Basically blog posts that air on the informal side. At times, may or may not read like a diary, but I try to extrapolate from my experience to produce something relatable, or at least, attempt to capture a potent and topical idea, feeling, or experience. This is a living document subject to edits, additions, and deletions.

Sometimes the self-help/psychology nut comes out to play. Should you find her annoying, just give her a friendly nod and move on, thanks.

2025-05-09: Sometimes, my best friend is so naturally poetic despite not being a reader or a writer. I'm both a little jealous and delighted when she starts spinning gold. She's traveling to a nearby big city for the weekend and she's very excited to exist there- and to exist in a hotel. She was talking about how wonderfully liminal hotels are.

I forget all that she said, but I remember her saying a part of the liminality is a hotel having all these dressers that are empty and a TV where you don't know where any of the stations are. I said, "Yeah, yeah! You're right!"

She said last night, "What day is it? Oh, not Friday. Damn. It's still Thursday. I wish it were Friday so I could go travel to the city." That part isn't poetic, but it's relatable. It appeals to that childlike excitement, where you can't wait for something to happen because it's going to be so great. All I could say was, "The time will come soon enough," and it will. It's Friday now, but time moves slower when you're excited.

Also, I did feel a significant dip in my mood after finishing my data entry work. My week actually feels ruined. I'm back to feeling I have no purpose. I don't, currently, enjoy feeling so aimless and like such a massive failure. I have too much time on my hands to stew in negative thought.

I thought today about how far I've come- how life used to be absolute hell- and then I readjusted back into negativity and hopelessness. I'm still not where I want to be. Here's what I asked myself today in my journal: "Will there ever come a day where I don't feel guilty and shameful about my existence?" Oof, okay. Take it easy there. It feels very heavy and ever persistent. A years long, if not life-long, burden of a feeling.

2025-05-08:

I finished my volunteer data entry today. Over the span of three days, it took me exactly 7 hours to input for 926 people. I enjoyed myself but desired breaks in between because it can be horribly boring/understimulating. Still, I enjoyed it and it's something I could maybe see myself doing more of in the future. This was great because it was on my own terms what with it being work from home. I think I was the first of my group to finish, too. Not that it was a race, but I was eager. I'm inclined to ask for more work should somebody be unable to finish their portion. We were told the soft, amorphous expectation was that everything be done in two weeks, but it didn't seem pressing.

I thought I'd be more tired this week, but I've been managing really well. It's a good week. A week filled with purpose, which energizes me. I'll probably start feeling more aimless again soon. Without external goals, I have to create my own. I'd love to write some more fanfic, but I have to be in the mood for it. I have a nasty (delicious) oneshot in the back of my mind, but I maybe need to do more, err, research.

Sometimes, I notice myself saying, "This is such a waste of my time." I could be doing menial work or, a lot of times, I'm standing or sitting in line, waiting for some type of appointment. But, then I think, "That's not true. There's literally nothing better you could be doing with your time than this." Nothing is a waste of time. Not dishes, not reading, not resting, not anything. I think, most of the time, I'm doing exactly what I need to be doing.

In my childhood neighborhood, when we were driving, we'd wave to other drivers and those taking walks on the street. It's just that simple raising your hand, or your fingertips off the steering wheel, in the air. I'm so bad at identifying cars and people, so I typically didn't know who I was waving to, but it felt nice anyway. They'd always wave to me, when I was walking too.

Now that I live in a new place, we don't wave at eachother. But I want to. I want to wave to the bicyclists and the drivers and the walkers, but I don't out of fear of being weird. I've always been more of a follower than a leader in that regard.

Let me turn you onto something, as the kids say, lit 🔥.

2025-05-07: Music for you. So, I sent a picture of myself, fresh hair cut, to my best friend and she replied, "So platonically HUBBA HUBBA HUNKY HUNK." I had to ask if she was joking or serious and she was very serious and not trying to placate me. Thanks, bestie. I'm not ugly, but I have a hard time adjusting to a new hair cut, and I definitely see myself differently than others see me.

When I drew this picture, I wanted to capture what I was feeling on the inside. I felt a little disturbed and humored at how it turned out, because it didn't holistically represent me, necessarily, but it represented what I was feeling more and more lately. I was starting to feel as though the testosterone was making me too manly. When I look in the mirror, there's a perpetual v-shaped vein protuding from the center of my forehead accompanied by habitually furrowed brows. What plagues me so?

So, here's the hypermasculine, hyperbolic drawing of me. I've really grown into it, though, and I almost aspire to embody it. I sent more selfies to bestie after the initial one and I was starting to feel better about the haircut and myself. I furrowed my brows in the picture and my lips pitched into a smiling scowl; might as well be honest with the camera. If you'll allow me to indulge myself, here's what she said back:

I told her I wanted to grow into that more tough guy look I sometimes feel inside, but then, through my behavior, show how soft I am. My favorite word she used was stoic. I've always felt much too serious and pensive, but I just consider it my nature now. Very grateful for bestie.

Some more music for you. I had the opportunity to speak to my mom today. We don't necessarily go out of our ways to talk to each other. Conversation happens when we're in waiting rooms and car washes and car rides home.

It breathes life into me when people other than myself tell the unmitigated truth. I wasn't expecting her to flat-out say she thought my younger brother is Autistic. It's been obvious to everyone but him, blissfully naive and unaware of life outside his "odd" bubble, but thriving due to a lack of masking and internalized ableism.

The family culture is to leave visible things unspoken- a collective nonsecret- and I would be shocked when two of my other siblings also admitted to believing my younger brother is Autistic. I always felt strife growing up and watching the rest of my family laugh at his expense. They still do, even now. "Hey, remember when you were little and you hated 'sleeves down' (long sleeves)? And how you refused to wear jeans until high school. Hahaha!" The comments never outwardly got to him, and many times were said when he wasn't in the room.

It hurt me every time they made fun of him for undeniably autistic traits for his sake and for mine. I saw much of him in myself as a high masking Autistic, and I learned what would happen if I showed my neurodivergence, so I hid it masterfully (and it was so intuitive, too). And, if my family was unwilling to acknowledge blatant signs of autism in him, how the hell would they ever recognize it in me? I don't bother telling them I'm Autistic. We're not close anyway, and I've begun letting go the compulsion to explain myself at my own expense.

I always felt like the odd one out in my family- the Weird one, and it made me feel alienated. Something had gone seriously wrong when I was born, and I was placed in the wrong family to be divinely tortured for my natural being. I was the only queer and trans one, the only severely mentally ill one, and upsettingly sensitive. (My dad was a self-proclaimed Empath, but a shame-based Narcissism took root long before I was born and corrupted most of the good in him). I was most similar to my younger brother, but even then, I was treated the worst and punished for my differences.

I have the privilege of having the closest sibling relationship to my brother; we are best friends. We text on a regular basis, whereas the older siblings would be lucky for any response at all. I've always felt we spoke the same language and I didn't have to feel anxiety showing more of my real, autistic self around him.

In 2020, I had to have the excruciating conversation with my zealot father that I'd no longer be attending church, and I think I was the first to do that. Afterwards, my brother confided in me about being athiest. Okay, I'm not so strange now. He'd later confide in me about being aroace and, again, I felt companionship as a demisexual person.

As my mom and I sat in the hospital waiting room today, she was talking about my brother and her fear of him adjusting to the greater world. She mentioned how he never wanted to have kids or get married or be in love, and that was fine, but what would it be like when/if a person who preferred solitude chose a career working with others? (I personally think he will figure it out and be just fine. If anyone chronically struggles to adjust, it's me. I wish she felt this fear for me, but I don't externalize my struggle and give reason to worry).

I brought up the word aromantic and she evenly said, "I think I fall into that boat. I don't need romance, but I do want and enjoy companionship." I was a little shocked she just admitted that to me upfront. Sometimes, I feel she has less awareness of her own experience, but then am surprised when she says stuff like, "I think I might actually have a little ADHD," which was another conversation we had not too long ago. Oh, that's where I got it from?

All these years. All. these. years. I felt like the only one. I felt like, "How could I possibly be x, y, and z when nobody else in the family is remotely similar to me? I mean, dad says I'm confused and making up the trans part. He acts like there are already too many trans people in the world to be another one." Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

I. am. not. alone. I am not uniquely Weird. I honestly, after all these years, started to develop some pride in being so repulsively Weird that I'm a little offended I'm not special. Though, comparatively, to the rest of my family members, I still am weird.

But now, 3 of 7 of us are confirmed queer, athiest or agnostic-adjacent, and neurodivergent. Besides what I share to my close circles on the internet, I am a private person, and people have no way of seeing all these complexities and experiences I write about here. I am radically, immorally, and depravedly Weird and unexplainable to the outsiders, but almost painfully Normal to those like me. Finding the rare people in real life more like me, and the many more on the internet, shows I could be 10x weirder- that it's more than okay to live that way- and I aspire for that.

But for now, I feel comforted that I'm not some Alien. I hope to live long enough to be the Cool, Wise Uncle who helps out the odd outcast child in the family who deals with a quiet queerness or neurodivergence their family may not understand, despite their love for that child. That makes life more worth living, hailing it back to the sentiment: "Being yourself open and honestly gives others permission to be themselves, and shows them what precisely is possible; and a lot is possible. How beautiful a life that is."

2025-05-06:

I brushed the fallen clumps of hair off my cheek as I would fallen tears. They were practically the same.

Wow. I'm so dramatic. The prose itself isn't bad though? I thought this as I was buzzing my hair with the shortest guard I had. Might as well just go bald. It was only in mid-April that I went for a rare haircut at a salon. I can buzz it short at home and fade the sides and that's the first line of action, but I'm not so good at sculping and texterizing the top, so I wanted to be set up for success with the hopes I'd maybe let it grow a little longer this time.

The other day, I felt that unignorable urge- that compulsion- to buzz it short and, as it always does, it never goes away until I honor it. Granted, I don't like having head hair. I only just figured out how to avoid product build-up, and how to properly treat an itchy, flaky scalp.

My favorite length is maybe four inches on the top and styled up, complimented with shorter sides, but my favorite length is also the length just preceeding "too long," as hair is infamous for, well, it's ability to constantly grow and change. I start feeling uncouth when the sideburns overgrow and hair brushes the tops of my ears. Similarly, the fast-growing hair at the base of my neck makes me feel untidy.

I tend to feel some apprehension when I buzz it, though, because I think I look uglier with a buzzed head. Nevermind the fact I'll probably be bald some day. I just hate maintenance. I hate waking up with bedhead and not being able to get rid of it unless I wash my hair; it truly just sticks up. I woke up this morning with it sticking up and I decided that was enough.

I tend to get this hankering for hair cutting when I need change in my life, or, to signify change. I'm about to enter a new phase of my life, and it's nice to see it visually reflected externally on my body. I shaved my face and cleaned up my brows, too. Energy permitting, I plan to put on nails later this week, and I'll post it on the website.

But when I stood in the mirror, hair clippers in hand, I faltered. I really did want to grow it out some more. It didn't even look how I wanted it to, though. It's thinner now. I had the search menu pulled up on my phone earlier and it showed old pictures of me with the most beautifully thick hair and I felt grief. I felt grief looking in the mirror and knowing I was about to rob myself of my last enjoyment of having hair even remotely resembling how it was before. I tried cleaning it up first instead, but I wasn't satisfied. I finally decided to just cut it.

I don't like the broad conversations we have about grief. I think some people don't realize grief exists outside of bereavement (death of a loved one). There's so little room for people who grieve death-related loss and even less room or recognition for the grief felt when anything else is lost or comes to an end. Even mourning the end of a relationship to a living person isn't taken as seriously. Romantically, it's more valid. Platonically, less so- invsible, even.

I'm convinced that most, if not all of us, are constantly walking around in grief because the nature of life is change. Whether you fear it, run from it, or welcome it, change will come and all things (good and bad) must eventually end. I feel these waves of grief for my hair as it grows and gets cut just as I feel waves of grief for the person I no longer am juxtaposing who I am now.

In other news: For those of you who have been following along, I can start my volunteer data entry today! I'll also be playing some more sweet pool over the next couple of days and I eventually plan to give an unstructured review. I think I have interesting things to say, giving my impressions and pointing out smaller details I like. I hope to make it readable to those who've never played and don't plan to play.

2025-05-05: Tired, tired, tired. I feel half-dead. I bought the visual novel, sweet pool, game last night and I've been playing it since. I'm not sure how I feel. It's just weird and not that gripping or all that shocking, despite some emerging body horror. I'm at a part in the story where there's not enough information (it's suspenseful throughout) to know what the hell is going on.

I watched Serial Experiments Lain last year and I remember waiting the whole time for it to make sense, and even in the final episode I found no clarity. I wrote it off as one of those things you're just along the ride for, but I prefer stories- even and especially ones that blur fiction and reality- to be more coherent and eventually expose the truth (reality as it happened).

I tried a few Satoshi Kon stories back then too, and it's not for me. Paprika, the start of Paranoia Agent, and Perfect Blue. Perfect Blue was the most enjoyable but, again, I want to still be able to piece together what actually happened and I was unable to. I understand the characters being lost and confused, but I don't want to be lost and confused as an audience member by the end of it. It ruins my enjoyment of it as I consider it a lack of payoff.

2025-05-04: Getting a (professionally done) hand-poked tattoo and watching the imperfections surface over the proceeding days is a true meditation in not losing your fucking mind looking at the art that's going to be on your skin forever. A meditation in acceptance. It was done by a human and the imperfections immortalized in my flesh are therefore beautiful and by design.

A sidenote: Ehh, some of my recent entries sound so angry, and it's because they are. So crude, too. I could write a post about it, but I'd rather make a small note here. I've seldom felt connected to my anger. My healthiest, most uninhibited anger belongs to a 13 year old me, before my spirit was squashed, flattened, and stunted by sustained abuse. That is to say, anger can be such a great tool and a natural (not by itself negative!) emotion; it's typically a healthy indication there has been an injustice enacted against you, someone, or something else. A great way to defang a targetted victim is to punish them for their healthy anger- as it typically correctly identifies abusive behavior- thus disincentivising them from feeling or expressing it further. It weakens the person's agency and increases their tolerance for mistreatment.

