

Drifting

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If I didn’t feel so afraid I would have a lot to document. Life is being quite eventful but I feel like talking about it will cause problems that greatly outweigh how stressful it is. This is the least therapized my life has been… I don’t know, ever? I’ve been pulling back from my US friends. Not because I love them less but because I am utterly exhausted and weary and pursuing them takes enormous energy. I’m not able to put much into creating new friendships here in Scotland. I’m trying, but it feels like swimming uphill through a river of molasses.

My body feels so desperately tired. I’m sleeping a ton–that’s not like me. I’m sleeping 8, 9, 10 hours a night. Historically it is difficult for me to get more than 7 hours of sleep. After these longer stretches I am so weary getting up from a chair feels like a struggle. Is this a deeper manifestation of depression than I am used to? Is this the result of still healing from surgery? Is this trying to actually unwind from the years of anxiety in California/traveling? I don’t know but I feel existentially exhausted. I feel empty.

I don’t know how to fill my bucket. I want to feel more whole. I want to feel like I am thriving instead of treading water to survive.

It’s hard that I am not cleared to go work with plants yet. It’s hard that I feel like I’m not allowed to do much. I’m still in the “spending money to get established” stage (we don’t have enough bed-sized blankets… we have a ton of baby blankets though…). We found some teeny bugs in the food storage area, so protective containers must be acquired or we risk food spoilage. Not stuff we can just not buy. I mean… we could burn more oil keeping the house hotter. That’s penny wise and pound foolish.

There’s a lot I wish I could document for my own sake. But pieces of it aren’t my story to tell and I am deeply afraid of the consequences for other parts.

So I don’t talk much about how I’m feeling with my voice and I write about it even less with my hands.

Is this bone deep discomfort how other people feel? Finding a therapist isn’t really an option for a variety of reasons. Living here may mean that I am permanently out of therapy for a variety of reasons. Well, unless I pursue a degree and it becomes a mandatory part of my job. Wouldn’t that be a funny reason to become a therapist? It’s a way to make sure I have to be in therapy too?

I think a lot about the massive waiting lists in this country for mental health support. I think about what it meant when I was a kid that I had help even though some of it wasn’t the best. It was a lot better than nothing.

Comparing one’s life to other people’s lives is such a complicated and tricky thing. Sure, other people may have X, Y, and Z that you don’t have… but they also have A, B, and C that you don’t have and would you really prefer that balance? This isn’t a fence with one side or the other. It’s a grid with many many many different squares and balances and problems.

I like that often every ends up in my room a bit before bed time to curl up together and read. MC has decided to read Tamora Pierce books. They are a bit above her reading level, but if she sits close to me and asks for occasional help with words she is making her way through. She absolutely loves them. She is stunned that even in a magical temple school there is still bullying. Yeah honey… people jockeying for dominance is absolutely universal. That’s just life.

Today we have our first health visitor experience to check on YC’s growth. I have two doctor appointments next week: a pap smear and a trip to my GP to go over genetic testing results and talk about next steps for EDS assessment. I get the impression that beyond the genetic testing (that’s super fucking expensive to run) Scotland wants to rerun all assessments because they are not interested in foreign medical records. That’s going to be interesting. At least I have the results of 35 years of forcing my way through the US system like a determined train to use as a guide.

My hands hurt really badly. I am trying various handicrafts because I’m bored as fuck. Arthritis is going to be my forever nightmare.

I feel like a fucking whiner. I am definitely in the “but you don’t look sick” camp but my body is degrading really fast. It’s hard feeling like if I don’t talk about how poorly I’m doing I just look like a lazy lump but if I do talk about it I’m a whiner. I’m not lazy; I’m in pain.

I’ve gained weight again. Ha. Good thing I bought my trousers so large.

It’s time for a day.

Deep in my feels

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Do you ever get that feeling where you feel uncomfortable and unhappy and you wish you could just scrape your skin off? I’m there. I have so many thoughts, so many feelings, so much I don’t know how to talk about.

My children are learning about just how unkind people are. I am sorry. I wish I could spare you. I wish I could bubble wrap you. But I can’t. People are unkind. People hate you for existing without ever meeting you. It’s us vs them always and forever. You won’t like a lot of the “us” camps you are put into but this isn’t a democracy. You are assigned. It’s a lot like gym class. You don’t get a choice.

Now my kids understand what I mean when I say that. They hate gym class.

So does pretty much everyone else, kiddos.

