*** TRIGGER WARNING ***
Substance abuse, domestic violence, self harm, depression, anxiety and the rest.
I'm excellent at evading with euphemism and avoiding actually answering anything through alliteration.
Which is an incredibly useful defence mechanism I've spent the better part of my time and energy crafting.
And a great way to both intentionally and unintentionally appear to be undermining everyone I encounter [coupled with the constant yelling].
But the volume veracity does not correlate to validity - mainly mania.
LOOK AT ME GO I'M LIKE A DEGENERATE DR. SEUSS.
You see I, like others that are forced to live in the badlands of their own brains, am what you could and I would describe as fucked.
That is my professional opinion [as someone that takes photos of butts].
But I have never received a professional opinion because the option for one was never presented in my formative years and the possibilities of what it may be in my current crazy scare the shit out of me.
"Does the label matter?"
The collapse of emotional availability within my previous relationship lead me to working on myself [online] which naturally lead to all sorts of [overblown] revelations. One of which was that I likely have an ASD.
That label didn't help me, but the resources it lead me to did.
It wasn't about knowing why but finding the tools to progress. But to rebuild you must be broken. Any human that has been bent over & butt-fucked by their own reality will tell you - it hurts, but it's the good kind.
I am no stranger to being broken and the manic masochist that I am, did it all at once.
But I have recently been repeatedly reminded of how important it is to let it show. We are so quick to judge others based on how they treat us before we ever even try educating them on how we want it to be done.
Masturbate your minds and get it out. If you don't know why, they won't know why. And even though I have no problem telling people what a fragmented fuckbag I feel like, I am repeatedly received and responded to as strong.
Subjective - compared to what? Have you seen my ankles? I don't think I'm special or capable of more and I don't think my maladies are particularly minuscule - especially as I meet more minds like mine. All of whom I'm ever growingly grateful for. It can feel lonely but none of us are alone.
So I want to speak right to you - those I have spoken to in person or online or am about to. Because though that feels like such a narcissistic assumption, there have been enough of you now that I know there are more.
I break hard and mend like a motherfucker and have been since before I even knew I was. But I still break. And I'm okay with it.
It is okay to not be okay.
And if I can say anything it's that you have to learn to live with that. That's the only way to be okay.
And if that part was the most sing song of all and seems senseless, it's because it wasn't for you. Maybe not right now or never at all.
And if it made the most sense, know I am no better. But I am okay, because I know it's okay not to be.
I didn't always. I used to have very bad behaviours. And this is where it goes dark, because we need to acknowledge that it does. So I'll do my very best to be humble and human in my attempts to confess my crazy because I believe it's important we do - just know that it hurts. And not the good kind.
*** TRIGGER WARNING REMINDER ***
I haven't been going outside much. Albeit the weather isn't helping, but I wasn't going outside much before it threw a fit either.
I've been drinking more. Those tend to coincide. I am not an alcoholic because I am almost an anemic adolescent and my anatomy simply would not comply - but I definitely could have been. Drunk Taylor is so much more fun and social and smooth [and loud and reckless]. Which means being drunk Taylor can be really dangerous for sober Taylor. And was born at 13. Limits were learned later*.
*are still being tested
I haven't been working out. For many that means mood and mind are mad. For me that also means my shit sees more than a subluxation or two. More bad hurt. And bad hurt does not make me happy. I used to have a lot of that because of my spine and my mind and then my spine on my mind and so forth. I used to be this:
It was highly effective. I got a lot of shit done. And had a panic attack every morning on the way to middle school. I didn't know that's what the knot was until I started puking blood one morning at summer camp. That eventually stopped when the ulcers my anxiety had caused healed.
I was 12.
I've been headed down this road a long time because otherwise I would not be on this road for very long
I used to drink until I became destructive to myself and those around me. I still self-medicate to socialize, but try not to let the effects seep into my personal and professional. I schedule my hangovers.
I never self-harmed - my masochism has always manifested in other ways. But if my anger wasn't released consensually, it would come out forcibly. I have yelled, I have hit. I still do both, but keep it consensual. And do yoga.
I cry irrationally. A lot. That will never go away. I just ride the waves and avoid the spirals. The darkness needs your permission to take you. Better out than in.
I self sabotage. A lot. Because anxiety and paranoia and depression and mania and all that fun stuff. So I work on creating safe spaces everywhere I can. Socially, financially, emotionally. I have to accept my triggers - they have to be my tentpoles because they will never go away. I must build around them.
I remove myself. Constantly. I have spent as long as two weeks in total isolation - no contact, no communication. No grocery store runs, no walks around the block. No roommates, parents or partners around. Just pets. I do not do this anymore. I create safe people that I can be honest with and are rational about my irrationalities. I manage my time and energy so that I can still be effective and communicate when necessary. I send a lot of emails [and hate the phone].
I am not okay, but I am okay with that. And that's as close as I can get. But when sickness seeps in your only options are fight, flight or freeze. Your path depends on your person, but your survival depends on you
Stupid Proof Survival Skills:
Put it into words. In any format. Write it down, say it and record it. Document it so you can revisit and reverse engineer it. "Why did I end up here?" and "How do I avoid this place?"
Slow in. Even slower out.
Drink water, not coffee. Eat real food, not shit. Sleep when possible.
It is okay to not be okay.