This isn't so relevent when it comes to imperfect tattoos, but this has been on my mind lately. I'm not sure if the tone here reads as particularly angry/annoyed, but it is. There's still, like, a compassion behind it. I'm saying to myself, "Hey. You don't have to be driven mad by imperfection. It will be okay. Everything is okay. Being imperfect won't kill you."

Everywhere I look and there it is: perfectionism as a defense mechanism against shame. It's built on the idea that, somehow, I'm more loveable and less likely to be attacked if I'm just perfect. It's impossible and it's soul-eating. But it's love in it's own way- a protection.

Even this post feels too messy for me. I feel a little untethered right now. Is it really a normal day for me if I don't feel at least a little unease about putting myself on the internet? Metaphorically (and sometimes literally), it keeps me up at night. But, I'm choosing to be honest. Obviously, a part of me enjoys sharing.

2025-05-04: I don't think there's a single person who hasn't done at least one bad, harmful, or "immoral" action in their life and, paradoxically, those most unwilling to admit they have the capacity to harm often makes them more dangerous and harmful.

2025-05-04:

It all works out in the end, I guess? A day after I was asked, I was able to do yardwork. I spent 2 hours raking and scooping up mulch from beneath this tree, and I'm so relieved I got it done that day. Its radius was likely 6-8 feet? And it was annoying working around low-hanging branches. I had to take breaks and lay in the grass a little. I'd lay down and feel the shock in my back and realized how much it ached, to the point it knocked the breath out of me. I was despairing I wouldn't be able to do the work, and I still had to be careful, flirting with the boundary of becoming sick as the vision clouds.

I was also supposed to attend a Zoom meeting Friday evening for volunteer data entry training, but I was feeling so incredibly tired and out of it and forgot it was happening until an hour in. I had the Evil glasses (catastrophizing) on, so I knew better not to send an email in that moment. I was feeling very self-persecutory, like they were going to be angry at me and put me on some secret blacklist and I'd never get to volunteer there again. They don't even know my face.

I was really disappointed in myself and bummed because I was excited to get some data entry experience under my belt (and for the resume) and now I've gone and fucked it up. But, next day, a few others and I who missed the training, recieved an email saying, "We missed you at the training! If you're still interested, reply back and I'll send you the Zoom recording." Alright. All is alright.

I watched the zoom recording and got acquainted with the system. It's going to be easy work, but not insufficient. Within the group I was assigned, there are approximately 15,000 people to process. Between the 11 of us, we'll be assigned at least 1,000 people each. Give it to me. Give it to me now.

We aren't allowed to start until Tuesday, so I have to wait. I'm excited!! Excited!! I honestly think the timing is good because I know I'll be incapacitated mid-week onwards and likely spend a lot of time in bed with little better to do.

Edit: My back and core are sore. I'm unable to understand those who enjoy or even just endure being sore from activity/working out; I hate it.

2025-05-03: You could not convince me Duolingo isn't Evil with a capital E. Not even touching on AI usage, the ridiculous amount of ads, or the 5 heart system, just being exposed to their stupid ass advertisement strategies makes me seethe. I roll my eyes when people get star-studded when the official Duolingo account comments on their Instagram/Tiktok post. Fuck you, Duolingo. Don't you pretend like you're some quirky, real-life person with your quirky little comments. Like, is it not just some marketing person behind those comments? The Owl isn't a real entity.

"Oh, haha, I gotta do my lessons or the Duolingo Owl will come and kill my family." Not cute. Not funny. Don't humanize this corrupt, greedy company. That "edgy" joke stopped being funny a long time ago. "Oh, but I gotta keep my streak." The streak is just there to keep you on for longer. Sunk cost fallacy? "Oh, but I gotta keep learning my Japanese." My friend, after two years, you're only able to say, "Konnichiwa. Can I have three coffees, please?"

I was reading about how Duolingo has changed from badgraph1csghost's May 2nd microblog post and I felt called to bitch about the Owl, as somebody who has previously used Duolingo.

2025-05-03:⚠ General talk of sex

I've been thinking about censorship lately in the sphere of boys love (bl) content, since I've been reading more bl comics lately. I was recently made aware of this older visual novel game which includes explicit scenes. When I read the Steam reviews, some users rated it poorly because the game was heavily censored to the point the plot stopped making sense. So, you'd have to download the patch for it or just buy it directly from the publisher's website, and I'm considering doing the latter. I know very little about it (blind playthrough, let's go) except that it has a lot of disturbing themes and none of the endings are happy.

I recently picked up Reversion on Webtoons and, to my surprise, it has explicit sex scenes. I shouldn't be surprised, because the image preview is suggestive, but in all my time on Webtoon, any NSFW content was extras you could find exclusively on Patreon.

So, you get to the first explicit scene in the story and find the author has had to censor it heavily in accordance with Webtoon's policies, to the point there was no episode at all, and they pointed you towards their Patreon. Which is fine, but I start to feel irritated as a reader when I'm completely left in the dark. What happened? Who's the top? The bottom? Was it good sex? You could argue with me what information is essential to the plot, but if you're going to have a chapter with a whole lot of nothing, just take it out. Don't tease me so.

At least, you should find a way to relay that information in the censored version. At minimum, I need to know that (spoilers) Will, much more experienced when it comes to sex with another man, thinks Paul isn't very good at it, and Paul feels inadequate and self-conscious about it.

Another series, Bad Boy Crash Course (really beautiful art style, btw), manages the censorship better. At the end of each episode, the author gives an indexed preview of the next few chapters and notifies the reader which censored episodes have an uncensored, Patreon exclusive, version. In which case, the censored episodes still make sense. This series is different, though, and the NSFW in question is mostly just some partial/full nudity here and there. Oh my god! I have to undress in front of my crush and, oh, 😳 there's his weiner. Very, cheeky milk carton to cover the bits, y'know?

I tried out another comic the other day and for the stray NSFW moment, the author at least provides a description of what it was. In this case, it was something like, "character is unclothed." Especially for Reversion and the sweet pool game, I'm arguing censorship makes for a worse, incoherent story. Maybe Webtoons is the wrong platform then given their policies, but I understand there's already an audience on there. After all, I had these series recommended to me within the platform, and now I'm reading.

2025-05-02: Hello, I am cashing in my daily Complain ticket 🎫. The previous entry doesn't count because I was trying to make a point. Earlier today, a mixture of conditions formed the perfect storm to set me off so entirely and I've been in horrible spirits since. I don't think I'll get over it today.

I put in a load of laundry and then washed some sheets before I was fully incapacitated and getting myself to fold that load of laundry was excruciating. My body, spiritually, feels full of lead. I could've just let the load sit in the hamper, but what good is a load of wrinkly clothes? I did what I always do and started with the easiest part. I paired socks and folded underwear. A few years ago, I learned how to fold underwear into neat squares, where the fabric tucks into itself, and it makes folding laundry more appealing.

A big part of what set me off was my body overheating and feeling physically sick because of it. I was asked to help with yardwork, but it's too hot outside, and not being able to use my body as an able-bodied person would made me incredibly upset. Just, tired today and I think it best to rest, but resting is the last thing I want to do. Yeah, lets do the one thing that makes festering negative thoughts the loudest and most uninhibited. Shoutout to all the CPSTD baddies. I hope this day treats you better than it's treated me.

I saw this meme yesterday and especially relate today. The fatigue was too much and I was catastrophizing and felt like everyone hated me for no reason. I told my friend it was like I had Evil glasses on. Tuned into dogblog's minecraft stream again, though, and it was fun. I tried to act most Normal.

I hope I will feel better in the morning and that the feeling doesn't carry over. Right now, I feel like turning off the site profile and hiding again, but that makes it harder for others to reach me. I don't want to be closed off, even though I feel ashamed and bad right now.

Edit: Next day, and I do feel better. No more Evil glasses and I feel well enough to do yardwork today. The weather is much cooler too, and the sun isn't directly out. Honestly, embarrassing to be mentally ill on the internet sometimes. On good days, I sometimes delude myself into thinking I'm "cured" lol. And then I have days like yesterday.

2025-05-02: My sister-in-law reached out to me the other day asking if I was going to my cousin's wedding. I had to tell her no, I wasn't going, because 1) my extended family is nuts and 2) it's assumed my abusive dad would be there, and I'm no-contact with him. She said, "Aw, man, okay. I'll let them know," and then she said, "No pressure, but we'd love to see you at the boy's (my nephew's) birthday party this summer." I told her I wouldn't be able to make it and I think she understood the underlying assumption because she said, "Aw, alright. We want you to feel comfortable. We hope you'll visit another time." And, yes! Yes yes yes! Thank you. This is the most beautiful way of handling it. It's not the end of the world. I'm not villainized for holding a tight boundary most people can't begin to understand.

It felt so relieving for somebody to finally say, "Hey, I see you'd be uncomfortable, and you deserve to be comfortable." Do you know how isolating and painful it is for everybody to take the side of your abuser??? And I think about how I was treated by said abuser; my feelings were discarded and invalidated.

If you say you're uncomfortable by someone's behavior, even if nobody else is made uncomfortable by it, then that is law- that is valid. There's no disputing how you feel, okay? It's just how you feel! I could say, theoretically, that I don't want to go to any parties where Uncle Tom would be drinking because it makes me uncomfortable, and that would be valid. I'm not asking him to change his behavior, but rather removing myself given the conditions. That's maybe only marginally more explainable. Some people just push and push and push and say, "Can't you just suck it up and go? Come on, get over yourself :(." No!! Maybe I'm a recovering alcoholic and Uncle Tom's drinking will set me off, or maybe I'm just plain. uncomfortable. Don't act so entitled to my presence. It's insulting.

I recently called my sister and I was feeling a deep anxiety stirring in me, and it was for good reason. I told her I wasn't going to two more family events and she replied, "I respect your decision," okay, that's relieving, "And I know you're doing what you think you need to do," uhh, "but I don't think you realize how many family events you are going to miss out on because of this."

Okay. Okay. You're telling me you support my decision, and in the same breath, you imply that I'm doing this because I think I need to, as in, I may be acting unreasonable here. And also, I am so painfully aware how much I'm going to miss out on because I've set this boundary. And it's even more devastating that my own family members are going to continue to ask me to be uncomfortable at my own expense at every event moving forward just as I have all my life? Honestly, past the pain of not being able to go, it's really peaceful. It's really peaceful to not put myself in a deeply unwell family system that doesn't even know it's unwell.

As a basic primer to the unitiated, I just want you to consider how poorly a parent has to treat a child to push them to the point where they're willing to voluntary orphan themselves from the person(s) who they are hardwired to seek love from. It has to be pretty bad. Nobody is going no contact just for the fun of it. If a person is committed to continually harming you with no sign of stopping, there comes a point where you have to decide whether you're going to consciously put up with that or start protecting yourself. Let's call it what it is- it's protecting yourself from unjust, unwarranted harm. Should you leave an unsavory comment on my page, it will be deleted at my discretion.

A part of this feels like I'm just airing out my family's dirty laundry but, seriously, it's just my life experience I'm describing to you right now. And that's by design. The unspoken contract in a dysfunctional family is to not utter a word about what is happening, and I reject the shame tied to keeping silent.

2025-05-02: I'd like to tell you about my night. I got home from a 2 hour choir practice and felt the urge to brew a cup of coffee. I was hoping it'd prolong the nightly hours and offset bedtime by a few hours, which it did. When I logged onto Neocities, I saw dogblog aka Lewis Lab was doing their first Minecraft stream, as accessible through their Minecraft page.

When I joined, I saw Xalli chatting there for a bit. We talked as Lewis Lab built the dual staircase leading up to what would be a new castle. I lamented about how I wanted to write (a blog post) and my tiredness still penetrated through the caffeine I was actively consuming. We talked about caffeine then. Lewis Lab said they were well-caffeinated, when asked, citing some peach flavor Monster drink as their fuel, and pledged a strong brand alliance to it specifically. I ended up talking about how I was a certified water hater. It's just bland and such a hassle to stay hydrated, idk.

Xalli eventually left and so it was just Lewis Lab and me. I ended up lurking and writing anyway, and out came this preceding blog post on life purpose and monetizing your passions. When I woke up this morning, I wasn't expecting to find comments on what I considered to be an expiring page update. I'm still a little shocked sometimes people actually read what I put out?? A not insignificant amount of people?? And I continue to feel extremely grateful. Thank you.

So, I returned back to the stream and just enjoyed my time there. I normally have my Minecraft game muted, so I wasn't used to the sounds of placing blocks and the occasional atmospheric Minecraft music. It felt real mindless and meditative watching Lewis Lab build the outer ring of the castle. We talked a bit about building habits then. I told them I'm such a creature of habit, falling back on old builds and lacking in fresh projects (and the motivation to pursue them). They agreed they were also a creature of habit, only enjoying the building of castles and the cultivating of flower beds.

It was nice to be tuned into the stream. There wasn't a much better way to spend the night than that. To, just kind of exist next to someone? And, I'm excited to see Lewis Lab's castle progress and build posts to the page. Sometimes I'm building on this one community server and I've thought about making a page with screenshots. My self-described building style would be "organic" with a leaning towards maximalism (just a little).

This is unrelated, but I felt inclined to show you sweet kitty since she's been mentioned before. Isn't she so regal?

Her eyes most frequently look green, but depending on the light, they also look brown or a golden yellow (direct sunlight).

2025-05-01: It's so over, you guys. The novelty resulting from general life changes have worn off. When I wake up, I experience that old, familiar feeling- I'm not happy to be awake. And, I'm just, tired throughout the whole day and it's horrible. I was sick of only being awake at night, but now I miss it. I miss having energy only brought on by the night. And, in the quiet moments of the day, I feel this emptiness! Nothing is ever enough. Nothing is ever filling. It's horrible.

