I want —
No, I need
Fire.
        Flames surrounding
        Flickering, dancing, twisting light.

I need the ocean.
        Water stretching outward
        Floating, rocked by the waves
        Deep, dark, vastness beneath me.

I need sex.
        Bodies unnumbered, countless
        Writhing muscle, skin on sweat on skin
        Touch and taste and pleasure and scent
        Beauty, pain, exquisite delight.

I need silence.
        Nothing, void, dark, empty, perfect.

I have really not been coping very well the last few days.

Granted, there’s been a whole shitload of unpleasant stuff to deal with, which certainly doesn’t make things easier, but I’m already at my wit’s end and desperately doing everything I can to hang on.

A little bit ago, I was going through an Instagram account with over 1000 posts of sexy ladies, scrolling though and liking the pictures. I planned to comment when I got to the bottom and thank then for giving me something worth staying around for, letting them know that I was alive because of their work.

But before I got anywhere near the bottom, Instagram blocked me from liking any posts, “to protect the community,” they claim, some actions aren’t allowed. I guess me staying alive would be harmful to someone out there…

And I’ve been dealing with idiots on Facebook, too much to even begin to describe.

And then, even here on my blog — a creep who sometimes goes by the incredibly ironic handle “Advocate,” who I had briefly known in person, who I have repeatedly tried to cut off contact with, who has repeatedly located my social media profiles, and — the last time he tried adding me on Facebook (without bothering to look at the VERY LOUD info all over my profile that says GO AWAY, DUDES! WOMEN ONLY!) I sent him a message to tell him to fuck off, to stop attempting to contact me, that I would do whatever was needed to keep him away — including, if necessary, involving Law Enforcement — and still the predatory, stalking motherfucker son of a bitch comes and comments on my blog to tell me that if I ever need a place to stay, he’ll gladly take me in… in a completely different state.

Because yeah, that’s not even slightly uncomfortable coming from an asshole who has repeatedly ignored boundaries, who can’t handle “stay away or I’ll call the cops.”

And I’m dealing with so much other shit here with The Rabbit and QotU that’s left me wanting to explode…

Once a story’s told, it can’t help but grow old…

It’s almost 4 in the morning.

Last night, after 72 hours with barely any food (a bowl of ramen noodles and a bowl of soup spaced almost a day apart) and still not on speaking terms with The Rabbit, fighting via email… I realized that I was probably not far from a trip to the emergency room. I just hadn’t had enough food and liquid intake, and I was detachedly watching myself drifting further away. So I got her to drive me down to get fast food about 9pm…

Almost dozed off once, despite the movie blasting below me (The Lion King… “caaaaaan you sing this song toniiiiiight… It’s stuck in your heaaaaaaad!”) but as soon as I was beginning to doze, they both came clomping up the stairs and spent a good 10 minutes arguing just outside my door about whether the window in the next room had really, truly, actually been open when they went downstairs. (The answer is yes, it was, but these two can manage that long of a fight about something so stupidly simple. I don’t know how they manage it.) That was followed by them heading to the other end of the house, their room, and The Rabbit reading out loud as she’s done the last week or so, with enough volume that I found myself sarcastically wondering “so how far exactly is the stage from the audience?”

And then the diarrhea hit me. Dealing with that while trying not to scream at the sound of her voice wasn’t the most entertaining thing I’ve done this week, trust me.

Got back to my room and apparently I slept — considering I’d been awake for more than a full day, it’s not shocking. I woke up and posted a status update on Facebook, and found myself wishing, as I so often do, for rain and for the ocean…

And I remembered Rita Coolidge’s cover of the Boz Scaggs song “We’re All Alone” which I grew up listening to on a cassette dubbed from an LP my dad and uncle had chipped in their shared allowance to buy when they were younger.

Outside, the rain begins —
And it may never end,
So cry no more
On the shore
A dream will take us out to sea
Forevermore…
Forevermore.

By the time she sang the word “cry” the tears were rolling down my face, sobs catching in my throat. (And goddamn, she’s gorgeous — I didn’t know, back then, what she looked like…)

But just when I thought I had finally crested this wave of anguish that I’ve been struggling against for the last week… and I might finally cry myself to sleep, which I so very much need…

Police sirens and low-flying helicopters circling over the neighborhood. 45 minutes now and still going. Because, yeah — that’s exactly what I need to deal with in order to avoid another panic attack, right?!

