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I still have flashbacks to the day I woke up, in my stepmother’s house, to the accusations of theft from the pantry. I was wasting away at the time, a dangerous ninety something pounds. My stepsiblings were getting plumper and plumper. I was whipped with a belt in the laundry room while forced to hold the hanging bar, dissociation keeping me from giving that woman the satisfaction of a vivid pain reaction.

Every time I am around her, I remember this day.

I haven’t trusted her completely since that day.

Even on the days when we partake, a faint part of my mind remembers it. It’s engraved in my mind. When I’m around her, my guard just stays up.

It’s in the front of my mind because the anniversary of the beating is coming—

My birthday.

That’s right. I was lashed like a thief on my birthday.

The thoughts are…intrusive. I’m trying to get rid of them. It’s not working.

I can feel the impact points on my back, still.

I'm alive! But...

Things have ineed gotten dicey.

My rent, for one, is going up. Like...way up. It's never been this high $270. And food money is going to be tough. I lost my stamps. I'm going to fight that of course, because I need to eat. And my health...hoo boy, do I have stories to tell.

My family--oh boy, when I have the spoons, there are stories to tell about that, too.

The apartment--boy I tell you, the new stories about that!

I'm going to have to get new hustles.

But the good news is, I ain't dead.


The holidays...

Shortly after the season began I received news that my uncle had died. The funeral was yesterday. Couple this with nightmares about my increasing disability and it's been a rough week.



 It's been a week since my last dose of the medication that helps with my situational claustrophobia ran out. It was serving double duty as a fighter against my cluster headaches. Since then, I have had three cluster headaches and one closed space panic.

Homebrewing and all the options that it gives me have become a hyperfocus, yanking me out of my head and providing a delicious treat on top.

The Cardinals failed to make the playoffs, making slow season at work start sooner than expected.

And the lack of drive to write continues.

I'll have to work my way out of that hole.

Security at the building is getting a revamp, with new locks for everybody.

And I'm head deep in three classic anime watch parties — Gundam Wing, Saint Seiya, and Jojo's Bizarre Adventure.

It's interesting around here. 



It's the second day of what I think is a trough of a bipolar episode.

I've got a severe shortage of fucks to give, energy and enthusiasm for anything. I thought it was caffeine withdrawal at first, but I'm properly dosed today and nothing doing.

I'm having a hell of a time getting any writing done. My motivation has been gone since my last medication adjustment. Worse in the last few days. Previously, I could muscle through. Now? Nah, fam.

Running into people is actually hell. I tune out and hide under a virtual rock. I sleep too much or not enough. Both result in not enough rest.

It's a good thing I can sleep through so much caffeine.

A ghost from my past...

I had a disturbing dream.

The ex that caused my PTSD was in it. I was in a tea convention on photographer assignment. I was taking photographs of the technology, the new tea blends, and the company kiosks. He was behind me, complaining about something.

I saw a teamaker, specifically the model I had at home, for rock bottom price. I bought it for myself. Instantly, he was at my side.

"Why did you buy that? Why did you buy something for yourself? Why didn't you buy something for me? Why would you do that?" This went on for the remainder of the dream, him berating me for doing something for myself, even when I resumed my assignment.

I woke up shaking, guilted over a purchase I made over a year ago by a man I've not seen in over five years. Disgusted with myself. What the fuck is he doing in my head?
Almost a full week ago I started a fitness alteration. I switched up my macronutrient profile—more protein, less carbs—and started an amino acid supplemental nutrition program to help with recovery. I can tell it's working—I'm in less hell after work (and if you know me at all, you know it's hell). In fact, I've started craving the aminos. I might have had a deficiency somewhere.

Today, I had the strangest craving: fresh pears and strawberries with whipped cream.

I eat neither of those on a regular basis. In fact, I usually detest strawberries, unless we're talking with bananas in a smoothie.

As I sit here, too EXHAUSTED to be hungry right now, I'm wondering what the next week of this program will bring. So far, the gun show is back, and I feel my strength improving...

But GOOD GRIEF, housekeeping takes it out of you. And I still get tired of seeing beds.

So what's the first thing I see in my tiny apartment? :D

Help, if you can?

If you're seeing this stickied up here, then things have gone further awry than usual. The hours went shorter than a rent payment, groceries can't be bought, things like that. Long story short, I need some help with the food and bills.

Regularly (hah) scheduled updates will continue as far as I'm able, but I need help on the staying alive front. If you can contribute, even just $20 goes pretty far to keeping me fed. (even more and I'll love you forever, if I already don't.)

Here's the "SAVE ME" jar...if you can help out I'll really appreciate it.

Today's topic: Wisdom tooth.

My wisdom tooth came in curved sideways.


Long story short, I need surgery.

Also I got to see my TMJ on an X-RAY

It made the dentist say "holy crap"


The tooth has an infected by abscess. Every once in a while I hear a fizzle and a pop in that side of my head, shooting that weird nerve sensation through my face. We're waiting it out, but it's pretty far gone—even my sinuses and one ear are in on it, and I'm spinning where I lay. The fact that we evolutionarily outran wisdom teeth is a sour fact right now considering one of them is kicking my ass.

Thoughts, and things making sense.


For the past few days—probably because it's been close to the anniversary of the dumpage—my ex has been on my mind.

Don't worry, I'm OK, nothing drastic is about to happen nor is it in any way shape or form risky. What's been on my mind are the things about me that probably would have gotten me out of the “relationship” even without the circumstances that there were.

For one: the sexual incompatibility

We weren't exactly sexually compatible, and he just assumed we would be based off of things that he heard about me—and let's face it, that's kind of shitty. He'd heard about my writing and assumed off the bat that I would be some kind of hyper-sexed animal when, in reality, I could take it or leave it for...oh, most of the month. And he was a greedy little punk. So greedy that it the relationship started with—well, you know by now.


After it was all said and done and I found out how he used to complain about my lack of desire (in a tone of “oh poor me,” of course) to mutual friends, I REALLY got disgusted with him. Well, more than usual.

I'm probably somewhere around grey-sexual, if I were to put a name to it. I don't COMPLETELY not experience it, but it is so rare that I'll sometimes

Then there's my gender

And his issue with my attempts to explore it. There were many attempts, and there were attempts at talking, but he would shut me down at every attempt about it. And then there was this attempt at policing what I wore by stopping me from buying argyle socks. Seriously. Argyle socks. He bitched at me for wanting argyle socks. Said they would make me look like Ellen. At the same time he would try and manipulate my wardrobe to make me look more to-his-standards-femme—which wasn't me. I just wasn't allowed to figure things out for myself—which should have been my first warning, but I got into that relationship when I was getting out of another one and that one was coming from a deficit of touch…there's something to be said for bad decisions.

After I got out of that thing I had time to figure out what was going on with myself, especially since there was no one telling me what was isn't or is 'proper' for me to do and be.

He would have had suuuuuuch a problem with me being queer. He pretended to be so progressive but it was obvious there was a problem. I wasn't allowed to explore in any way.

I'm free now, though. Free to be queer me.

That's the other thing, the freedom

I never thought I'd enjoy it as much as I do. I find that I don't care about what people think of me (well, as long as they don't misgender me) as much as I used to. Now that I have the chance and space to be who and what I am, it's a lot easier to just be than it used to be. It's just so much easier, not having to worry whether I'm “enough” to one person.

I just have to be me. Me enough for me. And that's freeing.



February 2018



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