Oh well
Would be great if I could remember my old password. I’d like to read back through ten or more years of shit and find out how much I’ve changed. I know I’ve changed a lot. The past few years have been… Somethin else, man. They’ve been somethin fuckin else.
Oh well.
Let go and let god, as the olics anonymous people say. Except they capitalize god. Just like my phone keeps insisting I do. Fuck off, phone. I’m not on a first name basis with any gods.
Here’s something they don’t like anybody talking about in an olics anonymous meeting. When Bill (or Bob. Bill, I think) was writing the steps and the book and stuff, he was consulting a spirit he believed he was communicating with through a Ouija board. (I will capitalize Ouija. It’s copyrighted.) 100% true. The Ouija board thing, not that he was actually communing with a spirit. Can’t speak to that with any amount of certainty. I’m thinking that no, he definitely wasn’t, but fuck it man who am I to say. I don’t know shit.
That’s not true. I know kind of a lot of shit, really. I can have a reasonably intelligent conversation about a huge range of subjects. I’m a worldy motherfucker, motherfucker.
Its strange to be writing in an open(ish) forum again. It’s been a really long time. Sucks that I have to use my phone for it now, but hey, I’m gainfully employed again, so a cheap computer won’t kill me, and I don’t think four bucks a month or whatever is gonna break me or ruin my plans or anything.
Yeah I actually have plans. It’s a weird feeling. Especially since the last time I had a plan, it all fizzled and turned into whatever I wanna call the last few years. A shit show. That’s one accurate term for it. A horrific downward spiral of repressed memories, abuse, homelessness, and suicidal ideation. That’s another, more specific term for it. Several terms would fit. I haven’t decided what to refer to those three years as. I have terms for the key players that I won’t share here, but yeah. It just makes things neater and simpler to put titles on specific times and people. Maybe. Or maybe it’s just a coping mechanism.
Or maybe it’s a coping mechanism. “Just a coping mechanism” makes it seem like I think coping mechanisms are weak or something. I don’t. They’re necessary. They can be horribly destructive, of course, but I don’t think referring to a specific person in my past as The Cunt is destructive. It’s a person who by her own admission tried to emotionally destroy me because she wanted to see if she could.
She was good at it. She pretty much did it, in a way. I have almost no real anger anymore. I have a lot of sadness now, but only a sort of aftertaste of bitterness and rage. I have a lot more perspective and sympathy. I have more ability to access empathy and the concious decision of when I do and don’t want to exercise it. I choose not to most of the time. Empathy fucking hurts. Like all the god damn time. Sometimes I let it slip when I’m home alone and something unexpected stabs me in the diaphragm. Something like a memory of a girl I knew in a psych ward triggered by a show on Netflix in some round about way, and suddenly I’m making weird faces and doubling over in my twentyfivedollar Goodwill chair and a few tears sneak out while Maron plays on the twohundreddollar Best Buy TV through the twohundredfiftydollar Gamestop Xbox.
Fuck. Why did I buy those? Those were stupid purchases. I told myself it was self care. I could afford it at the time. Sorta. Therapist agreed with me, but there wasn’t much she didn’t agree with. I miss her. Not because she agreed with things. Because we had a good rapport, and I don’t have that with many therapists. Jesus christ it’s so fucking stupid how expensive therapy is.
Or it makes perfect sense. Man, it is such a bummer when two opposing viewpoints are both true. Fucking electrons. Fucking cognitive dissonance. Neither of those apply, but they’re both interesting concepts.
I should have been asleep by now. Ooo got an email from opendiary about my old diary. Wonder if I got the username password right. Seriously doubt it.