trauma survival

I survived because there was no other option. Not even the obvious.

a nightmare on the mirror’s edge

I don’t know if I’m more surprised or embarrassed that an article about a B-grade celebrity and her F-grade “romance” made me burst into tears — perhaps it’s hormones or something, I don’t know, but…fuck me, the situation that Kath Ebbs has to deal with currently makes my heart hurt.

I mean, I have literally. been. the shiny Australian love-of-their-life marry-me-she-said girlfriend for three months to a very loud and supposed proud “lesbian” who love-bombed me and then dumped me after a couple of weeks away with the man she cheated on me with in the next room and then had to endure all the related BS hurt, pain, and public humiliation that followed it. Like. It is so horrifyingly familiar in a way that I don’t know whether to classify as amazing or just plain uncanny. The similarities are so close that I think that’s what had me crying about something I haven’t shed a tear over in like, a decade maybe? It’s eerie.

And my heart aches beyond belief for Kath and what they’re going through. This shit is going to scar them for life and that is not fair. I hope they’re surrounded by amazing people who will help them carry on through this absolute crap.

Only one thing left to say in the end, though.

…that, and I’m told karma’s a bitch.

at a low ebb.

today I am full of ire and indignance and frustration and unseelie feelings. I want to scream, I want to rage, I want to sob into my pillows…but I cannot. I need to stay in control. expression doesn’t help; undamming the reservoir during a flood makes everything worse, so much worse.

keep control. keep silent.

but nothing changes if nothing changes.

a butterfly trapped in a chrysalis. a flower doomed to remain a bud forever. a moon forever gibbous, never reaching the full.

on and on, etc etc, same as it ever was.

there must be some way outta here…

anyway….

I hope I’m not jinxing myself by saying this, but I’m terribly afraid my laptop computer — my mirror in the tower (I should have named him Shalott), my lifeline, the one who knows me to the absolute — is starting to tire out. I am hoping and literally praying that this isn’t the case, and he’s just slightly sick of humidity and summer heat, but he is ten years old come March (perhaps that is 80 in computer years? He’s a fine old gentleman, I love him so…), so it wouldn’t be surprising…but it would be horrifying. There is no possible way I could replace him at the moment — I don’t have that kind of money in my situation, and thanks to certain people* throwing about the words “grifter” and “get a job”, I can’t even begin to consider crowdfunding or asking for financial help.

(Here’s the thing: holding down a job when your nerves are literally fraying is actually impossible, my other disabilities notwithstanding. Employers tend to prefer healthy and able-bodied employees — trés fou, non? Here’s another thing: mind your own business, you vile, odious, horrid little cretin.)

rev up the nausea, babycakes

I think it’s wonderful how some folks get to go off and twitter about animu and glaze certain spineless software companies, while CSA survivors have to walk themselves through a trauma spiral. Oh, my apologies, a “terminally online drama” spiral.

Some people (and I use that term loosely) are so unbelievably morally bankrupt they make Donald Trump look like a saint, jsyk.

Alquildië.