Asking for support is a mixed bag. It fails more often than it goes well. It’s not anyone else’s fault. If you can’t articulate what you want, that is how things go. If what you want is to be in an “us” that sees you and cherishes you and believes you are good enough as you are… hahahahahahahahahahaha.

People will tell you that you are there chosen family. That fails. Blood will not be enough to bind people to you. People will choose their own self interest over and over. If you hurt yourself to help other people… all you will be left with is a mountain of pain.

I don’t know what the future will bring. But I’m off to Edinburgh and I’m not bringing a computer. That way maybe I will actually look at the people in my “us” without distraction. Maybe it will help.

Too many thoughts.

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I am having trouble falling asleep again. I am thinking about gardening and book shelves and how very stressful it is having our things on the boat still. By the time they arrive it will have taken over four months. I don’t have perfect recollection of what is on the boat and I am at the point where I really don’t want to buy duplicates of things because that is a waste of money so I just kind of… fuss because I don’t even know what I am waiting for but I can’t buy things to fill my needs. It feels horrible.

Deficient: (in something) not having enough of something, especially something that is essential; not good enough

Retarded: less developed mentally than is normal for a particular age

I am having a lot of feelings about both of those words. Anger. Rage. Fury. Sadness. Despondency. Anxiety. Frustration. Defensive.

There is a strong idea that home schooling harms children. That it makes them unable to develop “normally”. This idea doesn’t come from one person or one place, it comes from many places. I find it utterly infuriating and enraging to have to deal with this idea. I’m not feeling very rational about it. If it were coming from one place or one person I think I could cope. I think I could parse my feelings down into a little bucket and figure out how to talk about them. But it isn’t coming from one place it is coming from many and I feel like instead of being able to process it with any of those places I am engulfed in a tidal wave of upset and I utterly cannot engage with why this is such a motherfucking insulting concept.

I need to find a way to wrap my brain around useful words though. My kids need me to. They need me to be able to advocate for them in a way that does not include just saying “Fuck off” to authority figures. I have to find eloquent words to go through why it is utterly unacceptable to use such words and I am failing. I am fucking failing.

Because those words are a contemptuous indictment of me as much or more than my children. Because I home schooled them and if they are deficient it is my fault. That was literally the point of home schooling. There is no one to blame but me. But are they deficient or are they different in a way that would have been true no matter how they were schooled? Are they struggling more or less than they would have if they were put in school when they really didn’t want to go and it would have been a daily fight? I have no crystal ball. All I have is documentation from Stanford that the way I home schooled is the ideal learning environment.

But in Scotland all home schooling is termed interrupted learning as if home educating means that all learning was interrupted.

My kids were going to be weird no matter what. Look at their parents.

Be bitchy nice. That was the advice of the mom I talked to on the playground. Demand that the school change the words they use. My experience is that schools are abusive and the only thing you can do about it is leave. Take your football and go home. But I don’t want to yank my kids out because of one fucking cunt. I need to find words that are effective and clear and commanding.

Don’t. Insult. Children.

If you cannot talk about children without using insulting, rude language do not work with them or discuss them at all. Your nasty opinion is utterly unhelpful and can in fact be damaging.

Children can have areas where they struggle. Children can have areas where they need extra help. Children can require extra support to be successful.

THAT DOESN’T MAKE THEM FUCKING DEFICIENT YOU PIECE OF SHIT MOTHERFUCKER.

Not good enough.

Go straight to hell you presumptuous cow.

Clearly something is going on and clearly I am not going to be direct about it. BUT I’M HAVING A LOT OF GOD DAMN FEELINGS.

My children are articulate, self-aware, sensitive to the emotions of others, expressive, have incredibly large vocabularies, can figure out how to play with people across social classes, can eat at fancy restaurants around the world with perfect table manners (no matter what table manners mean for that country), and they have unreal memories for data. But yes, they have things they aren’t perfect at. So. Fucking. What.

I am so angry I could spit nails. And I have no choice but to deal with this. I have to be the adult. I have to advocate. I have to ask for meetings and use my big girl words and not swear at all. Even though I want to say a lot of incredibly rude words. Even though I want to break things.

I would much rather think about gardening.

For the record: I am only interested in discussing difficulties in communicating with professional educators if you are in fact a professional educator. I have no desire to speak to other parents about this whatsoever. There are a myriad of reasons for having this boundary. I don’t need to share them all. Or any.

I still fucking hate school.

