I left this place behind again. If you were worried, I'm ok. Sort of. Struggling constantly, really. Giving myself pep talks that don't really work. Battling between desperately wanting to be both alive and dead at the same time.
I'm working on a zine. I haven't stopped writing, I just took it to another place. I promise to post more details once I have things further along. Right now it's a bunch of short blurbs in a folder on my computer, but hopefully it will be more tangible soon. I need to buy a typewriter.
I want to reset things somehow. Go back and do it all over. Fix what's broken, or better yet, never have let it get broken to begin with. Not possible, I realize. Revisiting old copies of myself, old people, times past. Reliving as best one can. Only as a means to set things anew, however. I don't relish in hindsight, it makes me sad. Looking at the past for answers to the future, however, seems like a prudent step to take when you haven't left your house in well over a year.
My job I hated is over, which is a relief while also being a curse. I have no idea what to do now. I don't want to work. I'm too fucked up in my brain to think clearly enough to advocate for someone else. Some company where I have to sell myself, or sell things to others.
Speaking of which, I have an etsy shop again. I've been making things that nobody wants to buy. I've worked hard and enjoyed the process of creating again, but to say not selling things is disheartening is a vast understatement. I have no delusions, I know I am but a microscopic speck in the universe so my little wares in my little shop going unnoticed is typical. It still sucks, though.
I deleted my twitter again. I still have been spying via my etsy shop twitter, though, which has an entirely different set of people I follow there compared to my personal twitter. When I go there it's like being in an alternate dimension of young goth girls and weirdos. It makes me feel even smaller there. More aware of how completely pointless and invisible I am. Social media is a disease. Everyone clamoring for attention and validation, drowning each other out. I think it's horrible and I wish it was never invented. Worst. Popularity. Contest. EVER.
I'm pushing myself to do a photo project. A selfie project. One selfie every friday for a year. I am incredibly insecure, and I don't let anyone see me. This project is a way to force myself to be visible, regularly, and to try to make an effort to care about how I look. We'll see how it goes...
I saw J. (<--- see past blog post about him there) last night. First time in years. It was nice. And awkward (of course). But mostly nice. I forgot how to be with people. How to socialize. How to talk and smile and be in the moment. My voice was going by the end of the night. To be with someone with so much history was both comfortable and weird. But mostly nice. Until today. Today I am back on my bullshit. Overwhelmed by everything. Laying all day in the darkness. I wrote something for the zine, though. What else can I do.
I have no idea what I'm doing tomorrow, or the next week, or month, or year. I don't know at all where I'm going, how I am going to live, or even if I am going to live. It all feels unsettling and open-ended. I got used to things being the same day after day, but it can't be that anymore. I guess I'll lay here a while longer. What else can I do.
P.S. I'm adding this blurb because I guess I should. When J. was here last night we kissed. Made out. First time I have kissed anyone in like 2 1/2 years. First time I have kissed him in damn near 20 years. He was a great kisser, not how I remembered at all. Much better. He was drunk, though, and kept trying to do more. I didn't want more. I just wanted to kiss. Just wanting to kiss is even harder as an adult, especially an adult in your 40's. There is a definite expectation of sex. It all reminded me of how many times I have let boys do things to me that I didn't want to do. More times than I can count. I wish being with other people wasn't so hard. I mean, Jesus Fucking Christ, while J. was here we were looking through old photos and I found the ones of my first love who raped me when I was 14. All I have ever known is loving people who hurt me. Is there anything else? Is it possible to love someone and not have them hurt you? I guess not.