I'm just not somebody who has a clear, long-standing life purpose. My life purpose becomes whatever I'm currently fixated on, which never lasts and is temperamental. I think I'm just here to create stuff, stuff, and more stuff. Stuff from my poor, aching heart. I hope I make a difference(?) in small ways. I'm trying to say helpful things here and impact and connect to people.

About the life purpose thing, I've never had a "five year plan." Could they stop asking that in interviews? Fuck you, interviewers around the globe who ask that. I don't know, alright?!?! And don't act like I'm a lesser person because of it.

I don't have a defined or desired career and I'm not sure I ever will. I know what I'm good at and I know what I'm bad at. I could probably manage something procedural and predictable. Work from home data entry, maybe? I just don't know how to get there, and it doesn't feel possible for me. I know some people say, "If you pursue what you love, then you won't work a day in your life." (Which is not true, btw. Some days are just icky, dreaded work).

When I show the everyday person my crochet or my art, they almost always say, "You know you could, like, sell this, right??" and they always say it to me like it's some genius revelation I've never considered and it annoys me. Does my art only have value when it's sold? Is it only ever about the grind? What if I'm not motivated by money at all? Also, do you realize you're asking me to run a small business? I don't want to run a small business and I don't want to ruin the passion and fun I experience from creating! This is all I have, untouched by capitalism! Leave me the fuck alone!!!

But, yeah. I wasn't made for this world ✌ somebody fucking kill me already. I think about what it'd be like in Hell and my imagination told me that capitalism exists there too. So, even in Hell, I can't live my sexy, depraved, queer life exiled from Heaven; I have to work a dead-end office job there or something. Though, my Hell dream is to do sex work. (That's actually my irl dream, but I'm not tough enough for that). I honestly think I might think about sex nearly every day. An asexual with a fascination for sex?

2025-05-01: I used to struggle with decision-making to the point that I was distressed over what soda flavor I ordered at a restaurant. It often felt so all-or-nothing, a failure if I chose the "wrong" choice.

I like this compassion-filled concept: "I made the best choice I was able to with the information I had at the time." It soothes in the moment and it soothes when hindsight bias hits. Yes, you know after the fact that it was a good or bad choice, but you didn't have that information when making your choice. Either way, you win. You have more information than you did before. You order a new drink flavor and hate it? Great. Now you don't have to wonder anymore. Never order that drink again.

I feel entirely comfortable attributing this decision-making trouble to the abuse I endured all my life. One way abuse- the missuse of power to harm, control, and dominate- can manifest as so: the abuser systematically chips away at your sense of self-trust and agency by doubting and scrutinizing every choice you make, even the trivial ones too, and suddenly it's so bad you're too paralyzed to order food.

The last I was in therapy, I'd just finally escaped from my abuser and that was prime time to strive for some level of healing. A note, if somebody tells you a change of environment won't suddenly fix your issues, do. not. listen. to. them. if you're drowning in an abusive or dysfunctional environment. A change of environment can make all the different even if you're still the same person before. Your problems don't disappear, but now you can fucking breathe instead of constantly feel like you're being hunted for sport. I subscribe to the saying, "You can't heal in the environment that hurt you." It's probably technically possible, but at a much slower rate than if you just got out. In which, working towards getting out should be high priority.

So, I did an EMDR session targetting the core belief that said, "I can't trust myself to make the right decisions." I ended up clearing the target and quitting therapy straight after that Lol. Do I stand by that decision? Mostly.

But, during that time, I was making a lot of decisions that I wasn't allowed to as long as I was in the abusive situation. I got a cat (long term!), a few small tattoos (permanent!), continued hormones etc. and all those decisions would've been highly scrutinized by my abuser (which is absurd), and even after getting away, I could still hear his voice in my head. I got my tattoos even as I was weighed down by fear, shame, and dread, but, having worked through it, I'm past that now.

When I went to adopt my cat, I met at least 6 other cats in the shelter and they were all lovely. I felt especially bad for this quiet, gentle grey cat who was maybe 4 years? as I'd recently learned older cats are less likely to get adopted as everyone reaches for the kitties. Ironically, I was most drawn to this 9 month old tabby cat who was real social. The workers there didn't know much about the personality of the cats in their care. At times, they needed to scan their chips just to verify their names. So, I had to use my intuition as much as possible.

This last cat was the only one to meow and climb on my lap, which was a good sign because, more than anything, I wanted an affectionate and cuddly cat. As we were trying to get her into the carrier and she'd gone to hide in the corner, my mom asked me if I was sure about my decision. I was starting to get nervous about making the wrong choice, but I clenched my fists and said yes. I want to be someone that sticks to my words and decisions.

After a rough adjustment month, where both of our schedules and lives were knocked off kilter, I learned it was the right choice. I love kitty so much and couldn't see it any other way. She ended up being smart, affectionate, and cuddly. She's vocal at times, which I appreciate. I'm a little disturbed by cats that don't meow at all. She doesn't listen to anything I say or even really respond to her name, but she's a good communicator.

I don't think any of the cats would've been the wrong choice, per se; the experience just would've been different. I also like telling myself that there are no "right" or "wrong" decisions, only ones with different consequences and ones with better alignment to the life you want to live.

So, I don't fret over decisions to such a feverish degree anymore. I don't stare at the menu for 20 minutes. I just order something. I don't despair about what to title my creative works. I just choose something. I think, even making decisions that are colossal mistakes or even making decisions that hurt others is not the end of the world. Unless you die? Life goes on.

I hope I've imparted a new perspective on decision-making, especially to those who struggle with it. A life despairing over the decisions you make is a painful life, and you and I deserve to know peace and a felt sense of agency in our decisions.

2025-04-30: I spontaneously got an idea for a second chapter in what was meant to be a oneshot fic. I outlined the clearest portions and then ended up in a full writing session later this evening. I came out on the other side with 2,000 words and the ending of the chapter went completely off the rails. It's still in character for him, but I was a little disturbed. One of those magical moments where the character takes on a life of his own, and my pantser ass let him. Now that it's written, it feels canonical to the story. As in, I'm not sure I'll change it. Maybe after I put it away, it won't feel so shocking later. Sometimes my melodramatic side comes out to play and despite the desire to tame it, I'd love to simply indulge.

I feel really tired after my writing session. I typically do. Writing is so intensive, being thrust into a fugue-state, and coming out the other side like it was a lullaby. I wish I could write more tonight, but it's time to put it down and go to bed.

2025-05-01: The Ace Attorney oneshot I mentioned the other day is sitting on the proverbial shelf, because it ended up worse than I thought it would, and I'm Scared to touch it. As I am scared to touch this new one. I think I'm going to package it as a three-part series of oneshots (instead of tacking on a chapter or two to the original) because this one contains a Completely Different Kink, and I don't want to offput people 🙂. I'm not sure, at present, I feel confident putting either of these out, but maybe I can pull them together eventually, once I get over myself. The Inner Critic rages.

I take it back already. I forced myself to work on the AA one and, with fresh eyes, it really shocked me. I got really flustered reading some of it too, lol. That's how it usually goes. I think it just needs a little rounding out.

2025-04-30: Sometimes I think about the points made in Devon Price's Is Your Fear of Gender Transition Really the Fear of Aging?. To pinpoint the exact thought, many of us trans folk don't have good examples of relatively naturally-aged, normal-looking (queer and trans) people, and it perpetuates and mingles with our fear of aging.

It's tough because, growing up pre-transition, I rarely felt pretty or desirable. Then I begun transition, and honestly, at times, I feel like I'm getting uglier and less desirable. (By whose standards?) I don't have the energy to defend myself in depth here, and it shouldn't be required. I'll just say that trans people are allowed to be unhappy with parts of their transition and it still be the right thing for them. Hell, what cis man is actually happy about hair loss? Come on now. Also, it's normal to be distressed by a changing body during what is effectively a second puberty.

I long for a photo database with a wide range of older bodies. Show me how handsome an older, balding man is. Show me fat, hairy bodies. Show me disabled bodies, etc. I try to notice now how sexy older people can look without projecting my fears onto them. "Oh, look how he's embracing (or just living with?) his hair loss. He's very handsome."

Only tangentially related, I wish there was more mainstream representation of trans masculine people who visibly have breasts. I feel like those long standing, millions-of-followers "influencers" are typically far into their transition and have already gotten top surgery. Then I think of that cheesy phrase, "Be the change you want to see," and I answer "Hell no." Idk. Out of the little I post, I do have a post where I'm femme and my chest isn't bound. But I personally prefer not to showcase it on non-femme days, which is most days. Maybe that's a feature of the system. I assume that most see me less as trans masc if I don't bind; I'm trying to control/influence other's perceptions of me, pandering especially to those who don't quite understand the "trans" thing. I think representation is important, though. It's like, "By being visibly myself, it gives others permission to be theirselves."

For fellow femme presenting trans mascs, I do like going to r/FTMfemininity on occasion. I have to limit myself, though, because I tend to start feeling jealous and inadequate 😌, but it's nice to witness different ways of being.

An addition: I'm not sure if it's worth mentioning or not, but the premise agitates me. I am not elightened, by any means. I may be critical of concepts like beauty standards (Edit: no, the intersection between transphobia and misogyny) and performing neuronormativity, and I'm writing again and again about how I'm struggling with these deeply internalized things at the same time I'm trying to break out of them.

Supported reading: On Transandrophobia: Transmascs, Transphobia, and Misogyny - I reject the idea that testosterone is "ruining" my or anybody elses' bodies and making us ugly and undesirable, though I feel the pressure from the transphobes around me and have to internally fight against that rhetoric. I feel ugly sometimes, but that doesn't mean I am ugly. This is just where I'm at right now.

Edit: Something I failed to mention was representation in art until transferns left a comment. Here's just one example of what's possible. It was meaningful to me when I first saw it. The art depicts a fat, trans masculine individual with visible body hair and bottom growth (permanent changes brought on by testosterone) as well as breasts. So, those of us who haven't had top surgery, don't want it, or don't have access may more readily see ourselves in this depiction.

2025-04-29: I wrote this funky wunky little piece for muse in February and it's fictional, but has a lot of my Self in it. Like, r/suicidewatch is certainly a place . . . I haven't been there in so long and don't plan to; I think I've got better ways of coping now. Also, posting on Reddit feels like screaming into the abyss, and- justifiably- everybody is miserable in that sub. You can usually pick out the layman when they give the guilting, "Don't kill yourself. Think about who you're leaving behind."

Anyway, before I fully aligned with a trans masc identity, I was somewhere on Reddit and somebody posted a supportive comment and ended it by calling me "brother" (without knowing my gender, naturally) and it was very affirming and still is. That's something specific I put into the story I wrote, even though the character is a cis woman. It's just a way of memorializing a special moment that otherwise would die with me. Though, this story will be lost to time eventually.

2025-04-29: Between Noticing.html and this microblog, I'm producing so much that I'm needing to find a better way to contain it. I normally see entries tucked away under <summary> tags but, to me, that signifies they passed their prime. I did file stuff away for months February and March for the Noticing webpage, but I'd like to pursue a different option for this page. Because, for example, early works 10. girl-failure yearns for girlhood and 12. On idolism and inferiority is just as, if not more important, than some of my newer entries.

I'm considering two options right now. I like one option better. I liked the idea of just a long list of all the titles. The better idea is to sort things into approximate categories as kph and Beepbird do. It just takes work. But the idea is planted inside my mind, so I'll likely get to it sometime. Pay no matter at how informal some of these entries are. It's part of the charm, I suppose. I wouldn't be able to create daily if not for the low stakes, throw-it-to-the-wall, nature.

I do, however, like this scrolling format which lends to multiple entries in a day, displayed in chronological order. Some entries also build off of each other as I change. I suppose systems both can exist.

2025-04-29: I often experience the compulsion to share, and it typically has such an immediacy attached to it. It's like I need to relieve this imaginary pressure in my skull by sharing it with someone right now. A personal website is good and bad for that because I can just say and post whatever I want, but once the compulsion comes to pass, is it really necessary for me to tell you about that time my mom said, "I'm really glad you didn't pick out a dumb cat." Eh, out of context it seems trivial, but it carries a weight for me. It's wonderful seeing my mom so easily connect and love on kitty. She was more saying she's happy they have compatible personalities.

With the compulsion to share, though, sometimes it feels so childish. It's like, "Look, mom! Look what I made!" and the felt response is, "Oh, that's nice honey." Hopefully it'll end up on the fridge? Oh, hey, how'd it end up in the trash?

How dramatic of me. Not everything is fridge material anyway, but I continue to seek out a witness to my life experiences. That never changes.

I've thought about making a webpage outlining my writing/creative process. Not that I'm some amazing writer, but my sheer output lately has been astounding to me personally. I mainly try to throw caution to the wind now by writing fast and putting out the rawest version of the writing I can stomach and doing it while I'm still excited about the process. I think the excitement of a work shows. Posting the work just as I finish it, it feels like it's great idea in the moment, but I tend to feel embarrassed when the high feelings die down.

It's not like there's a right and wrong when it comes to what you're allowed to post. It's more like, what are you comfortable with posting? I'm often retroactively uncomfortable with what I've put out, but I want it to be out there. I start to share some personal things, and there are people who'd never imagine doing that and that's fine, and I purposefully want for that. My favorite writing and art to "consume" (experience?) is the real honest, vulnerable stuff that typically makes me feel less alone and alien as I recognize myself in them. From memory, I find Nagata Kabi's work an exceptional example of that. I've read My Alcoholic Escape from Reality and My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness and I found solace in her brutal honesty, depicting a life this article best described as maladjusted. Perhaps I'm projecting when I guess that the typical person would call Nagata an absolute life-failure (at least by capitalistic, neurotypical standards?) and I relate wholeheartedly as a self-proclaimed absolute life-failure.