And yet I consider going back to university. I would like to work with kids who have emotional problems. I want to research incest. I think it will require more schooling. My ass is going to be in the special needs office saying, “Hi I’m Autistic, I have ADHD, PTSD, GAD, and arthritis. I absolutely require the use of a computer; it is abusive to require me to hand write.”

Fuck hand writing. Fuck hand writing being the fucking measure of someone’s motherfucking intelligence. Why don’t you fuck yourself with a fucking chain saw.

Maybe my kids need to be allowed to type as well.

Maybe it is time to find a game that teaches touch typing.

Maybe I should just think about gardening instead. I want a subscription to the lovely gardening magazine Jenny gave me a bunch of old copies of. That thing is detailed and fantastic. Over the winter I am going to sit down and start planning all the things I can do once I’m allowed to plant. I can get started in September! There’s lots to plant in September! Given the budget we want to follow next year we are going to be doing basically everything in cash. So at the end of the month I will be able to put the money I save from the hoped for budget into a jar for gardening. That’s my gardening budget. I’m not in California anymore with a tech salary. I can only buy things as I can afford them on a fairly tight income. I am choosing to make my budget much tighter than I think we will fully maintain. Hm. That sounds not-right. I always budget as if we have far less money than we do. Because I will fuck up and go over my plans. I am aiming for a really really low figure. Much lower than I think we will manage. Because then when I go over it I am still at a reasonable level. And I am going to do this partly by limiting myself to cash. Easier to say “We have no cash in the envelope” than “I don’t want to use the credit card”.

Gardening is not going to be a big part of the budget. I am probably going to become that lady who asks if I can take clippings. I only get to buy plants/hard scaping stuff once I have saved up enough money. I’m not planning to travel any time soon. Well, we have to go to Edinburgh for official stuff. But the whole trip is going to be in the neighborhood of £300. Lodging and train are costing £140 and I plan to bring snacks/meals for the train. We aren’t staying long. We aren’t going to fancy restaurants nor Do All The Things. We will get passports taken care of and notarize the sale papers for DVC. Then we will come home.

We will only be awake and available for entertainment for like 9 hours total in the city anyway.

I’m tired. I don’t want to hang out. I really don’t.

I’m tired so why the fuck can’t I sleep? Because I have to be bitchy nice with officials and the idea makes my stomach hurt. I feel sick.

Gardening. Gardening is fun to think about. Book shelves will be paid for out of DVC profits. After the book shelves are paid for the rest goes into investments.

Paint will have to be saved up for.

It occurs to me that I don’t want to get rid of all the cardboard boxes. I want them for gardening and painting. Hm. For gardening: it will be a great way to kill a bunch of the lawn so I can plant more interesting things there. For painting: tarps ain’t free and if I can put cardboard several layers deep over the carpet I don’t need tarps. Hmmmm. Ok. I convinced myself.

Before I kill lawn I need to see where things come up in the spring. I hear there are bulbs out there. I will have to mark the lawn somehow to protect the bulbs when I rip out grass. I’ll figure that out.

We’ve gone out and done some winter pruning as a family. It was really fun. I love how much my kids love working with me. I love watching them take pride in their growing abilities. They are quite competent at a wide array of skills.

NOT GOOD ENOUGH MY AUNT FANNY.

Fuck petty educators.

Gardening. Book shelves. Stop ranting in your head, Krissy. It won’t help.

I am scared I won’t be able to help.

I feel bad about myself.

I feel like I must be a shitty teacher. Only I know I am not. Only I feel like I am. All home schoolers have experienced “interrupted learning”. I want to puke. I am so fucking mad.

Dogma. Fuck your fucking dogma.

Just keep swimming.

Draw a picture or some shit.

Finally paid off.

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I have a lot of “loyalty” points for various travel websites. Tonight I booked two nights in a place in Edinburgh in December for $38. I’m excited. We have to renew kid passports (turns out I couldn’t get it done in the states because [insert long story that isn’t interesting] and now we have to get it done remotely) and get a document notarized so we can sell our Disney time share property. We are getting not quite twice what we paid for it back.

I’m having approximately 9,382 feelings about various things going on in my life. I was thinking, while out walking tonight, how I no longer have the freedom to word-vomit them on my blog without fear of consequences. I wonder if this is a sign I am getting old. Maybe my super-ego is too developed. I fear the consequences of talking about my feelings.

