#had a very emotionally taxing and triggering apartment clean out

[butch-himbo-king]

yesterday was easily the hardest day i’ve had at this job so far and the fact that it’s only tuesday and i have to go back there today and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow feels so fucking heavy rn

[lettersfromaloveuntold]

My husband told me I was fucked up tonight. Wasn’t even joking. And for some reason, that really fucking hurt.

I know I’m not the best wife, I know I could be better. But lately my mental health has been declining and he hasn’t been kind or understanding in the least. He’s been rude, manipulative, degrading, dismissive. His excuse? “I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me.” And “that’s not my fault.” That stung, considering I did tell him. I’ve told him several times I’m not mentally well, I’m struggling with my mental health and my syncope, my anxiety is making a horrible comeback (he triggers my anxiety attacks because he thinks my reactions are funny.), I’m stuck doing all of the housework (not a big deal, I’m going to school online full time and can’t work due to my syncope, so not a big deal. Until I have the apartment CLEAN and he comes home and trashes it because he won’t pick up after himself.).... I told him all of it.

“You never tell me anything you just get mad and take it out on me. I just want you to love me. Why can’t you just do that?”

I am so tired. I am exhausted after doing the same thing day after day after day. He doesn’t understand how emotionally taxing it is to do 5+ hours of school, train a puppy the basics of obedience and service work (she and my other dog are solely my responsibility. He hates them.), clean the apartment from top to bottom, make sure the dogs’ needs are met, make sure the cat’s needs are met, make sure the guinea pigs’ needs are met... and have him come home and say “Did you even do anything today?”

My mental health has taken such a turn I am begging therapists and psychiatrists to squeeze me in or keep me on their cancellation lists because i am unwell. I accept that I am. I am trying to practice self care, but it is so damn hard when you have someone who shits on you at every turn. Guys, the last time I wanted to die I was 20. That was three years ago. It’s getting bad again. I don’t know how to stop it. Three years ago I had coping mechanisms. I had my dog, I relied on her. Now I can’t because he thinks I am sexually attracted to her. Not true. He said that because when I’m having an anxiety attack I don’t want to be touched, I ask her to do Deep Pressure Therapy though. He doesn’t take it seriously. I had horses, and I had my writing.

Now I don’t have either. He has told his family I want a horse, and they have ridiculed and shamed me for it. They’re extremely negative toward me as well, but very supportive of him. I recently got a settlement from a car accident from before I met him. He begged and cried and threw a TANTRUM because I told him no to getting a gun. His stepmom and bio dad chewed me out for being stingy with money. He got his gun. I bought a used couch off Facebook marketplace, our futon was extremely uncomfortable for me on my hips. He told his dad. His dad chewed me out because I was blowing money. (Back to the horse bit) They all say it’s impractical to have, so I tried to compromise and find somewhere I could take lessons, which is better than nothing. Andddddd they shat on it, saying we didn’t need to be blowing money.

I’m not suicidal, but if there was a car coming for me, I’m not sure I’d move.

Still breathing,

Stressed, Sad, and Suicidal. 💜

[billgavemeextrachips]

Reasons I don’t want to see my extended family at the holidays

1. I can’t, in good conscience, just “let it slide” or “agree to disagree” with the horrible things they say. I’ve read articles online about families being polarized or split apart over politics, and they all seem to bemoan some bygone era when people just didn’t talk politics in polite company. But you know what? That’s not an option anymore. I’m a queer, disabled woman- my life is political. Our culture shoves politics in everyone’s faces- from Facebook to the NFL. (The latter was politicized when they started glorifying the military, years before the police brutality protests began. Please note that I support taking a knee and don’t find that to be ‘making things political” when that venue already was.) Also doesn’t help that my grandfather loudly complains about every Indian-American and Latino he comes into contact with. I am not even kidding. How do I even suggest to them that we “just not talk about it” without censoring my grandfather, and putting myself back in the closet?

2. I can’t argue back, either. I tried having “friendly debates” with an aunt for two years (2014-2016.) Dozens of times, I left Panera or a high school guard competition, loudly declaring to my mom on the ride home that I like talking politics with her sister! It’s fun right!?!?!? I’m so glad at least *one* conservative in her family will listen to my views without belittling me for being young and naive and over-educated, or just plain shouting me down!!! (Shows you how much the rest of her family respects me, that I interpreted basic human politeness and refrains from ad hominem attacks as this amaaazing show of compassion from my aunt.) Meanwhile I had an elevated heart rate for hours after these “fun” debates, and spent days thinking of all the things I should have said better. And all that effort for what? My aunt still supported Trump from the very beginning of the primaries- and brags about it. She still thinks the Klan in her county are just harmless, senile old eccentrics, and all taxes are robbery.