I don't have much more to say than mentioning how scared I continue to feel releasing personal things even though I want it. Ocrevol reminded me that anything worth doing is scary, and that's comforting, and I'm contending with being scared and on edge every day doing the things I want to do. Maybe it gets easier eventually? I don't know.

Edit: From the moment I finished this entry, I've been incredibly agitated (read: angry) at myself because I rehash some of what I wrote here even though I tried to express something new in this entry. I feel a little bit better after reading this snippet from sneekrealm's scrapbook page. I think, even when you write or create about something over and over, usually the approach and result are at least a little bit different every time.

2025-04-28:

A Note first

Side A: Villains

Side B: Gratefulness

2025-02-27: I had another intense day today. It started off bad with my laptop charger dying and then I got pulled over for speeding, which freaked me out. I'm afraid of authority figures. But, I think I eventually bounced back and made good for the day.

I've become more emotionally flexible this past year. The things that set me off don't typically knock me off kilter for days now but maybe a few hours depending.

I was reading a fun webcomic tonight as I was winding down and sometimes I feel incredibly giddy and euphoric while reading. Yes, let's witness the beautiful gays be horny for each other. The deeper the blush the better. Oh? One of the supporting characters called the mc "Big Boy"? Just end me right now. Living vicariously through you.

I do feel more alive like this- being brave and "choosing life." I thought earlier today that this, what I've been doing lately, is a coming back to self. I'm not sure I fully believe that, though. I never really left. I've always cared about myself and my life even when I've given up and hidden. I'm still me.

Edit: I initially had the inclination to call it a bad luck day, only feuled slightly by a superstitious whimsy, but as I thought about it, I realized the events of the day were not at all surprising.

My charger already was showing signs of fully breaking, having to manipulate it in odd directions to get it to charge. I'm also a habitually fast driver and I've been seeing more police cars around lately. I did think to myself, "Maybe if I chose not to go out at this specific moment would I have gotten pulled over," instead of, "Maybe I should be more careful about speeding."

I'm glad I figured out a better perspective, though. The world is not uniquely against me and I'm not supremely cursed; I should've just bought a charger the moment the other one begun faltering.

2025-04-26: Hey, so, Super Secret Post!!! I'll probably delete it when I feel Normal again, so consider yourself lucky if you see it. Or not. I'm not the boss of you.

It's Independent Bookstore Day so I put on my Big, Brave Boy Pants and went to the local queer, disable-owned bookstore for the first time, finally. I set myself a budget and bought that amount and more in stickers + a pin + a bookmark from a local artist.

I also recognized someone from a local queer server who I've also been lusting over and Hoo Boy was I excited. I don't even think we are compatible after having talked to him; similar temperaments, if I could guess.

So, now I'm home and so incredibly keyed up after a big site update, drinking a second caffeinated beverage, finally going to the bookstore for the first time, and, much to my surprise, meeting the Finest Boy, in the flesh. I really need to stim but I'm not sure how to in a way that would bring me relief. I thought about putting on music and singing, but nothing's been striking my Singing Fancy lately.

I suppose this is the tradeoff to living a present (not dissociated) life, where even the good feelings can be incredibly overwhelming. Just like the other day, I feel so high I could bash my head into a wall 😁. I tend to just text bestie "euthanize me," and I half mean it, and she doesn't bat an eye. Bless her.

Edit: For posterity, I may keep this entry here. There may come a time I regret deleting this one as it gets at a certain feeling. This one has certainly got, um, personality and I won't pretend I'm not cringing a little. Idk, though. This is a part of me too. What, I think the world will blow up if I show you the unserious side of me? Maybe.

2025-04-26: I've done my best to refrain from talking about this because it's so overly self-indulgent, but it won't vacate my mind at least until I write about it, so here it is.

There's no possible way to know how people percieve me when it comes to the work I put out, whether that be the website, my drawn art, fanfiction, etc. I'm not the first or last to talk about this, but it disturbs me frequently. This just seems like a part of the human condition, y'know? I feel similarly about being percieved irl. There's a lack of control in not knowing how I'm percieved, but also a lack of control in influencing people's perceptions. Like, I just know some peoples' conceptions of me are so horribly off base it's repulsive. Flip it around, though, and I'm bound to have some horribly off-base or incomplete perceptions of others, even though I generally consider myself to be perceptive and realistic; I am not immune to being wrong.

What makes it worse, touching specifically on the online sphere, is that there's no appropriate, all-encompassing and meaningful way to tell our peers how we perceive each other. I know I can't the only one that wants to know. But, for example, there's no normal way to tell M and W I check their websites daily and L- a peer, but relative stranger, mind you- that I felt worried for them when they abruptly turned off their site profile. I wish I could tell C I visited x, y, and z pages and how it made me feel. Yes, comments, guestbooks, and email exist, but it's limited in what you're able to say to people you likely aren't all that close to; you've just been impacted by their art.

I do try to show my work, though, linking the stuff I come across, am inspired by, and incorporate other's perspectives, at least partially, into my stuff. That's my best way of showing you what I'm invested in and connecting with at the moment. In fact, right before I wrote this, I came across this beautiful journal entry by epeorus about the silent impact of those who cross our paths but will never know the difference they made.

I think, one of the curses of being a creative, is only ever being so close to your work- because it's an extension of you(!)- and not being able to experience it fresh and as a stranger would. It's only, perhaps, once time has passed, I've changed as a person, and/or I've forgotten about a work entirely do I experience a work anew or I don't recognize the person that crafted it as being me.

If you would like to leave a comment indicating your impression of me, in any form, I would not be upset ;). That's me asking, lol, but it's not compulsory (hardly anything in life is truly compulsory). I'd like to think this request is partially scientific- a curiosity- as well as it's selfish and self indulgent. In my defense, I do tend to tell myself stories about what onlookers do and don't like about my site and the work I put out and, surely, I have to be off base. I have little information to go off of, and I'm projecting a vicious inner critic onto others and mistaking the source, so I'm bound to have wide blindspots. I tend to be baffled people even look at my stuff at all. Also, I think about how self-important I am to even think anybody has that strong of a concept of me. Sometimes, I'm not even able to put into words what I like about a site, and I don't give it as much attention as is deserving.

Truly, you owe me nothing, and I'd simply like to thank you for reading.

2025-04-26: I've touched on surrender a bit before, and it's something I've still been thinking about. I have a habit of forcing myself to stay awake at night, ruled by this amorphous feeling of not having done enough that day, and it's not a good way to live.

This is the fifth morning I've woken up having slept through the night and I have to be careful not falling into the not-so-old, anxious pattern. I'm trying to tell myself, "There's nothing more you need to do today. You've done enough." Because, most things can wait, and by the time fatigue or night rolls around, there's only so much left you can do.

So, surrender. You'll be okay. But it's hard! It's hard. The anxiety is so convincing; it feels so real and so pressing. If you've experienced any sort of anxiety or intrusive thoughts, you know what I mean. It's horrible. That's all I have for now. Take care.

2025-04-26: In this essay, an asexual discusses the artistic genius and absolute sexuality exhibited in Doja Cat's Nintendhoe and Mooo!.

2024-04-25: Ehh, so. . . I've slept through the previous four nights now and awoken an average of 6:30am and fallen asleep utterly exhausted at around 9pm. This is remarkable after having spent the past two months (holy shit) stuck in nocturnal hell. It actually wasn't hell. I love being awake at night, but it's not functional enough.

I've suffered from insomnia a long time, and now I have to contend with fatigue that strikes me down at a fresh 4pm or, if I'm lucky, just a few hours into my morning. I've been able to sleep through four consecutive nights by making myself so busy during the day that I have no choice but to sleep. I did a great deal of chores and ran two errands yesterday and that did me well. It was the best day I've had in awhile. I'll generally put off chores because of the energy drain, but being so afraid of energy drain (=crashing; incompacitated) that I just do nothing and have too much energy to spare? Not good either.

It's just tough. I go through periods of just giving up. Trying to be functional and "better" demands constant energy and it's spiritually tiring to always be fighting. On the flip side, giving up and watching your life wither away? That's a different but equal type of exhausting. It's usually only relieving at first, when you need a breath.

I'd love to be able to just commit to myself every day and never abandon myself again, but I have limits. I get tired, in many respects. Even doing a few loads of laundry while I do other tasks, I usually find at the end of the run I'm too tired to fold the laundry I originally started or change out the sheets on my bed. The Difficulty Mode on my life is set to Hard and I feel as though the Failures are far more frequent. Look, I swear to you, I remember what it was like to be able-bodied (physically capable; healthy; not-disabled). What I'm experiencing is not normal; it did not used to be like this. I'm not sure I'll ever live a life of full ease. Sometimes ease is just giving up or dissociating for awhile until I'm ready to try again, and even that is painful.

Edit: Despite having a condition that requires ample rest, I still hate resting. Resting is an option, but I just simply don't feel good if I'm not engaging my brain and keeping busy. Keeping busy is a valuable mental health strategy in its own right.

In other news, I'm working on an Ace Attorney oneshot fic to counter the 14 Persona 5 fanworks, lmfao. That'll set my fandom count to a whopping 3. I got the idea in the shower and I have a feeling I'll have to grapple with this one a bit. It has. . . potential.

2024-04-24: As of today, I've published 43,680 words of fanfiction in five months 🙂 I wrote another 1,439 today from a new oneshot idea, so that'll at least get it to 45,000, and my longfic has at least 13,430 more unpublished words, with the last few chapters still needing work. It'd be really surreal to hit 100,000 in a year... Quite remarkable after spending about 9-10 years refusing to write creatively.

2025-04-24: On topic with feeling self-conscious, this morning, I was thinking about how I sometimes feel like some weird, walking stereotype. Like, in certain corners of the internet (and day-to-day life), it's frowned upon to to talk about your trauma as an adult. Or, I see artist-types write about it and talk down on themselves for not being over how their daddy treated them as a kid, and so here they are whining about it on the internet, and that's clearly pathetic.

I think it's really important we're able to tell our stories. Especially growing up and likely being told that we are crazy and that our reality didn't happen as it did. Family members colluding with the abuser as a way to cull favor leaves you feeling alone, confused, betrayed, and crazy.

I hate this prevailing notion that we just need to "get over it already," grow up, and forgive the people who hurt us as children. It's no big deal. Except, it typically is a big deal! And I'd wonder how many of those people who ascribe to that thinking actually have some deeply repressed trauma that bleeds into their own life, and through their desire to "get over it," they never actually do.

We're talking about abuse to children here who are among the most vulnerable and impressionable. Childhood is supposed to set you up for a well-rounded adulthood, so what happens when that doesn't happen? What happens when you're neglected, for example, and weren't taught basic skills needed to be independent, like cooking, money management, consent, boundaries, and healthy conflict resolution? You're left incredibly behind and significantly weakened.

Whoever says, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," is full of big, steaming piles of shit. I despise you. Childhood abuse did not, in fact, make me and many others stronger, but substantially weaker. Like, great, I'm scared to send an email to my professor out of the (ir)rational fear that he's going to suddenly lash out at me, because you know who would just randomly lash out at me? My dad. You know who avoids conflict most of the time for fear I'll be shut down, talked over, and told I'm crazy? Give it your best guess.

It's highly important for us to be able to tell our stories of what happened to us, to be fully witnessed and validated, and have us operate with the knowledge that trauma is not something that easily goes away. In fact, it'll stay with some of us forever. A condition like complex PTSD is forever; it's merely something to be managed and attacked with a growing set of coping skills.

I think some people highly overestimate what a therapist is able to do for a traumatized client, and masking your discomfort in this common "boundary-setting" phrase, "Hey, don't 'trauma-dump' on me! Bring it to a therapist," is not achieving what you think it is. To me, this is just another sign of the breakdown of community. We need each other. You're really going to relegate every little uncomfortable thing to an institution that largely wants you better so you can go back to being a productive worker? Fuck that.

From anecdotal experience, there aren't enough genuinely qualified trauma therapists out there, as well as everyday community resources and systems in place to make the profound difference a lot of us need. How can you expect some of us to move from "surviving to thriving" when we are constantly stressed with the prospect of homelessness? How do we move from "surviving to thriving" when we're doing it all alone and that's not enough? How can you blame the people doing everything they possibly can to get better- dozens of medication trials, years of therapy, self-help books, hospitalizations, etc- and still blame them for not being better when it's clear the system built around us is fucking us all in the ass so completely?

So, yeah, I'm going to talk about my "daddy issues." It doesn't make me a lesser adult to do so, and you're making the world a worser place for me and you if you insist otherwise. Let traumatized people carve out a space for themselves if you so want them to heal and "just get over it."

Thank you to Ocrevol for the valuable, and pointed quote.

Edit: If therapy works for you, that's great! But please do recognize that there are some it doesn't work for, and actively hurts. The therapist, whether they like it or not, is in a position of power as they are purported as a knowledgeable, qualified body, and sometimes they fail to even realize that (which is dangerous). I also find, at large, that therapy is a bandaid on a bullet hole wound.

Therapists may be able to equip you with coping strategies, but they are unable to change the systematic issues that are hurting you. In fact, and I can only talk anecdotally, I find many therapists are unable to even recognize that most of our "pathologies" are because of systemic issues such as racism, economic inequality, capitalism etc and instead blame the individual for their "illnesses." What I'm saying is, I think a lot of how our bodies are responding to our current conditions make a lot of sense, and it's less abnormal than we make it out to be.

Also, I speak about "From Suriving to Thriving" more as a colloquial term than a reference to Pete Walker's book. I completely forgot that was the title. I do, however, have that book in my possession and have been wanting to read it, but I haven't been in the mood to venture into the weeds and suffer through it, lest it drum up old feelings, which is likely.

2025-04-23: I, just, feel upsettingly gutted. I don't know what to say- what to write- without upsetting myself further. I'm in a stage of feeling extra embarrassed about what I produce and put out. I'd rather hide.