I have been giving just about everyone I meet a little pop quiz, “Do you find it offensive if someone tells you that they are having a terrible day when you ask ‘how are you?'” So far the overwhelming majority says, “If I didn’t want to hear that I shouldn’t have asked.” My faith in humanity is restored. I take it too seriously when someone on the internet says “90% of people who say that will think you are rude if you answer honestly.” My on-the-street pop quiz is finding more like 10%-15% would find it rude. And I am never going to please everyone. That’s alright.

We continue to settle in. I am trying to rest more, with mixed success. What that means is I bought a 1,000 piece puzzle and put together 75% of it in 24 hours. I’m trying to savor the last bit.

The boat stuff isn’t arriving until mid-December. We are going to Edinburgh in mid-December.

I’m still having a lot of feelings about the cancer stuff. I don’t know how much changing my whole life I should do. The majority of cancer risk is genetic and if I went 100% vegan, gave up drinking and sugar entirely, and exercised like a triathlete… I wouldn’t change my risk profile by very much. If I did squeeze out a slight increase in quantity of life it would be at what sort of cost?

I don’t know what to do. I am feeling a little better about having written the book. I know I censored the shit out of myself and I don’t like that part. If I knew I was going to die in six months and I didn’t have to deal with the long-term consequences to some of my friendships… that chapter would be very different. Maybe just maybe I should write a “real one” and keep it in a drawer. Maybe. If I didn’t have to accept the consequences of my actions I would write a lot more about the cost of silencing yourself for the sake of a friendship.

I am a coward.

I don’t want to feel like I am letting other people down but I’m starting to think I need to focus way more on whether or not I am letting me down. Other people need to do what they have to do for their happiness and I need to stop worrying about their happiness over my own. I need to be happy too. I spend an awful lot of time being unhappy and sometimes that is absolutely the result of my choices and I could make different choices.

Recently someone said to me that they aren’t trying to conform to their new environment, they are looking for co-existence. I am not sure I will ever really be Scottish. But I would like to joyously co-exist. A friend likes to say that after living abroad she feels more “American” than she used to. I feel Californian in my bones. I don’t feel American. I have seen enough of the country that I really don’t identify with it as a whole. Part of what I love about the city of Inverness is how much it reminds me of California in some ways. There has been a massive amount of immigration and the basic culture has had to shift to tolerating co-existence in a way that feels good and natural to me.

I do love California. I will always miss California. The necklace you gave me of the state flag hangs on the wall in my room where I can see it every day. I will always miss you. I do love you. Yeah, I think you stalk me too. I haz data.

I don’t know how we will find our place here, but I think it will happen. Piece by piece. We will have to build a new network and we will. I am not complete just coming here with the small bit of threads I carried with me. I need to build a new web.

Sobonfu told me to build my own community. I have rarely had the privilege of knowing a wiser human being than her. I need to listen. That means I have to be brave. I have to put myself out there. I have to not be content with just what I already have. I have to keep trying and growing. Even though it is going to hurt. Even though I am afraid of the consequences of being me and speaking my mind.

Today I got to talk to a lady. After chatting for a while she laughed and said, “I feel like you are me, with children. I am so happy I got to talk to you today.”

When I have given people the pop quiz they always say some variation of, “You glow with wanting to know the real answer.”

I am broken, open.

I will always be a little too raw. A lot too judgmental. Way too intense. Extra. And that’s ok. Not everyone has to understand me or like me or want me.

I don’t have time for everyone anyway. I’m still trying to figure out how to carve out space for myself. I’m still trying to figure out what that means. I am still so very tired.

I am really enjoying watching my third child blossom. She is getting more intense and verbal by the day. She is going to have no trouble keeping up with my chatty little family. She names everything she sees all day long. If she has something she still cries because she wants it and why don’t you give it to her already. She’s passionate and organized. She knows her routines. If I haven’t scooped the kitty litter by bed time she tells me to go do it. She knows what needs to be done.

We are all settling in.

School… well… it turns out that schools in Scotland are schools. But hey, no guns!

I don’t identify as “American” in large part because when I think “America” I think of guns. California has guns but it is not defined by them.

It’s all so complicated.

And so it goes, on and on and on.

{heavily filtered} Triggers

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Can I say that I'm getting fucking sick to death of how the word triggers is used?  Mostly I hear it mean: 'So this person is crazy and reacting to ghosts… it's not my problem that they are over-sensitive but I guess I can give a lame-ass "I'll try to respect your 'triggers'" line.'  Fuck you all.  No really.