And attempts to have discussions with other members of the family have resulted in me fleeing the scene, physically shaking, ending up at a complete loss for words, and even self-harming. All for none of them- not even the “nice, fun” one- to budge an inch. My breaking down and failing to articulate a point to these people can’t possibly be helping any progressive/tolerant causes. If anything it’s hurting the causes. Along with my mental health.

3. When the take-a-knee protests came up in conversation last Sunday, I was physically afraid of my grandfather. He’s 81, but he’s still this 6′, barrel-chested man who does most of the maintenance on his own properties. I’ve never heard him yell so loud, or so deep. Above the clamor of half a dozen people shouting me down at once, in the dark around that campfire, what stands out to me was him growling, right next to me, Now you listen here! That’s not something you say to someone you’re even remotely open to listening to. That’s a command. Almost a threat. And maybe I’m a coward for being afraid of just that, when he hasn’t raised a hand to me since I was a toddler. But then call me a coward.

The truth is, if I had a girlfriend/wife/family of my own, and/or lived far enough away, I would have stopped spending time around my grandfather years ago. My parents tried once. Back in 2002, when we announced we were adopting from China my grandfather was my father’s (his son-in-law’s) employer. And his response to finding out he’d have another grandchild, who happened to be brown and born on the other side of the world?

“Well we’re not putting her on the company health insurance.”

He did not budge on that until he met my sister- a year and a half later. In the meantime, we moved hundreds of miles away, only to come crawling back when unlucky circumstances and plain bad financial decisions pushed my parents into bankruptcy. They felt they couldn’t make it, living that far from my mother’s parents. Not emotionally, and certainly not financially. 

I doubt my grandfather has ever apologized for his response to us adopting. He doesn’t do apologies. What he does do, and always has, is pay for family members’ houses and cars and medical treatments and college tuitions. As a wealthy man, who grew up one of 13 siblings in a working-class family in the Great Depression, I’m sure financial providence is a sincere expression of love coming from him.

I can see that, and that’s part of why this hurts so much. Why I’m losing sleep and feeling selfish.

But just because my grandfather’s not deliberately puppet-mastering us all, doesn’t mean I haven’t felt the strings pull My mom has begged me ever since I came out to her (four years ago!) to never, ever tell her parents. I don’t know what she’s afraid of. Could be anything from our entire branch of the family being disinherited, down to just the “let’s-not-talk-about-this” awkwardness her family is way too good at maintaining. Which is totally why I’ve never asked her what, exactly, she’s afraid of. I am a product of these people. I came out to my grandparents via a Post-It note stuck to my monthly “car payment” check in the mail. Which I usually hand-deliver, because that’s how fucking close this family is, emotionally and geographically.

But even though it’s “close,” and not abusive per se, my relationship with the extended family is not healthy. I have lost sleep for days before every big family gathering since 2011. Since I began self-harming in 2013, I’ve had more incidents after family arguments than any other trigger, and it’s a goddamn miracle that I’ve kept my 8-months-clean streak going with all that’s been bouncing around my head since Sunday. Every time I’m around them- especially a group of them- I seem to do more damage to my mental health, their esteem of “liberals,” and any remaining positive feelings between us. Maybe I’m the toxic one here. I don’t know. I don’t fucking care anymore. I just can’t do it.

I can’t do it.

I’m not saying I don’t want to ever speak to any of them ever again ever. No. I just... I can’t go to Thanksgiving or Christmas this year. Or New Year’s at my uncle’s house, which has the same guest list as the family Christmas, PLUS people from the evangelical megachurch I grew up in. 

I just can’t. I haven’t figured out how to tell any of my family this. I’m hoping my therapist will help. I hope- I think- that she won’t pull the same thing the internet articles did, this whole “blood is thicker than politics” bullshit that just makes me feel overdramatic and wrongheaded for taking a long-overdue stance for my own self-regard and personal boundaries.