I've begun this habit of writing something every day now. But then I start wanting to repeat myself. I feel so conceited, too. Telling you about me, me, me. I talk about my process and what's plaguing my mind and I try to provide insights. I'm sick of there being so much me. Even if I wrote stories not about me, it's still about me, because it's through my eyes. I'm so sick of me and my stupid fucking antics.

2025-04-22: I'm so excited I want to bash my head into a fucking wall!!!

2025-04-22: I would like to expound on something. When I refer to myself as a depraved individual when I produce and publish sexual art, I am saying it in a rather childish way. I ask myself, "By whose standards am I depraved?" and the answer to that is my family of origin, and by extension, the conservative (fascistic) party. This is not insignificant; my comparison point is how far I've come since a childhood of indoctrination.

Sex wasn't really talked about in our household, but somehow, the point got across well enough. Sex was between somebody you love only. You were to be married and anything outside of that was shameful and wrong. Sex was for producing babies, and sex for pleasure's sake did not exist- was not valid- not even within a marriage, which was defined by domination and control still yet. And god forbid you take it up the butt, lmfao.

So, what I'm trying to get at is that it takes a lot of unlearning of shame and old-set beliefs. Hell, it was a hurdle getting over the shame of touching myself, like that hurt anybody at all, right? By my family of origin's standards, I am very depraved. By someone else's standards, I'm hardly depraved or even all that radical.

Replace the word "depraved" with "degenerate" and I think we get even closer to the heart of it. Both contain a negative moral judgement, but degenerate has Nazi roots, in which case, I don't feel comfortable or right calling anything degenerate. Frankly, I don't want to place any value on the moral viewings of such miserable people. I certainly don't envy the lives they lead. I'd rather prefer live my "depraved" life than daunted by their shame and attempts at control.

I'd like to get past this shame of feeling so "depraved." That word serves more as a shorthand to encompass all of this. I'm growing and changing all the time, and I want to live a life on my terms and without the shame I'd originally been taught. Outside of the constricting bounds of control, I realized that there's so many different ways of living life, and none of them are wrong, even if they personally look odd to you.

I hope I do an alright job touching on this. I came into political consciousness so late in my life. It wasn't something we talked about in our house. I didn't know what a "conservative" or "republican" was until Junior year of high school when taking our required American Political Science (APS) class, but I was able to tell you which party my primary caregiver belonged to. I still consider myself largely ignorant, but I try to act in good faith and continue to learn and grow.

2024-04-19: One of the few podcasts I tune into is A Bit Fruity with Matt Bernstein, and I like it because it covers a lot of right wing grifters and general bigots, and through unpacking what they're doing, Matt completely defangs and demystifies them.

I learned from the way Matt and his guest speakers talk about these people who do horrible things is that there's an option other than feeling dread and terror towards powerful, hateful people: you can just laugh at them. Matt models this well. He never displays a panicked fearfulness, but rather talks lightheartedly and cracks jokes about these people and ends up exposing just how pathetic these people are when the whole picture is laid out.

I love that he assigns the label "grifter" to the likes of detransitioner Maia Poet and closet conservative(?) Gwen Stefani, etc. He usually finds a way to empathetize with these individuals, identifying the inherent tragedy in some of their stories, while steering away completely from excusing their behavior. Like, it's interesting hearing them point out that Ashley St. Clair, alleged mother of one of Elon Musk's children, was clearly pursuing him as a way to cash in on a social contract promising privileges that, of course, Elon would not recognize, and now she and her child will suffer for it.

I've learned it's harder to be scared of detransitioners who weaponize their experiences and pander to the right when you realize that they're trying to gain sympathy and privileges by doing the right's bidding that the rest of us aren't afforded, and it's just pathetic. They try to gain acceptance and respect from the very people that hate them. Like, babes, don't you understand they still don't see you as human? Does it not hurt to contort and morph yourself into something palatable? You start to realize that maybe these people don't even believe what they're saying, or that they don't really stand for anything. They're just chasing respect, or power, money, and status, and that's a sad existence.

Bringing it back to the laughing thing, I think it's really important not to let yourself be so daunted by horrible people. Yes, it's normal and expected to feel terrified, but your fear may be weakening you- incapacitating you, even. I'll speak for myself here. Sometimes I hear news while in a bad headspace, and it'll immediately send me into a suicidal state as I start to feel like the world is a verifiably bad place and there is no hope and I'm bound to be squashed like a bug by the very people I allude to here.

I'd rather laugh at them, instead. I'd rather laugh at the hypocrisy and revel in the fact that the man who wants so badly to be liked by everyone is liked by virtually no one. I invite you to laugh too. We need you here, alive. I want you here. I want you to imagine with me a better life for all of us. Cultivate some resilience with me. There is good in the world too, I promise.

2025-04-18: There's a writing spectrum spanning from, "Oh my god, get that cringe garbage away from me. I will never look at it again lest it burn my eyeballs" to "I only read my own work because it's so good." My sample pool? r/fanfiction. LOL. Listen. Listen, my sources don't matter here; it's anecdotal, alright?

For my fiction writing, I usually end up liking what I wrote after I wrote it, but as time passes, a retroactive cringe is applied to it and I'm scared to read it again. Usually, when I get past myself and read it, I'm actually like, "holy shitballs, this slaps!!" Which is also to say I start to forget what I've written fairly quickly, so it's a little treat for me to rediscover.

But it's interesting, right? Some sound writing advice is to write what you want to read, especially if it doesn't exist yet, and I try to keep that in mind, that I'm my first and primary audience member. It's tough when I feel I don't have the skill to fully implement what I envisioned a work to be, but it usually takes a life of its own and surprises me. I work with story beats (the exciting bits) and pants the rest.

As I lurk in the reddit forums, I see some people on the far end of the spectrum, and they love their work so much as to read and re-read it. I'm happy I'm not so far into the hate-it side that I completely denounce my work, because that sounds like a painful way to go about it. A past version of me would fall closer to that side, but my relationship with writing has changed enough from what it was before. I remember feeling an old disgust seeing my work and it just having "me" written all over it. I couldn't divorce the fact that it was written by "me," which was probably a shame-feuled feeling.

I'm thinking about doing a little marathon and reading all the fics I posted since starting last winter, and I'm curious how I'll feel about it. I also need to get back to my big longfic project I started in January... I've got a handfull of people waiting for an update (hell, I'm waiting too!), but I need to reread everything and figure out the end, which also requires watching the rest of the cutscenes of the source material, which is a drag.

Supported reading: Do you (like to) read your own works? and Do you guys ever hate your own writing?

2025-04-16: Naming discord channels fun themed things is cute and all, but it feels like an accessibility oversight. For the life of me, I don't want to have to memorize what each one means. To illustrate what I mean, imagine a Minecraft themed server named their #general chat #overworld and their #food chat #lava-chicken. You can begin to guess what name pertains to what or look at the channel description each time you forget, but it's just too disorienting for my liking. I'd rather it be a straightforward call-it-what-it-is.

2025-04-16: I lament not being able to understand more Japanese while acknowledging I just have to put in the work. 7 months is no time at all, but it is not insignificant. I am learning, though. I recognize more and more kanji and spoken words, and can read familiar words quickly. I'm just perpetually burnt out. Intensive study requires significant energy; however, I made 27 new flashcards yesterday (simple, but full sentences!) based on a video I was watching.

2025-04-16:
Listen in with me. Reminds me of Persona 4 music. Think, Your Affection. Though, Heartbeat, Heartbreak is my favorite.

I have not been feeling so good, Mr. Stark. Even with warmer, brighter weather, the looming, thick-gray cloud of depression and anxiety hang over me. My largely successful move to choke out tech usage is likely exacerbating that. As I sit with myself, I sometimes remember how much I dislike myself. Oh? The phone is ringing? It's asking me to employ some self-forgiveness and self-compassion. Ew. Must be a spam number. [Block Caller].

Here's something I've been thinking about: I used to loathe the, "Don't worry, it gets better!" platitude because who are you to promise me it gets better?! You don't fucking know that. Maybe things get better for you, but no for me. (Fact-check required; request denied).

Things actually have gotten better for me and, in small ways, they continue to improve. Gaining of experience and knowledge smoothes out some of life's worst features. I feel like our 20s are supposed to universally suck because literally what the hell is going on?

Anyway, my past therapist used the forest metaphor once. You probably know the one. Struggle is being in the woods, the canopying leaves casting darkness upon you. You don't know how long you'll be in the woods, but you're bound to come out. You just don't know how long you'll be in the woods.

So, like, things got better for me, but if I had to quantify it, I was in the woods for ten years, and I'm still dealing with the effects of what I experienced there now. I saw the sun and felt its warmth for a brief window this summer, but I feel like I'm in more woods now, and I distinctly lack the imagination to envision a better life for myself. I can only ever see my circumstances now, perpetually cursed with tunnel vision. It's crazy, though, something could happen tomorrow that drastically changes my life for the better (or worse!) and in retrospect, it'd all feel like fate that brought me to this moment.

I just notice myself asking over and over, "When does it get easier? When will things just go right? When can I catch a break and just have a period of no friction?" I don't think it exists. Things have and do go right for me, but I tend to focus on when things go wrong; it's louder and more painful, anyway.

I've run into an insurance issue with my medications this week, and when I learned of it, I had an internal freak out. In a sleep-deprived feuled, anxious fever, I envisioned a near future where I lost access to affordable medication. Anyway, I think it should be fine. I'm trying to get it worked out. It seems like a comparatively simple issue and I have enlisted help. The uncertainty of the moment is very difficult though, as I'm almost out of one of my meds.

The challenges don't stop, but my ability to meet them has improved. While I still lack some resiliency, many problems experienced as acute catastrophies, I've more often than not stepped up to the plate and addressed the problems anyway. Look at how far I've come. I haven't been so frequently just ignoring and avoiding my problems until they resolve themselves or reach a head. The more experience I have, the easier it gets. I've been able to make phone calls same-day or next morning instead of three weeks later, for example. I often have a script for what to say now. Things are o.k. It will be o.k.

I prefer a slight adjustment to the platitude. "Things may yet get better," and when I'm feeling stuck, I just remind myself that, "the only constant in life is change." Things will not always be like this, and that can be both positive and negative. Even good times end, so cherish this moment. Someday you might feel nostalgic for it, likely having conveniently forgotten the bad parts.

One of my favorite tools/journal exercises/don't-kill-yourselfs-you're-so-sexy-aha is to list the things I'm excited for. This post warrants one. Here's my list:

• Tattoo flash event (April, 2025)
• Volunteer work (April-May, 2025)
• 800815 (May, 2025)
• Beastars S3 pt. 2
• Deltarune (ch 1-4) game release (June 5th, 2025)
• Wicked: For Good (November 21st, 2025)
• Spider-Man: Beyond the Spider-Verse (June 4th, 2027)
• Persona 6

2025-04-15: In the remaining months I was set to finally move out of my dad's place, I leaned a lot on my aunt (and surrogate grandma). One night, I made a bold-faced statement to my aunt. I said, "When I move out, I want my room to be empty. I want it to feel like I was never there." The heaviness of that statement hung in the air, and I was a bit shocked at its own potency. My aunt did not wince. I think she understood the gravity of it all. Black sheep to black sheep, we are the same, only differing in generation and temperament. She's a master at tempering her emotions; I can only hope she hurt for me when I said that.

It was a statement made out of anger and hurt and, still, I stand by it. I always felt invisible in that house. I hoped it would sting if my siblings or my dad walked in and saw the stark, cold emptiness and felt my absence. I'm inclined to think they wouldn't feel anything for me; I always felt invisible in that house. My aunt did note how odd and distinct my choice was- a final severing. She noted how all my other siblings left stuff in their closets and decorations on their wall as a promise they'd come home. They did not denounce their home as I had. I don't plan to return any time soon.

I harbor a lot of anger towards my siblings because they long gave up making even a basic effort to know me. I always felt invisible in that family. It's not personal, necessarily. We're not the kind of family that knows how to connect with each other. Every one went to live their own, independent lives and everyone on the outside was nearly forgotten about. However, my sister was the second one to tell me, in a roundabout way, that I was unable to feel my family's love and support. And, y'know? She's right. I don't feel it. You eventually learn, in a dysfunctional and abusive family, that words mean very little. What's the phrase? "Actions speak louder than words?" Yes. I might be the "insane" one, but my felt intuition is tuned correctly.

I loathe that I'm the "crazy" one. I loathe that I'm somehow the bad guy just for existing. I'm cursed to forever live with this burden; that is, the burden of being born to dysfunctional people and punished for merely existing. I haven't been so on the nose lately regarding trauma- I refrain from obsessing over it anymore- but I felt moved to write this one.

Edit: The sticky thing about trauma narratives is that they're seldom revised since they were first written into stone. The story might be years, even decades, old. I could write a fuller post about this, but I think an important step in resolving trauma is updating your story to reflect your present life. Usually, there's some type of information or perspective missing from the story.

As I'm thinking about what I wrote, I notice the parts I've been repeating over and over, carving a deeper pathway in my brain. Yes, I continue to suffer for being different, but also, I don't need to blame myself anymore for it. Being alienated by my family is a reflection of them and not me. But I will also say, it's hard to accept this when the validation is so lacking. It's hard to feel like I'm not going crazy when the majority is telling me I'm going about life all wrong when they can't possibly see the whole, holistic picture. It's certainly complicated, but self-compassion is crucial to healing in conjunction with forming new perspectives.

2025-04-14: I'd like to talk even more about the consequences of excising social media from your life, and it's something I worried would happen and it kept me from trying for a long time. I had a feeling I'd feel so incredibly lonely without it, because social media at least gives the appearance that you're connecting with people.

Like, hell, I'm telling you about how I don't want to be able to see the like button in Neocities but without it, I feel invisible. I don't like reminders of how lonely I really am and I seriously don't have the energy to go out and just make friends. Besides, it doesn't work like that. Friendships take time, and that's if you're even able to connect with anyone.

