a shower attqachment thing for our fawcet so that we can be in our bath and wash our hair but without a shower. $26 ($18 + $8 shipping)
hopefully, this will enable me to wash my hair and wash more. and be little. and be good.
i’m writing so woohoo so great so well done
i… i don’t have anything i want to talk about. i have things. but i do not want to talk about them. i want to talk about things that don’t make me uncomfortable, perhaps that make me look cool in some way.
so so so so so so.
so myriad and i were talking about abuse, well sexual abuse. and being someone who is supposed to be passive vs. active. and i really have no real info about being someone passive. but i have a fair amount for being active. and i think for me that’s actually very tied up in sexual abuse and being triggered and stuff. like we were trained really well on how to make women happy. and we did that. a lot. and that is still very much a mindset for us we have to deal with. which also is nicely sidestepped by sleeping with a guy.
but anyway. we just, we like even have all these rules about what we are supposed to do. but it’s not… it’s not sexy for one thing. we don’t get turned on though i guess some parts might or like enjoy it or something in some contexts but i think it is only when they are in charge which is a whole different ball park.
i really have no idea what or why or how i am writing. i know it is late at night and we just started our period and, i don’t know.
my dad used to go on and on about how i didn’t seem to want to visit him and he didn’t understand and then finally at the end he’d do what i’d be dreading the whole time: say “well? well, elizabeth?”
and then i’d have to respond. say something that explained why i didn’t want to visit for as long or why i never called that didn’t show that i was scared of him and didn’t like to be around him. because that was completely off limits. you had to cloak your answers.
i’ve started making these little magnets that are tiny paintings on canvas. they are cool.
blah. anyway. my dad would say “well, elizabeth?” and i would neer know what to say and it was the worst.
and the thing is i think a lot of my abuse has involved me being active, versus passive. which is not to say passive as in you don’t do anything. but i guess i think of it as how much you are supposed to initiate and like “do” yourself or something. whatever.
like with my mom i had to actively take care of her. like she wasn’t into punishment or like stuff like that. she’d scream but at least later in life i screamed back. i guess it’s probably different before and after we moved.
it’s funny, my mom gained a lot of weight after we moved here, i think coinciding with her breaking down and changing. because she was away from dad so she was relatively safe. i guess really just e*a and i were in danger here. she could just give us up. there are 2 houses, grandma’s in larchmont and barb’s in bellevue and they are together and near each other and the same and they are ball rooms and fancy things and getting dizzy.
anyway, i guess i just, i don’t get triggered into docile passivity, or rather that doesn’t worry me as much. i get triggered into trying to actively make people happy. and i think being active is really key.
i don’t know. i want to die.
help i’m scared.
i think i think i think
i think i lose weight as i get more broken down, which is the opposite of my mom, who gained weight when she got more “safe”.
my dad, my dad my dad my dad
i think weight, like messiness, can be a good protector. a physical and emotional buffer. funny because they are both also so stigmatized and often make people want to change to get rid of them. i think the involuntary protectors are the most effective. though they suck. but you can’t fight your own wall.
i don’t know. there are buses and hills in my dreams. i think there is another life. a whole other life. and i don’t want to go back to it. it is on a campus like my college’s. it is. i don’t know. i don’t want to go back to it. i don’t. i don’t. i don’t. i don’t. i don’t. i don’t. it’s not even particularly scary but it feels, unsafe. even though i know it is a dream and so it isn’t real anyway so what does it matter but it’s like in the outer limits you hook them up to the machine make them imagine things they get so upseet they die from fear even though it’s not real
i don’t know. i just don’t want to go back. i don’t. it’s just teachers and students and school. stop it. stop it. none of this happened. stupid girl. stupid.
it’s futuristic like glassy like glass bubbles and glass and round. i hear sounds. are they coming?
stop. stop. nothing happened. sstop.
and escalators. and theaters. amphitheaters. and buses and hills and transportation. and tests and being too late and scared.
not having to go out into the world and deal with people and the cold:
i don’t htink these tags have anythign to do with anything. i want a big sheet with a little checkbox next to each one of my tags so i can check the ones that are relevent and have them added, not just the most popular ones.
written by someone in our system who embarassingly seems to have some sort of light accent, which always makes us feel fake and also like offensive somehow. whatevs. we still like the song.
dark hotel room. kept checking around in the dark see if someone is hiding, so scared. then there is a like all this mold and dust and stuff in the shape of a person in the bathtub. we woke up and is scared turned on the lights. we is so scared. hotel room like our studio. so scared gotta check make sure door is closed. it is a dorm room almost.
(cant talk to anyone cant do anything but smoke and smoke and feel tired but dont go sleep but maybe no nightmare this time maybe)