Temporary Peace
Things have been calm, at least for now. It's bound to get hectic soon, as always, but the beginning is slow and relaxed. A familiar instinct knowing it's all a deceiving farce yet taking the lie as it's presented anyway because we know there won't be any more after. Get the win however we can, yknow.
I'm slowly getting used to writing again. Proven by these close updates of increasing blog posts, hahaha. I don't know if I'll ever get back into cross-stitching again -maybe if an inspiration strikes or something, but for now I have no motivation to stitch something into creation.
It could be good for me, given how cross-stitching had seemed to give me the impression that I am stitching parts of myself together with my own hands thread by thread, spending time and effort and pouring my sweat into something I can be proud of, but I'm not there yet.
I'm taking my time with retrieving parts of me forgotten by the grief of Beloved's loss, the fight with Mya, realizing some things, accepting those things, and all of the time I spent in my own filth stewing in post-suicidal attempt.
It's a shameful thing, but at the age of 23, I'm realizing how human I can be.
I think of all the years I spent as a child mimicking a soldier, not allowing her to just be. Always needing to repress emotions for fear of weakness. Always stuck on this version of "strength" I needed to crawl myself towards to.
Today I just spent it bawling and heaving from reading a damn good RiRen fanfic. The sleep afterwards is nearly therapeutic. Child me would have never allowed such foolishness. I know I'm being more impulsive, reckless, and irresponsible than I have ever been.
Part of me thinks it's to compensate the rigid standard child me held myself to and for some reason, rebelling against that.
Though perhaps I need someone to reel me in, in case I go too far. Someone who could do it correctly, not in the way that'd crash my mental state back into the sewer where I had just dragged myself out of by the skin of my teeth.
I am going to be okay.
Looking at my growing normal routine -cereal in the morning, coffee, read, lunch, tea, watch, dinner (optional), tea, write, read, and repeat -there is hope.
Being able to verbalize my words through paper/screen is liberating. Because during all of those times, it was so fucking hard to express my emotions and they ended up crumpled into myself on thousand fucking loops.
I tried, and I tried, and I kept on trying because there is simply no other option.
All I could ever do is try.
A classmate was asking about the times when I was so deep in shit it was a miracle I lived, back when I couldn't sleep for a week and got so delirious I was cutting my arms into ribbons and had to be dragged to the health unit and got sent to the private hospital where I used to get my meds.
Living with near constant night terrors, panic attacks, and everything else PTSD came with, you have a good record for that kind of thing to go for advises.
She apologized, for some reason, for not realizing how deep I was swimming in shit back then, and I said, it's okay, we all were. I suspected each of us had some levels of shit we're all swimming in, it doesn't make a difference now if one of us realized.
I know at some point, each one of us had an inkling how fucked up everyone is in their own way, but it's not necessary to point out because nothing would come out of it.
We don't want to swim in someone else's shit when we're barely avoiding to drown in our own, I suppose.
I guess for the setback now, sometimes I get a wave of apathy. I can't tell if the waves of depression and anxiety is worse or this, but when it comes, I usually find myself knee deep in trouble and having to fish myself out when the wave settles. For example, that recent relationship thing.
Apparently that's a big mistake I quickly remedied when reason returned.
I'm slowly getting used to writing again. Proven by these close updates of increasing blog posts, hahaha. I don't know if I'll ever get back into cross-stitching again -maybe if an inspiration strikes or something, but for now I have no motivation to stitch something into creation.
It could be good for me, given how cross-stitching had seemed to give me the impression that I am stitching parts of myself together with my own hands thread by thread, spending time and effort and pouring my sweat into something I can be proud of, but I'm not there yet.
I'm taking my time with retrieving parts of me forgotten by the grief of Beloved's loss, the fight with Mya, realizing some things, accepting those things, and all of the time I spent in my own filth stewing in post-suicidal attempt.
It's a shameful thing, but at the age of 23, I'm realizing how human I can be.
I think of all the years I spent as a child mimicking a soldier, not allowing her to just be. Always needing to repress emotions for fear of weakness. Always stuck on this version of "strength" I needed to crawl myself towards to.
Today I just spent it bawling and heaving from reading a damn good RiRen fanfic. The sleep afterwards is nearly therapeutic. Child me would have never allowed such foolishness. I know I'm being more impulsive, reckless, and irresponsible than I have ever been.
Part of me thinks it's to compensate the rigid standard child me held myself to and for some reason, rebelling against that.
Though perhaps I need someone to reel me in, in case I go too far. Someone who could do it correctly, not in the way that'd crash my mental state back into the sewer where I had just dragged myself out of by the skin of my teeth.
I am going to be okay.
Looking at my growing normal routine -cereal in the morning, coffee, read, lunch, tea, watch, dinner (optional), tea, write, read, and repeat -there is hope.
Being able to verbalize my words through paper/screen is liberating. Because during all of those times, it was so fucking hard to express my emotions and they ended up crumpled into myself on thousand fucking loops.
I tried, and I tried, and I kept on trying because there is simply no other option.
All I could ever do is try.
A classmate was asking about the times when I was so deep in shit it was a miracle I lived, back when I couldn't sleep for a week and got so delirious I was cutting my arms into ribbons and had to be dragged to the health unit and got sent to the private hospital where I used to get my meds.
Living with near constant night terrors, panic attacks, and everything else PTSD came with, you have a good record for that kind of thing to go for advises.
She apologized, for some reason, for not realizing how deep I was swimming in shit back then, and I said, it's okay, we all were. I suspected each of us had some levels of shit we're all swimming in, it doesn't make a difference now if one of us realized.
I know at some point, each one of us had an inkling how fucked up everyone is in their own way, but it's not necessary to point out because nothing would come out of it.
We don't want to swim in someone else's shit when we're barely avoiding to drown in our own, I suppose.
I guess for the setback now, sometimes I get a wave of apathy. I can't tell if the waves of depression and anxiety is worse or this, but when it comes, I usually find myself knee deep in trouble and having to fish myself out when the wave settles. For example, that recent relationship thing.
Apparently that's a big mistake I quickly remedied when reason returned.
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