So, it's one of those small but pivotal moments where I decide whether I'm willing to tough out the current discomfort and build new habits. I thought I'd miss Instagram, but I don't. The little feedback I get on what I create? I might miss that too much. But if you saw how many times I check- worship- my stats each day? Embarrassing.

I've linked this webpage on unplugging on my links page, but it's especially relevant to this as our goals at least somewhat align. Wichitalk published a real morose update. It strikes me how they talk about how people are inspired and linking their page and suggesting that the value is somehow diminished because they're (self-reported) failing/struggling with their goal. As corny as it sounds, I think it's the effort that counts, and we can always pick ourselves back up after messing up and doing expressly what we don't want to do.

I take solace in Wichitalk's update. I'm not the only one struggling with this, and I'm in good company. I'm also running away from something. (I feel most of us are, in some form). That's why I identify my personal social media usage as a distraction. And just as Wichitalk points out, I'm also very hard on myself, and that's hard to let go of.

2025-04-13: I have significant gripes with Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) and I'd like to write about it sometime, but in that, I also think it has its place. I've gotten to the point where I can accept that some of the stories I tell myself are verifiably not true and it is not a threat to acknowledge that.

Since I've been writing more, I've noticed moments where I've been thinking about my writing and I get stuck on something I've written. I hate misrepresenting myself and being inconsistent, and so sometimes I'll go back to that line I'm stuck on and think, "Do I really believe that? Do I know that to be true? Do I know enough about this to even be covering it?" I think I let myself get away with small misrepresentations because the lengths it would take to illustrate the most accurate picture is not worth it. Sometimes, vibes alone are enough.

So, while I was already aware that writing promoted self-awareness and understanding, this specifically was an unexpected realization and tool for myself outside of the realm of therapy (in which case, I find therapy to more often than not serve as just another institution that props up capitalism and the status quo).

2025-04-13: Keeping on the theme of ragging on the metrics baked into social media, let me just tell you how nice (and alien) it is for the numbers to disappear. I've got an AO3 skin that hides all the stats- kudos, hits, comments- from everyone's works and it is so nice. It is so nice to not use stats as an automatic shortcut into evaluating whether your or someone else's work is worth any value. It's like the noise is taken away. I just wish there was a way to prevent myself from turning off the skin because I have little restraint.

Same with Neocities. I have the Stylus extension installed and use one of the few offered styles called 'Neocities No Followers' and it is so peaceful not to know how many followers anyone, myself included, have. I wish I knew how to hide the like button too, even though I just talked about how I appreciate the like button as a (albiet, not fullproof) form of feedback. I wish I was able to turn these things off in settings especially when I have no way of hiding them on mobile browser. Just, get rid of the metrics altogether, across the board.

Edit: I'm so silly billy. I went to double check the 11 existing styles offered and 'Neocities Goodie Bag' actually does hide the, as they aptly word it, "popularity metrics." So, the like button is currently hidden, but I'm not sure I'm strong enough to stick through the change and not turn it off, y'know? I know I can circumvent it by viewing on mobile as well . . . You couldn't convince me social media isn't hostile design.

2025-04-13: I recently picked up the webcomics Encore! and Cherry Crush upon recommendation and, over a couple of days got caught up in each. I went to reddit to find more bl recommendations and many people were recommending this one specific title, so I went and tried it out.

Well, it wasn't my cup of tea. I tried. I felt the writing wasn't very strong and the antagonists were cartoonish and flat. My biggest gripe is how the author uses transphobia, homophobia, and sexism as a tool to further the plot. It'd be different if it existed as some type of commentary, but it doesn't. The conflict isn't even compelling either as I fought boredom and hoped it'd just get better eventually.

Reading this story made me realize I've grown accustomed to stories with queer representation in a universe where transphobia and homophobia are near-nonexistent, and it's really relieving. It's nice to have trans and/or gay characters who just get to exist and have "normal" people problems, and where their identities are secondary (trivial) to others, just as cishet identities are. It's nice seeing none of the characters bat an eye at a gay couple, or having trans characters who don't have to enforce their name and pronouns; it's just accepted. I think there's a place for stories like that- a need for it, even.

I don't want to watch the "homosexuals" be ushered out in chains for a mere plot device as much as I don't want the main character's sister pointing out he's "biologically a girl." The story also makes a point of the mc's transness being this big secret, and I don't like what message that sends to the audience. Even as the author reminds us that their character's transphobia does not reflect their own beliefs and are merely a product of this fictional society, and are destined to undergo character growth, it just feels icky and for no other reason than to shoehorn in cheap drama. Seeing transphobia and the like in stories like this often elicit such a visceral reaction too. It's just too real and it's just too close to home, and now I'm unnecessarily uncomfortable while reading your story.

That's not to say your story can't have any drama surrounding queerness. But, honestly, I'd much rather read stories where queer characters are being suppported, loved, and celebrated. If there's conflict, consider making it internal. Have a trans guy experience dysphoria about how he doesn't feel manly enough and then have somebody enthusiastically reassure him otherwise. Innummerable trans readers may be living vicariously through that character and find a relief in it, or even just witnessing a good example of healthy love and acceptance, as they may have never experienced that in their own lives or knew it was even possible. Basically, I don't want to see more trans struggle stories. What value do you even add to the world when you're writing that stuff in? I'd rather us imagine a better world through story. I want to read more about trans joy.

2025-04-12: I spontaneously posted a oneshot fic this morning. I drafted it two weeks ago and had some fun concepts to play with, but I got stuck on a few things, so I put it away to forget about for a bit. I managed to wrestle with it and pull it together over the past few days. I put together a draft in AO3 to try to move it along. I told myself since I was bored with it, that I would move on from it after today, and that somehow breathed a new life in it (extinction-burst-baby) as I performed my final edits and subsequent read-through. I think I was just trying to accept it as it was, perfect writing be damned.

So, I posted it in an excitement. I didn't even set it to Anonymous this time so that everyone could know who wrote such peak cinema... It was one of my more depraved fics, which I strive for. The last one I felt this embarrassed about ended up being the second best recieved, the first also nasty in its own respect and most aligning with my interests at the time.

After I posted this fic, I felt like my whole body was on fire- not physically- but rather emotionally. I wanted to bash my head into a wall I felt so overwhelmed. I was as excited as I was anxious as a fresh work birthed into the world with zeroes spanning the stats. I've written about the whole "engagement" thing before, but I've since deleted it. Drat. In short, it's not about the numbers in itself, but the numbers are representative of real people- readers- who are engaging with the fic. Yes, I write for myself first, but when I send it into the world, I am doing so to communicate with whoever engages with it. The art speaks for itself, but I hope others speak back. And, it's a difficult feeling to be so excited over publishing a work I poured so much love into and then experiencing how anticlimatic it is after it's posted, like it's just sent into the void. There's no confetti and no people saying, "Congrats!" I just have to wait for people to find it and move on with my day.

The thing is, though, it's not sent into the void because people are seeing my work on AO3 and here too! It feels so terrifying being visible and witnessed when I'm putting out very vulnerable art (ie. honest, raw pieces of me). Sometimes I feel shy and daunted when my Neocities feed updates show up to everyone. I want everyone to be aware I've published something new, and there I am, right there, with my words for all to see, and I feel like hiding. And I hate how much stock I tend to put on the amount of likes a post gets. It's sometimes the only feedback I get, though, I would like to very graciously acknowledge every single person who has ever left a comment on my page. Thank you.

I'm overjoyed I've even been able to pursue writing like I have. I've wanted to be a writer for years, of fanfiction too, but perfectionism, shame, and fear, barred me from it for about 10 years. It's just so interesting that even though I'm doing the thing now, fulfilling one of my dreams, it's not some fairytale. Fantastical thinking aside, part of honoring the dream is being terrified and uncomfortable and doing it anyway. I just have to get over the stirring, turbulent and fearful feelings I get posting. Ideally, it should get easier, but it may not. Despite it all, I will post.

On a related note, I have an RSS Feed now. I have to negotiate with myself on how I want to structure updates. Lately, I've been updating the site daily, but I don't think I want to send out an RSS update daily. Batching things together is likely more valuable for the both of us. Otherwise, I also implemented an Update Log on my homepage which should ideally keep with the daily updates so you and I know what's changed on the website. At risk of repeating myself, I'm trying to strike a balance with the social media aspects of these sites in a way that minimizes personal strife because I would like to avoid unnecessary strife resulting from these features!

Supported Reading: My Autistic Perspective on Online Social Anxieties

2025-04-11: I was looking through old images and I found this from three Halloween's ago. I don't normally dress up, but I was working a shift on Halloween and the others were dressing up. So, I freestyled this- hold your seahorses- Patrick Star balaclava. Yup. You heard me right. I personally thought it was really funny (and to some uptight people, I would imagine, probably weird). I made it in a weekend while I was visiting family out of state. The time crunch really lit a fire under my ass and it's one of those projects that made me feel like I was possessed by some otherworldly god that I was even able to pull it off.

Would you believe that I ended up frogging the balaclava? It just sat on a shelf for a few months and I knew I'd never wear it again. Plus, bad memories attached to it so I didn't like looking at it. So, now it is no longer, only memorialized through a photograph. A part of me wishes I still had it. But, seriously, it would've just sat around like the clutter it was. I could've gotten one of those foam heads to display it on, though, if we're arguing this counts as art.

I tend to look back at old photos and think, "Wow, I was cool once," as if I am no longer cool. This one was just especially cool because I normally don't freestyle crochet and get loose with it, as I am creating something original. But, okay, I do this all the time. In the moment, I tend to feel uncool, ugly, or no longer doing cool things, but then I look back at a photo even a few months ago and I'm like, "Woaw!! You were so pretty and cool [and you couldn't see it then, and you're ugly now, haha!] . . ." as if I've changed so much . . .

2025-04-10: I don't feel relieved when people give this specific writing encouragement: "The first draft is supposed to be a flaming piece of garbage! And then you fix it from there." Cuz, most of the time, my first draft becomes my final draft between formal, informal, and creative writing. I edit along the way, so it's not completely raw material, but besides that, I don't do heavy revisions. I just don't know how else to improve it, and that's not me implying I'm some great writer. I'm not. I'm middling at best.

I know I'm not the only one who basically puts out first drafts, but I do feel like less of a writer because of it. I'd definitely get better if I asked for critiques on my creative writing, but I don't because I am too sensitive 😊. I have low self-esteem towards my writing and it tends to be so personal, so a criticism would feel like an attack on me too, and I'm convinced it would seriously distress me and negatively impact my will to write more, so I avoid it. I'm dying to be a better writer, though. I'm bored of writing the same ol' shit. But until I can get over myself, I guess I just have to deal with it.

I'd argue there's a utility towards putting out the rawest version of writing/art you can stomach. I'm kind of all about just getting stuff made and out there as soon as possible before any doubts can set in or the passion fizzles out. And I think there's a utility to sitting on something and letting it simmer and develop. I gravitate towards the prior unless I'm really stuck on something.

2025-04-09: I quit my remaining social media usage cold turkey about a month ago and I don't miss it. I technically still access Instagram from my browser in case I need to check something, but it's been so demystified and the browser version (especially mobile) sucks so bad that I don't enjoy being there. Youtube has been demystified too; most of the stuff there doesn't catch my eye, and I've been around long enough to know not to click videos like, "My ADHD was ruining my life. Here's how I cured it." I use Invidious where I can and have my home feed set to subscriptions view. Invidious, in general, requires a slower pace due to friction. It takes time for a video to load and it may require you to switch instances or wait for the captcha to do its thing before viewing the video.

And so, I've had a lot of moments where I'm bored out of my mind. It's for the best, and I hate being bored out of my mind. It's not like there's anything I want to be doing with my time. I can only study so much Japanese before I feel oversaturated. I can only do so much crochet until my wrist hurts. Honestly, I've been creating so much lately that I feel less of a desire to create. Too much of a good thing, I guess. I can't bring myself to fully step away from the website, though, and I'm still juggling a few ideas of what to do next. I catch myself constantly working through things I'm trying to understand and drafting blog posts or writing in my head.

Sometimes, I recieve a false sense of accomplishing something if I, for example, just go and check my AO3 stats for the tenth time that day. Same with checking the Neocities feed. Even as I'm trying to choke out all distractions, I still manage to find something else to (ultimately fail to) sate me.

I can shower without music now. It's about getting past that initial discomfort, and I like having the space to think. Regarding the being bored part, I think I don't have enough novelty and challenge in my life. I am still stretching and growing but my bar is set high. I need to feel like I'm making significantly more progress and I need something to be excited about. I think the amount of progress I desire is unsustainable for daily life. I think I need a new hyperfixation, hobby, or goal to focus on. I'm so proud of myself for sticking to Japanese seven months later, but I miss that intense hyperfixation period from the first three months because of the vitality it breathed in me.

I just gotta use my brain, I think. I could bear to be a little more creative with my problem solving and I could bear to be more focused on the right things instead of all the distractions.

2025-04-08: In today's essay, I will discuss the importance of blushies in the comic medium in order to express attraction and other strong emotions.

2025-04-08: Last night, I experienced that awful feeling of aloneness (and loneliness). I got off call with bestie. She'd be going to sleep and I'd be awake for at least 9 more hours, as I'm stuck in a phase of staying up all night and sleeping through half the day. Even as I was texting people, I felt like I was the only one on Earth that existed. Was it dissociation? No, I don't think so. But it was odd and uncomfortable. I ended up watching videos and playing my puzzle game and, eventually, I journaled like I had wanted to. I think there's a struggle with transition there, from talking to bestie for a few hours to just being alone.

Don't get me wrong. I know how to be alone and I like being alone, but not when it feels like I need somebody, like I need support or just companionship. It reminds me that bestie can't be everything for me, not that I ask that of her. But I remember how lonely I was before meeting her and how untethered I felt. I've spent so long being alone, even now. Though, a little bit of support goes a long way, and just having a bestie has improved my life drastically.