[diegolunalovegood-blog]

Operation Rogue One

Inspired by this.

To say that Jyn Erso didn’t trust easily would be an understatement. Jyn had learned the hard way that trusting people ended up with her stranded in the middle of Kazakhstan with only a knife and her wits. She had been 16.

She was 24 now, and was walking home from work. Most young women walk home at night with their keys held firmly between their index and middle fingers. Jyn had seven concealed knives and a police baton she’d stolen on one of her many trips in and out of jail. Men came up to her, but tended to limp away, clutching at various body parts.

Jyn rounded the corner by her apartment, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Jyn heard quiet footsteps behind her and casually glanced around. There was a man in a dark leather jacket. As if in response to Jyn’s gaze, he turned onto a side street and she lost sight of him. Tugging her coat around her, Jyn hurried home. It had been a long day, and she just wanted a hot cup of tea and time with her cat Kyber. She shouldered her bag more securely as she made her way into her apartment building.

The fight or flight response that had been triggered at the sight of the man hadn’t faded yet and Jyn felt wide awake as she made her way up the stairs (the elevator had been broken for years). She finally made it to her floor and opened the door to her apartment. She flicked the light switch, but nothing happened.

“Fucking landlord,” she muttered. In a practised motion, Jyn slammed a hand directly under the switch. The lights flickered before finally turning on. Dropping her bag on the floor, Jyn made her way into the tiny living room and collapsed onto the only chair. She didn’t get much company.

Kyber jumped into her lap, purring idly, and rubbed her head against Jyn’s hand. For the first time that day, Jyn smiled.

“Good of you to finally come home Miss Erso-”

Jyn was on her feet with a knife in either hand before the speaker had finished. The man quickly held up his hands.

“There’s no need for violence, Miss Erso,” he said in the deeply unimpressed tones unique to the British aristocracy.

“That’s debateable,” Jyn replied, one knife pointed between the man’s eyes, “I suggest you start talking.”

The man cleared his throat.

“My name is Agent Tuesso, I represent a secret agency known as the Alliance. We’re looking for your father.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Jyn said bitterly.

“We believe you can help us find him.”

“I wish I could, but unfortunately I don’t want to. Now get out.”

The man frowned. He looked at something (someone) behind Jyn, and she heard rather than felt the heavy thud of something hitting the back of her head. The last thing she saw before hitting the ground was Kyber viciously latching onto Agent Tuesso’s hand and attempting to bite his fingers off. There was a smile on her face as she drifted towards unconsciousness.

The first thing she registered was that she was in a bed. It wasn’t hers; too clean. She fought the urge to open her eyes, and kept her breathing deep and even. Years of waking in uncertain situations had taught Jyn not to move immediately. People tended to give away information when they thought you were still sleeping.

“Honestly Kay, was it too much to ask to bring her back in one piece?” asked a wry voice with a thick Mexican accent.

“She wasn’t going to cooperate,” retorted the annoyed voice that Jyn already recognized as belonging to Agent Tuesso.

“Because you were a stranger in her apartment at night, what were you expecting to happen?” Jyn suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that the man was trying to stifle his laughter. Agent Tuesso grumbled something under his breath that Jyn didn’t quite catch, but she thought it might’ve had something to do with cats. This time the other man did laugh. Jyn heard a door open and then footsteps as the men left.

Jyn slowly sat up, gingerly touching the back of her head to check for blood. When her hand came away clean, she felt safe to stand up. Too quickly, as it turned out. She woke up on the floor a few seconds later, and got up more carefully.

Jyn looked carefully around the room for cameras. Seeing none, she began to pat down her clothing. Her police baton and six of the knives were gone, but one remained. Physically and emotionally armed with that knowledge, Jyn opened the door. She looked out into the corridor of what looked like a very rich man’s apocalypse bunker. Sticking her knife into the top of her boot, Jyn made her way towards the raised voices coming from the room at the far end of the hallway.

Whoever had designed the Alliance headquarters had poured their heart into this room. The arched ceilings had little arched ceilings of their own. The walls were covered in screens that switched from one location to another in the blink of an eye. In the centre of the room was the kind of round table that trees dream of becoming when they grow up. Around it, people were arguing in the low, passive-aggressive voices that divorced parents use when their children are in the room.