I'm kind of tired of having people throw it in my face that they are trying to be "sensitive" to my "triggers".  Bitch you don't even know what the fuck that means.  By the way, I'm kind of angry.  Apparently having a trigger means that someone does the same asshole thing to you that someone else has already done.  Or at least caused you to think hard about the previous time and consider how you want to react this time.  People are so dismissive of "triggers" because it is a good way of saying, "You were already hurt here so it's not my fault you are hurting now."

Actually, an asshole act is an asshole act.  Lying is lying.  When you negotiate extensively for activity A and you instead engage in activity B… that's not a miscommunication and that's not about me being triggered.  

You want to know the "trigger" part?  My gut-level response to this behavior is to go sleep in a different bed and cry and assume there is nothing in the world that will change it.  Because that kind of lying is something that people just do.  I should stop listening to what people tell me.  There isn't a point.

Things that were effective coping mechanisms during your childhood are hard to abandon as an adult.  When someone lies to me, I have to withdraw trust.  Fast.  I have to shut down affection towards that person.  I have to stop being vulnerable because if they smell blood… I'm dead.

I suppose that triggering me means acting like my family.  So that I have to act like I do with my family.  It's not about a set word or phrase or experience.  If you act like my family… I have nothing for you.  

My family would set terms on who you can know.  If you had the audacity to want to be friends with someone they didn't like… well… that's going to result in nastiness, name calling, threats of abandonment (that aren't followed up on because the piece of shit bully is dependent on having you around to kick), and of course threats of suicide.  

Wow.  That all sounds like what I say and do when I tell Noah that I don't like him dating.  Ironic.  No wonder I feel like I shouldn't be saying no, no matter what.  Because I have this gut reaction of not wanting to be like them.  It's bad to say, "Actually this behavior is toxic to our marriage for 'x, y, and z reasons.'"  Because then I'm trying to control him inappropriately.  My adult spin on not wanting to be this person is to think that I should start shutting my mouth and putting my head down.

My family would rewrite history.  Oh, it's not that anyone lied.  We just miscommunicated, that's all.  No one ever has to be accountable for their actions.  That's why I have a scorched earth policy.  Someone who is going to lie to my face and then go behind my back and do something else all the while maintaining a dialogue with someone else that perpetuates a lie… wow.  I need to run, not walk away from that.  You want to know what a trigger is?

It's the sure knowledge that a liar is poison.  Someone who will lie to me… I can't know.  I can't be vulnerable with.  I can't pay attention to them.  I can't worry about what they want.  I know it will be a facade and I'll never know them anyway.  As soon as you lie to me, and then tell someone else that we "miscommunicated" well…  Yeah.  Ok.  The solution to this "miscommunication" is for me to assume you are lying going forward.  Sounds great.

I lie too.  I lie compulsively sometimes.  I say things in the heat of an argument that aren't true no matter how you look at them.  And I hate myself for it.  That makes me want to run too.  Because these topics are things that I can't be honest about.  So I'd rather not discuss them.

At any other point in my life this kind of behavior would be cue for an abrupt turn on my heel and exiting the premises permanently.  I would much rather leave than try to fix something like this.  My life is complicated now.

I understand a lot of things differently as life goes by.  I think about why women stay in domestic violence situations.  I think about why my mother and my sister are the way they are.  Why do they lie compulsively all the time?  They were taught to.  That's what hanging out with liars will do.  It teaches you to lie.  

The problem with being married to a sociopath is I am never sure if his vision of enlightened self-interest lines up with mine.  My best-interest is considered to the extent that he wants to manipulate the correct
behavior out of me, preferably while volunteering as little as possible.  Because the less he volunteers, the more control and power he has.  There are cracks in my Stockholm Syndrome.

It's hard having such extreme opinions about Noah.  Mostly I feel better about/toward/with him than anyone else on the planet.  And then sometimes I don't.

(ETA: the formatting is weird and I don't know why.)

Promises

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I get the impression that promises and integrity just mean different things to me than to other people.  If I am going to be five minutes late to meeting someone I call fifteen minutes in advance to warn them and apologize profusely.  When people break promises to me I notice.  I notice and I catalogue them.  I withdraw trust.  Rapidly.  Completely.  If I have to be paranoid because someone is telling me something and doing another… yeah.  That puts a serious damper on any trust related activities.

Damn my internal filter.  I can't write about this.  It hurts too much.