I think the advice, "Learn how to be alone and enjoy it" is not advice catored towards me, partially because I already do that. It's for the people who are so terrified of being alone they avoid it. I have no other choice. Most people make me uncomfortable. Why would I want to be around you if you just drain me and stress me out?

It's a curse. It really is. I hate that I can't feel fully connected people- not without anxiety, and I'm surely masking it; you likely wouldn't tell there was anything wrong- and I can't reach out for support as much as I'd like to; I generally feel misunderstood and too strange to bridge the gap. There's not a single relationship I'm 100% comfortable in, anxiety-free. Bestie comes the closest to that, but she has her limitations (we all do). But I do ache for more of that. I ache for more anxiety-free conversations where I don't have to clench the whole time. I ache for the energizing effect of being around like-minded people. I long for the ease of conversation with somebody who just gets me.

I'm in desperate need of community, but it feels near impossible to form anything given the circumstances. I feel like the ties I have formed have unfolded naturally and by luck- everyone in their right place at the right time. It's best when I don't force it, so I've resolved myself to spend lonely mornings writing blog posts and carrying on.

2025-04-06: I wrote some weird fanfic last night just to prove to myself that I could. No one had written for this pairing yet either, so it felt nice to be the first. It was about 1,500 words and I just let myself be hammy and corny with it. Two really, really good lines came out of it and that makes me feel good. More than anything, I need my stuff to be interesting to me, perhaps taking precedent over being well-written. If I'm bored by the writing, so are the readers.

It's been well recieved so far, too. Somebody left a comment today and it stands as the best comment since starting in December. To roughly assign the class of fanfic it falls into, the commenter themself writes Spongebob smut. In my opinion, usually finding these fics starts with a curiosity. I actually looked up Squidward x Squilliam fanfic awhile ago just to see if it existed.

Anyway, the commenter lamented that I'd set the fic to Anonymous because they wanted to read more of my stuff. It made me strongly consider taking it off Anon, but all the other stuff I wrote has only been for Persona 5, so it didn't seem wholly worth it given how random and one-off this one was.

This was also the first of my creative writing I ever shared with my bestie or, really, anyone. I was so excited to read it out loud on call because I knew she'd like it in all its absurdity. I felt some stage fright as I started and I had to say out loud, "Cringe is dead," to comfort myself. Bestie did love it, and her two favorite lines were shared with the other commenters and me.

I'd consider it all a win. I'm branching out and I wasn't terrified to post as I used to be. It's nice to loosen up a bit and take myself less seriously. To take myself so seriously is to seriously castrate my ability to enjoy myself, improve, be flexible, and exercise fresh creativity.

2025-04-04: My mental health hasn't been so great lately. I feel this oppressive haze around me and it's hard to think or see straight. Everything seems much more catastrophic and unsafe and it's difficult to convince myself to let go of things that feel important in the moment. That, if I let go, then I'll be putting myself in iminent danger. You'd think, me being around the block a few times, I'd know differently. The anxiety isn't actually preparing me for what it thinks it is . . .

A few years ago, I wanted to dedicate the word "surrender" to the year as a sort of mantra. I swiftly lost sight of it, not that I had the guts to let go anyway. I think there's some truth to the saying, "You'll know what to do when [it] happens," [it] being any unforseen or projected outcome you fear. It's having self-trust in yourself that you'll respond appropriately in the moment. Even in cases where you don't know what to do, you're forced to do something and just get through it.

I can't bring myself to fully slow down. I can't bring myself to fully let go. I'm exhausted, yet I'm restless. What if something goes wrong and I'm not there to tend to it? Who would I be if I just let it go? I'm not sure I'd recognize him. I've long been a person who cares too much about things. Oh, how I admonish myself over that. "If only I could just care less," I tell myself. Do I really want that? I don't know.

2025-04-03: I remember how I used to love to read. That was up until my preteens, and I was okay with not understanding everything I read. By the time I entered high school, they were forcing us to read a host of classics, and I felt alienated because I didn't know enough about history and geography and my vocabulary wasn't solid enough to know what was going on without SparkNotes. Like, I didn't catch on that there was even a ghost in the beginning of Hamlet until it was brought up in class discussion. Did I not know what an "apparition" was or something?

So, I hated reading after that. The only way I'd read fiction specifically was to pick up a webcomic and read it, and even then, I was a slow reader. That was part of it, too. In high school and college, I'd be tasked with reading lengthy, dense articles and I felt alienated that it took me longer than everyone else. I couldn't bring myself to skim the pieces. I needed to read it all and understand the thesis in its entirety, and it always burnt me out and I would fail to finish reading them anyway.

Part of the slowness is because I wasn't able to fully invest myself in stories that didn't personally interest me, and sometimes, even the ones that did interest me, would be thwarted by my attentional issues. I'd read a paragaph or two and then ask, "Wait, what did I just read?" because my mind had already drifted in that time. Even worse now, the energy demand of reading is more apparent due to my constant fatigue, and I'm able to read even less than I normally would.

Lately, I've been able to accomodate my reading difficulties by either reading aloud (which still demands energy, but hones focus) or let the text to speech function in Firefox reader view read it to me (which sometimes fails because the monotone voice is boring).

Arguably, I've been reading a lot more in the past two years, and that's been intentional. Just not physically published fiction. I thought about making a blog post of its own arguing that reading is so much broader than just picking up a book. As far as I can tell, listening to an audiobook is still reading. Reading Reddit or Youtube comments is still reading. Yes, the quality of writing varies, but you come across some good stuff here and there, with prose-like sentences and vocabulary you've never seen before. I even consider watching a video by a writer, whether they scripted it or not, a sort of form of writing because they often talk as if they are writing. Reading blog posts, fanfiction, manga, and webcomics is still valid ways of reading. They're just different mediums that demand different things.

If anything, I can't pick up physical books still. Sometimes, I can force myself to read a physical manga volume, but it still feels like a chore. I agree with Ismatu Gwendolyn's thesis that "you’ve been traumatized into hating reading (and it makes you easier to oppress)", and I lament that I'm not there yet. Ismatu argues, too, that physical reading is an important and distinct skill from listening to writing, and that's hard to digest. This is also somebody who deals with their own set of challenges as a neurodiverse individual, so they argue neurodiversity should not strip you of your agency to try reading anyway.

I lament, especially, that I don't read physically published fiction because I don't think I'm going to get much better at writing fanfiction if I only read other fanfiction, which, by nature, doesn't go through the formal editing process a traditional story would.

I've been intending to write about this for some time now, but something specific tonight spurred me to. I was reading a fellow webmaster's creative writing on here, and I can recognize he's a great writer, but I feel that familiar sense of alienation when I find I can't fully comprehend what he's getting at. I feel stupid and I feel like I'm missing out, and with that type of energy, I feel like quitting instead of stepping up to the challenge.

It's worth mentioning that, as with any skill, cultivating a comfort with reading takes practice. It takes fighting through the discomfort and building resilience and endurance so that it can hopefully become easier and more enjoyable next time. I think I've built some endurance with the "safe" digital literature I've engaged in thus far. I'd just have to push myself with physical literature.

I've also started to make peace with being a slow reader. I saw somewhere that to become a faster reader, you shouldn't subvocalize as you do it, which is physically reading it in your head and hearing your voice as you do. I think the auditory aspect is essential in my processing. Also, I really get to chew on stories and digest them. I try to transport myself into the shoes of the main character and sense what they're sensing. I can practically hear the character's voices and feel their touch, and so on. I'm sure I may understand the story on the deeper level than one would if they skim or rush. And especially if it's a webcomic chapter/episode, there is no taking back what you've already read. You can't read it for the first time again. So, might as well enjoy your food instead of swallow it half-eaten.

2025-04-02: Being mentally ill is so rough sometimes (for many reasons, LOL). But, in regards to having a site, if I'm just a little too tired or extra anxious, I get the compulsion to delete parts of the site or the whole thing. Like, tunnel vision. I fail to recognize all that I built and how much it has meant to me. I'm just so good at abandoning things, and the typical shame in the moment sometimes proves too great. Like, with my creations, I can flip-flop between, "This is amazing!" and "This is so cringe I'm scared to even look at it." The compulsion to delete and start anew follows this logic: I cleanse myself of my shame and filth as I, naturally, corrupt everything I touch.

2025-03-26: Just as Ismatu expresses, I am painfully aware of the stage I'm on here on this personal website and, by extension, Neocities. Everything I publish here is written with the awareness of an audience. I try to lead with honesty and authenticity, but I notice the ways in which I edit myself. The presence of a stage implies I am performing.

I've been thinking about this topic lately, and I was inspired to put it on paper (webpage?) after reading d60010's blog post, entitled Let Me Show You, discussing editing and rewriting one's own story in public and private.

I think, even when authenticity is trendy on the internet, as it is now, it's impossible to be fully authentic. We're all cultivating our images on here in some way or another. Sometimes ensuring safety and privacy keep us from saying certain things, and other times, we just want to look good. Well, I'll speak for myself. I want to look good.

I notice myself smoothing out my edges because I don't want to appear too unhinged or too sick. I don't want people worrying about me here. Don't believe my smooth words. I am profoundly ill.

I think about talking about suicidality, for example, but I don't want to distress others and I have this weird complex that, at least spiritually, somebody is calling the cops on me.

I like people thinking I'm put together. I don't like people seeing the true extent of my suffering or dysfunction because I feel like I lose some of my dignity and people respect me less. I guess it's just masking? I don't know. I haven't been able to break through this cycle yet and allow myself to be seen struggling for genuine fear of being treated differently. Autonomy is extremely important to me, perhaps above all else, and it comes at the cost of other things.

If I just let people see my struggle, then maybe they could finally understand me better and it opens the opportunity for them to help me. (But a lot of times I don't want help!! I've felt let down by too many people and what they consider "help" to be). If I was more unfiltered, maybe it'd make me feel free? Or maybe it'd make me feel profoundly shitty seeing my shit-smear-life on paper.

2025-03-21: I forgot I placed a hold for Tokyo Ghoul volumes 4-6 until I woke up to an email that they were already in at the library. They came from a city an hour away, and I realize I may have held these books before.

Between the summer and fall of 2023, I was reading a lot more to fill the time while I was exceedingly lonely and jobless. I got through at least the first three volumes of Jujutsu Kaisen and midway through volume 5 on Tokyo Ghoul before getting burnt out.

I remember just starting to read Tokyo Ghoul in the seventh grade and loving the art style. Not long after, I swore off anime and manga because my dad thought it was demonic and my shame was too great. (What? A story about ghouls being demonic? Maybe. Would you believe me if I said he called Pokémon satanic? Pokémon). It was nice to, almost ten years later, finally return to the series. I'd consider a part of myself healed when I first checked them out.

Some of the stories I'm most drawn to are the ones where the main character exists liminally. That is, between two identities. Usually they belong to the "moral" human realm, but then have some "immoral," less human part of them too. And so they neither belong to one or the other because they're both. They tend to internalize the descrimination and hatred displayed by the society at large, hating that more "inhuman" part of them.

If you're interested in a great webcomic read, I'd recommend one of my favorites called Your Wings and Mine by hakeism. Half-angel half-demon Shealtiel befriends the demon, Luciferen, after he was originally tasked to kill him. It's a dramatic but largely comedic bl with some heavier aspects throughout, and it's finished now!

2025-03-17: Uh, yeah. Keeping with the current getting-off-social-media theme, I impart on you some wisdom. It's not an original thought; I got it from a video I know I'd not be able to find now, but it's good advice. That is, let yourself be bored.

I've done my fair share of, "But I'm neurodivergent!!" when it comes to advice I feel is not tailored to me. With ADHD, understimulation (which leads to boredom) can feel almost physically painful, so I prefer overstimulation. I also hate feeling like I'm wasting time, but that's me still being wrapped up in productivity culture.

Overstimulation isn't always great for your creativity, though. When you cram your brain with stuff, there's hardly any room for organic thought you see in such "shower thoughts". In fact, if I can, quite literally, bear taking a shower without music, I tend to just let my mind wander, and I may daydream, and usually, I feel inspired with new, exciting ideas.

When I was still actively working on my multi-chapter story, I'd run into a wall as to where to take it next. I'd rectify that by stepping away and doing something else, and usually it was something menial. I'd be driving and I knew, in the back of my mind, it was trying to work out the next part of the story, and usually I'd come upon a lightbulb-moment solution.

I also think we can be better problem-solvers when we're bored. Like, I'm not allowing myself to look at Instagram on my phone now, so what should I do with my time instead? The answer lately has been study Japanese. I've been studying so much Japanese lately.

2025-03-16: I took heed of badgraph1csghost's warnings on privacy and made some small changes. I've been thinking about ditching the Gmail account for ProtonMail, but it's like I needed permission. Google verifiably is a monopoly, and that's daunting, but also the reason I want to distance myself.

I changed my email on a lot of my accounts, updated the passwords to be stronger where need be (a New Year's resolution: stronger passwords), and deleted inactive accounts too. I'm trying to get myself to go from Youtube to Invidious too, and change any YT and Spotify embeds I have on the site.

I deleted my Substack account too. Devon Price brought me there, but I hate the social media feed and I hate how it all makes me feel. Some of it feels like some niche discourse that'd only exist online and doesn't really matter? Like, it's not things people "irl" talk about. Reminds me of my Tiktok days where the drama felt so real, but it only happened within the confines of the app. Nobody on the outside knew what happened there. It's an energy and feelings siphon.

I saw this post before I deleted my Substack account and I felt vindicated. I see people dickriding Substack, like how I mentioned a person claiming "doomscrolling Substack is like overdosing on broccoli." Meanwhile, the more I scroll, the more I want to fucking kill myself.

In regards to the remaining social media I still interact with, the taste in my mouth ferments and worsens by the day. Advertisements have long annoyed me to the point of anger, but lately, all I can think is, "Evil, evil, evil." It bothers me that I have to keep a Facebook account in order to recieve choir updates when all I can think is, "Evil, evil, evil.