I don’t know how I’ll ever get out of here, and I’m feeling so alone. Not even “we” — just myself and my pain.

How to be supportive (Part of a series of “user manuals” for interacting with me.)

This is a very slightly modified version of a post I wrote quite some time ago, something I frequently reference because it’s simpler than endlessly repeating myself in response to people trying (and failing) to be helpful and supportive.

A work-in-progress list of do’s and don’ts for those who wish to offer support — here’s how to best go about doing so. This will likely expand over time as I think of other bits to add, but here’s at least the basics.

DO: Ask whether I’m looking for advice before offering it — or whether I’m seeking sympathy. Most of the time, I have a very clear idea of what my options are in a given situation, and I’m not telling you about it so that you can (attempt to) fix it; more often than not, I just want to know that I am heard, that I’m not alone. I’m also usually pretty good at explicitly asking for help when I need it, and asking for specifically what I need.

DO: If it’s on Facebook, click that “Like” button! Same goes for anywhere else there’s an equivalent function. Yeah, I know you probably don’t actually like the situation I’ve posted about; if it’s something where you’d offer support it’s probably not a great thing. But since there’s generally no button for “I know these feels” or “that really sucks” or “I don’t like this at all and I’m sorry you’re dealing with that situation” then “Liking” my post at least lets me know you’ve seen it, lets me know that I am heard (see above.) If you don’t quite have the words, this is at least a good start.

DO: Comment if you can — I know it’s often hard to find the right words, or to know what to say. If the situation sucks… try “that really sucks!” If you can relate, and you know the feeling… maybe “I can totally relate” or “I know the feeling” would work? Yeah, it seems pretty obvious when it’s spelled out like that, but I recognize it isn’t always obvious when your fingers are hovering over your keyboard, trying to find a way to reply to a post.

And a few things you should really avoid, if your goal is to be supportive…

DON’T: Offer advice if I haven’t specifically asked for it. If I’m posting about my frustration with the noise when I’m trying to sleep, don’t chime in to tell me I should try using earplugs! If I mention that I think I’m getting a cold, don’t ask whether I’m making sure to get plenty of rest and lots of Vitamin C. If you see me ranting about the seeming impossibility of finding housing in the Bay Area, please, for the love of fuck, do not let me hear the words “Section 8” from you! I can guarantee you — as mentioned above — that I usually have a very clear idea of what my options are in a given situation… and almost certainly a better idea than you do.

DON’T: Spout platitudes and greeting-card copy at me. Telling me that “it gets better” or that “everything happens for a reason.” pointing out that “it’s always darkest before the dawn” and “tomorrow is another day,” or telling me to “take things one step at a time” and “just breathe deeply” are all good ways to get on my shitlist… and quickly. It’s also incredibly dismissive; when I’m hurting, that pain is real. It’s okay for that pain to be real, to be acknowledged. When your response to my pain is to point out that some other time I might not hurt… that’s like me telling you to not be concerned with any hunger you feel, because some other time you might not be as hungry. Not helpful at all.

DON’T: Keep pressing your point if I’ve already turned it down. If I’ve directed you to any of my “user manual” posts, it’s probably because you’ve said or done something that wasn’t very helpful, something that I’ve addressed too many times before — and I don’t have the energy to go over it again at that point just for you. Same goes for me simply telling you simply that you’re not helping; that’s all you need to know, and again, I’m not going to try to spell it all out for you. I realize you may not have intended to offend, and I’m essentially pointing you to the FAQ… which is not at all the same as pointing you to the exit with an order to GTFO. So that’s the point where trying to convince me that you really do have a valid point, that you really didn’t mean to offend, but you really can offer me something helpful… is going to push me further away, and I’ll be less likely to trust you to be supportive in the future.

from http://www.girlswithslingshots.com/comic/gws745/

Advice, or sympathy? Probably the latter.

Posted in General. 1 Comment »

I can’t.

I fucking can’t.

I am so goddamned fucking tired… tired of the endless sensory overload, tired of never having a fucking second of privacy, not a single fucking moment to myself, so fucking exhausted of dealing with oblivious fucking idiots — so much that when I actually run into someone who’s not completely fucking incompetent I feel like endlessly praising them for being even remotely normal.

I am so fucking weary. Weary of dealing with life, worn out from trying to keep coping with all of this endless shit and I am just fed the fuck up with everything. Everything.

Everything.

I need out.

I need out.

I need out.

I NEED OUT.

GET

ME

OUT.

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