Best day in months

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Every so often I don't want to say something on blogger.  Yay lj.  Yesterday I dropped off money towards a new venture that will change a lot of the focus of my life.  I'm really excited.  It's pretty darn big.  And then… when I got home… I found a message from someone I have known in the scene for about 8 years.  It's hilarious to me that I have known her that long.  But I digress.  She's uhm, gorgeous.  And ridiculously skilled as both a top and a bottom when it comes to rope.  Like I'd pit her against Tom any day.  And she asked me out on a date.  *swoon*  We'll see how that goes.  I said YES. YES.  PLEASE OH PLEASE GOD YES.  😀  I'm excited.

And then I woke up this morning and found that a new-ish friend invited me to go to a womens party with her.  She's pretty damn cute so I'm not saying no.

How in the hell did it start raining girls?  I'm not complaining.  I'm celebrating.  It's been a long time since I was interesting to a woman.  I may have forgotten how this goes.  Oh gosh.

I'm so excited I'm bouncing.  My life is pretty wonderful.

Things I’ll never say.

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1. I’m sorry.
2. I don’t know if you hate me or not, but every part of being in a room with you is uncomfortable.
3. I feel very upset for feeling ungrateful. But I don’t want what you gave me.
4. I’m scared to do this. I’m scared of what will happen.
5. I want to blame you for my fear of ever dating a woman again, but I’m not sure if it is your fault.
6. I wish you liked me enough to be gentle with me.
7. I think about you a lot more than is healthy.
8. I miss you so much I feel like I am drowning.
9. You aren’t acting trustworthy.
10.Even on the good days I sometimes wish I could just disappear.

Just to be a shit.

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Elsenet someone said how much they hate cryptic posts. Just because I am a tremendous shithead I’m going to once again post 10 things I would like to say to people. Persons may or may not be on lj so feel free to be paranoid if you wanna. 😀

1. Sweetheart, stop trying to please your mother. You are working towards ruining your life really fast in this process.
2. I think you have very good reason to be mad at him. Don’t forget to preserve your boundaries.
3. In years to come I am going to wonder if dating you would have gone well.
4. I wish I could either banish you from the periphery of my social group or become friends. This awkwardness is just annoying.
5. You stop talking to me for long periods when you are ashamed to tell me what you are doing. Maybe you should rethink what you are doing. Anything you feel ashamed of can’t be good.
6. I’m crossing my fingers that you find the right person.
7. I appreciate you seeking me out. That feels really good.
8. Please learn to sleep without my boob in your mouth. (Ok, maybe y’all can figure out who this one is to.)
9. I wish you called more. By more I really mean that you do it at all.
10. I’m envious of you. I wish I was that pretty.

Looking up

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This morning I had a couple of reasons to feel morose. One was the comp exam and the second was personal enough that I am not going to explicitly state it on livejournal. ooooh cryptic

I went and saw a prof at SJSU about the comp exam. He told me that I barely failed and it was because I was too general. He said it is pretty obvious that I know the material and what I should do to prep for the next time is do more practice runs of timed writing trials to push myself into better form for such excursions. I can do that. No more reading? No more reading!! (Although I will probably do some more reading.) And the poetry section was my strongest essay. How is that for funny?

The second thing that made me morose has been a bit of a roller coaster ride for the past couple of weeks. Things on that front are now to a level that I feel good about. *phew*

Oh, and I got a B+ on my last Spanish test and she gave us most of the questions for the final in class tonight and we did them as a group. Things are looking way the heck up tonight.

Experiences…

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Last night I had a new experience. I tried something I have never tried before though I have wanted to.

I don’t need to repeat this experience. Once was enough. There was good and bad bits to it. I felt scared quite often in ways that were very overwhelming for me. I decided to go for a walk and about 12 minutes in (Puppy timing) I *freaked* and literally ran home. I spent the rest of the night inside cause I needed to feel safe. There were parts of seeing patterns and the physicality that were very cool. I spent a little time doing mirror gazing while I sat in the bathroom for a while cause I couldn’t remember how to go to the bathroom. I knew from my reading that this could be a bad idea. Instead of seeing anything bad, I saw myself as more beautiful than I have ever seen myself before. This was pretty intense. It carried over into today. When I looked in the mirror this morning I still saw myself as absolutely beautiful. This was awesome. Yay me! 🙂

Last night for a lot of time I was crying. I just couldn’t stop. I didn’t know why I was crying. I wasn’t actually sad. I didn’t know what I was.

Puppy took care of me and it was a good thing. I couldn’t do much of anything and I needed him so desperately. I am really grateful to him.

Kissing was *amazing*. But yeah, don’t need to do it again.