2025-03-15: I've been thinking about idolism lately. I've been catching myself thinking, "Man, I hope this is somebody's favorite website, that they visit often, or at least that it sticks in their mind for some time."

I feel conceited saying it out loud. Granted, I have a few sites that are my favorite, and I check often and they stick in my mind even when away; however, it tends to border on idolism.

Without dressing it up in fancy clothes, I've long had an inferiority complex, and that extends to here too. I try to temper it, but my default is to see some of the people on here as better than me. They know something I don't. They live fuller lives. Even their suffering is more beautiful than mine.

Putting people on a pedestal is bad for many reasons. To idolize is to idealize; it is projecting this perfect image onto someone and it doesn't acknowledge their personhood. And inevitably, when they can't meet the impossible expectations you've set for them, the facade eventually falls apart in a sometimes bitter, but other times unremarkable way.

I used to follow this cutesy website and I never looked too closely at what this person wrote, but eventually they wrote something horribly transphobic and doubled down on it when politely challenged and I was disgusted. No, I didn't necessarily idolize this person, but I think because of how beautifully coded the site was, I thought they were better than me. Turns out they were just another person. Not better than and not worse than. Just a person with some bigoted views.

So, y'know, I don't want anybody idolizing me. I'm just some guy, and it's unfair to both of us if you idolize me. But I do hope that I make a difference by some of the stuff I create here. I hope I matter. Sometimes I do feel invisible despite any evidence otherwise. This isn't said to guilt anyone; I'm just making a statement. I'm fine. Just thinking about things.

2025-03-15: After another day of being overwhelmingly overstimulated, I decided to try again at quitting social media. I deleted Reddit and Instagram off my phone and greatly reduced the apps on my home screen.

So, I've decided I'm only allowed to view Instagram on my phone or computer browser. The browser version sucks so I don't stay for long. Just enough time to check the reels my friends send me.

Awhile ago, I installed IGPlus Extension so it'd hide reels and the discover page for me on my computer, which comes in handy now. It also only allows me to view my Following feed, which grows boring fast.

I've been removing digital clutter too, which also means unfollowing extraneous accounts or otherwise ones that grant cheap entertainment. Make IG boring!! Unfortunately, that means (warning, juvenile sex joke) @gojo_.strokes._hispickle_daily (LMAO) and @morningofmylifedaily need to go ...

I recently watched a video about getting off of social media and this person basically said, "Babygirl, you can't be stimming with Instagram Reels," and it cracks me up because it's true.

2025-03-14: I love that I'm not so mannish now that I can still compliment women on things like their nails and their hair and it doesn't come off as predatory. That's never my intention, of course, and I'm very much gay and effeminate.

I don't really know what to make of all of it. I felt I experienced a little taste of girlhood today. The woman taking my order said, "Let me see those cat eyes," in reference to my freshly done nails and I pushed my hands forward. She held my hands (and I loved it) and she tilted them so the light hit it just right to sparkle. She always has her nails done too, and I always ask to see them. Today, they were St. Patrick's themed.

I'm not sure if I pass to most people, and I'll never ask; I don't actually want to know. A part of me does want to know, though. How do you see me? I assume I don't pass because I go to the coffee shop often with chest unbound and voice high and shy, despite the thinning hair and patchy stubble to match. It doesn't wholly matter. People treat me nice and I feel more confident than I did before.

I'm not actually a man. It's merely a shorthand for ease of communication. More like a girlish boy-thing who insists upon absolutely not being a whole-woman. My bestie has always recognized me as a man. Don't tell her I said this, but I wish she was able to see me as I see me: how I'm a not-quite man who yearns for a taste of girlhood, but without feeling like an outsider as I always did living as a girl-failure.

2025-03-13:
Reacquired memory: My dad used to call me "sweet girl" despite me not being a girl, and given his propensity to demonize me, I was neither sweet. However, I find myself organically starting to call bestie "sweet girl" in some bittersweet reclamation, but this time it's true and a reflection of a real love divorced from conditions.

2025-03-13: Ugh, my brain is fried. I'm overstimulated. I've been perusing the Substack mobile app lately so that I could read more as opposed to just scroll; however, I've been extremely disappointed to find out that Substack is configured as just another social media app. ICK.

A poster yesterday tried to argue that "doomscrolling" on Substack was like overdosing on broccoli, but I can tell you when I got stuck browsing today, it did not feel good. Being informed on politics is good, but being inundated with it left and right is not good.

Also, I have this pathological desire to constantly be bettering myself. Nothing is ever good enough. I also have this weird belief that some people are more "enlightened" than me, like they have the answers I've been looking for, and that if I just keep looking, then I'll find them. Ew. Ew ew ew. I'm disgusted by myself.

Been thinking a lot about michaelmas's piece on disembodiment today. The voice I read it in is scathing and admonishing. I can't say what Michael's purpose in writing that was, but it challenges me and promotes some awareness.

I conflate disembodiment with, or maybe caused by, a systemic dissociation, and I'm just as quick to jump to defensiveness. I've always been an avoidant person, and it used to be a tool of survival, but it's a coping strategy I haven't outgrown yet. Also, dissociation prevents me from having so many severe and distressing PTSD episodes, for example.

But at the same time, dissociation is just choosing a different kind of discomfort. I let fear paralyze me. I choose to be stuck instead of doing the scary, hard thing. And in my depressive episodes, I feel flattened emotions: I cannot cry, I cannot rage, and I cannot derive pleasure out of things that normally bring me joy. In my depressive episodes, I mostly feel despair and hopelessness and sometimes terror.

So yeah. I'm overstimulated, but I'm not sure I can handle being present and being bored. I'm pacifying myself, I know that, and it feels good until it doesn't. Tonight, I deleted my Instagram app again and Substack too and I just want to be done. I worry, though, that I'll just replace one addiction with the next as I usually do, or cave and redownload the apps.

I'm even bummed Neocities has a social media feature because my monkey brain looooves it. There's no way, to my knowledge, to completely turn it off. I can turn off my site profile and delete my site updates, but I can still type https://neocities.org/ and there it is. I just found a Firefox extension to block sites, and that's cool and all, but the annoying thing is I can just turn it off, and knowing myself, I will just turn the block off and on as I see fit.

2025-03-01: Last time I did my nails, I started watching Trigun (1998), which was on my 'to watch' list. I associate doing my nails with watching Trigun now, but it may fade with time if it were only a one-time deal. I decided I wanted to keep on and maybe make it a tradition/ritual, so I turned it on while I did my nails this time.

I'm really not much for light-hearted, comedic animes that are also episodic in nature. I'd prefer if there was more of an overarching plot. It ever so slightly reminds me of Fullmetal Alchemist (2003) with their adventures, but Al and Edward have a clear goal from the beginning. I know Trigun has its serious moments, but pasted over it is the same levity that Vash carries himself with. I know there's a thick irony in the great Vash the Stampede who leaves destruction in his wake being this dorky guy who's lucky to come out of each altercation unscathed but, like the other characters, I have a hard time accepting him for who he shows us to be. Granted, he wouldn't be Vash if he was all serious, now, would he?

Despite my aversion to lighter stories, usually once I give them a chance and my reservations fall away, it's a refreshing change of pace. I'm not always so careful with what media I consume, and I feel I'm often poisoned and pulled down by icky stuff. The way I recieve my news is not very helpful, for example, and the effects have been deleterious.

The beginning of this song played on one of the episodes and it got me all excited. I listened to this song a lot last year and thoroughly enjoy it. I'm thinking about checking out the other music from the series because I heard another song in the anime that sounded beautiful.

2025-03-01: A solicitor for some unnamed charity approached my friend and me when we were out yesterday and I was extremely uncomfortable. My friend was quick to decline by giving a believable half-truth and the man left.

I felt bad after, as uncomfortable as I was, because his cause seemed noble and he supplemented it with a touching personal story.

Afterwards, I turned toward my friend and said, “I think I indirectly killed somebody today because I didn’t donate.” I actually didn’t say a word to the solicitor, but I didn’t buy what he was selling either.

It started sort of as a joke but also a (slight) hyperbolic representation of my guilt, but the more I said it, the more I believed it.

We called that evening and talked until early morning. My friend said she was proud of how she masterfully yet politely declined the offer, and I merely kept repeating, “I indirectly killed somebody today because I didn’t donate.” We were both laughing at the absurdity of my statement and she clearly cared enough to try to reassure me otherwise, but I kept repeating it.

I’ve really felt like a fundamentally rotten person lately, and I can only theorize the cause. I think it's a mix of things.

“I indirectly killed somebody today because I didn’t donate.”

2025-02-27: Last night, I did my best girl voice over the phone for my best friend to see if I could do it and, each time, I could feel the visceral cringe from her. She said afterwards that she's never cringed so hard, body curling in on itself. She said, "It was evil. It's just not you," and when I told her I wanted to put this in the blog she said she'd provide a testimony to which she reiterated, "I'm sorry for saying that. I love you, but it was evil and it sucked and I hated it." I told her it was affirming that she said that.

There's something really nice about meeting new people when you're well into your transition. Meeting new people, you have the gift of them only knowing you by your current name and your current voice. There's no wondering if, in the back of their mind, they refer to you with a name you no longer use, or if they hold onto that old version of you. I think it's a unique love; to be loved for who I am and not who you wish I would return back to.

2025-02-27: I think there's something oddly spiritual about the morning hours, from roughly 1am to 6am. I'm such a night owl, but how it usually goes is that I've finally built up all my momentum and you're telling me I'm supposed to break it by going to sleep? Lately, I've felt an incredible resistance to falling asleep because of this. My vision could have long gone blurry– as it is now– but I ignore the tiredness as I always do.

Settling into the quiet morning hours (or what I still consider night) can feel so special. There are no demands placed on me. The world is quiet. I know I'm not the only one that feels this way. I've seen other survivors of abuse talk about how they appreciate the early mornings most as a solace. I wasn't allowed to have a lock on my bedroom door when I lived in my childhood home, even well into adulthood, and it was another act of control and a way to strip me of my autonomy and healthy need for boundaries. I would get paranoid that my dad would open my door without warning. You don't have to worry about stuff like that at night time, when everyone is asleep.

A note I wrote to myself via discord message after hearing gymnopédie no. 1 in an ad of all things. I loathe the everyday barrage of asinine advertisements, but this one sounded beautiful. I have a weakness for this song. Do note, I accidentally spelt his name wrong in the screenshot.

2025-02-26: The "holding space" Wicked press tour meme is so funny to me especially with how many people, Cynthia and Ariana included, were confused with the "holding space" jargon. As a reformed self-help addict, I was immediately like, "that's just therapy speak, lol." You see it a lot in some corners of the internet. Psychology and mental health have gone mainstream and been commodified, and so you get sentences like, "I don't have the capacity to be in relationship with you anymore because you no longer serve me. I'm doing all the emotional labor and you never hold space for me." Lol. You can talk like that if you want. It's just very impersonal and weird. I think a lot of people using this language might often feel more "enlightened" and more "healed" than someone not "doing the work."

2025-02-26: "I'm not allowed to be myself. I won't be understood. I won't be digestible. People won't accept me." Fine. Don't be understandable. Don't be digestible. Let them choke on you in all of your acrid taste. Yes, safety, acceptance, and support from others is important, but suppressing who you truly are will both eat you up inside and attract the exact wrong people that often will, in some way or another, punish or reject you if you ever start showing the true parts of you that you are hiding. It's lonely being around people who don't see you for who you are, and to make it worse, it's because you won't even begin to show them out of fear.

I say this all out of sympathy, for you and for me. I understand unmasking and accepting your true, unfettered (and likely messy, weird, cringy self) is hard and scary. Just know your existence doesn't have to make sense. Live in contradiction or know that two opposing truths can be true at the same time.

2025-02-26: I used to struggle a lot with anticipatory grief. It still comes up, but I handle it in a different way now.

As an autistic person, I was never able to keep any friendships for more than a few years. I was typically oscillating between what people call "anxious" and "avoidant" attachment. I was closed off with most, high masking and mirroring what I thought others wanted of me, desperate to try to make friends. But when I was fortunate enough to make a friend, we were usually fundamentally incompatible. Maybe, for a brief window of time, my compulsive people-pleasing and masking would artificially align us, but eventually, when the mask started to crumble (because it always does), I'd have a falling out with the friend.

I remember befriending somebody a few summers ago. We got along well and seemed to have similar enough temperaments, but I was masking hard. I remember spending time with them and instead of feeling joy, I'd feel anxiety and grief, wondering just when this great thing would fall apart, because it always falls apart eventually: nothing is forever.

Well, it did fall apart, and it was painful. I'm glad it did though. I don't think we were as compatible as we thought. Since then, though, I've begun to find my real identity, unmask, and accept more parts of myself. I met my now best friend in the fall of last year, and I think we truly are compatible. I went into the friendship as unmasked as I could, showing her my "freak" cringe side, and it gave her permission to show her "freak" cringe side.

I don't worry so much anymore when things will end. My friendship seems secure enough, and now I've got relationships that have lasted for 2+ years now. Sometimes the anticipatory grief comes up, when I look at my cat and realize she's going to die someday, or how some day, I'll miss this phase of my life. I'm not much one for "mindfulness," at least, not in the pop psychology sense, but the solution for me has been slowing down and just taking in the moment. I pet my cat, feel the softness of her fur and the weight of her laying on my chest, and I assure myself that she's alive right now, and that some day, when she's gone, I'll wish for this exact moment again. It's anti-taking things for granted, and it's recognizing that anticipatory grief does little to prepare you for the real thing. If anything, it just robs you of a beautiful moment while you're still in it. Everything must end. Everything. So enjoy it now.

I'm also not huge on affirmations, especially saying things you don't yet believe about yourself, but I heard one the other day that I like, and that is, "these are the good days." even if I, personally, am in hell during a certain phase in my life, once i'm out of that phase, I forget a lot of the pain and grief and still feel nostalgic for the little pockets of good memories that are no longer.

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