Agent Tuesso was standing by the right wall, hands conspicuously bandaged. Jyn smiled smugly and decided to buy Kyber cat treats at the earliest opportunity. There was a man standing next to Tuesso, and he was the only one who looked up when Jyn entered. Their eyes met, and both looked away.

“She’s awake,” he said. The men and women who were arguing looked over at Jyn, who suddenly wished that she had all her weapons.

“Miss Erso, welcome to the Alliance,” said a red-headed woman who looked as though she were in charge. The words were said warmly, but the glare that was directed at the man beside her belied them.

“Yes, thanks ever so much for the concussion,” Jyn retorted, crossing her arms in front of her. The woman grimaced.

“It was not our intention to harm you, dear. My name is Mon Mothma, and I’m the senior commanding officer of this operation. This is Draven, my second in command,” she motioned to the man next to her, who scowled. “We only wished to request your help in finding your father.”

“And I told you I have no idea where he is,” Jyn said exasperatedly.          

“But you do know where Saw Gerrera is,” said the man by Tuesso. Jyn looked up at him quickly.

“What makes you say that?” she demanded.

“Miss Erso,” Mon Mothma cut in, “we think that Gerrera may have information that can help us find your father. We believe that he’s been enlisted to work for one of the most dangerous organizations in the world.”

“Who, Walmart?” Jyn shot back.

“No, dear, the Empire,” Mon Mothma said seriously. Jyn scoffed.

“The political party? The tax hike was a bit much, I’ll admit, that doesn’t make them evil,” she said.

“No, but building weapons of mass destruction does,” said the man by Tuesso.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jyn said, but there was hesitation in her voice. Mon Mothma leaned forward.

“We believe that the Empire is building a weapon with the ability to destroy entire cities, maybe even countries. Finding your father is the key to making sure that doesn’t happen. Agent Andor will lead a team, including you, to find Gerrera. Once we have your father’s location, you are of course free to go,” Mothma said.

In the depths of her soul, Jyn wished that she was at home with Kyber and her cup of tea.

“Will you help us?” asked the man, Agent Andor. Jyn considered him for a moment.

“Yes,” she said reluctantly, “but only until we’ve found my father.”

“Of course,” said Agent Cassian Andor, and their eyes met again. Jyn looked away first.

[blackunicorn2020]

Watering My Well Being

This current relationship is full of anxiety and fear along with distrust. Shutting down has become a safe way for me to live. Due to the severe trauma exspearanced in adolescent years, and the overwhelming rise of anxiety or pain going through my day to day, I revert back to mental place that is safe. And the only time I've felt that safe was as a toddler. I was cute and received a lot of attention from my mom, I was fed warm/hot meals and dressed like a princess. There was love and lots of it though smiles and physical affection.

My partner turned 40 this January, I turned 26 last November. We met at work in a famous Los Angeles Italian restaurant where he was set up to train me. I strongly disliked him from the jump. He micromanaged and his tone was never correct enough for me. We all bussed our asses on busy nights and he is the best in the establishment so we celebrated over whisky, chianti and joints. He chased me and I let him, I played it cool the entire time. I am in a relationship with a person that is a huge trigger for me. Our codependency is becoming toxic, I don't trust that he is the man for the job, and this is all because of his drinking. He turns in to a *completely* different person-a evil vial aggressive force of destruction.

Picture a 5 year old on her birthday, she was born for the party that awaits her. The dolls she sleeps with and the friends and family to join. All the snacks and goodies she could ever have awaits as soon as she brushes her teeth and puts on a party dress. She can't stop moving and smiling and making sounds and noises with her lips and mouth. Burst of excitement in forms of jumping, wiggling, dancing, and spinning in circles. She can't stop singing little made up tunes or be still, twirling her finger in her hair. Now picture Trunchbull from *Matilda,* her gaining energy from suffering children how she genuinely hated if a kid was jolly, and did everything in her power to stop it from taking place in her sight. This is my partner when he drinks.

How do you tell someone that when they drink to the point they start to talk crazy and getting aggressive terrifies them? What if he tell me that the childish behavior that was once really cute and adorable is unbecoming and annoying. During the Covid-19 quarantine time we have been drifting apart, I lost my job almost 40 days ago. So I have been home on lock down going mentally nuts. And when I go nuts I keep it to myself, it takes days for me to come clean on what's going through my head or, to explain why my face looked the way it did. We live together. I moved in the end of summer last year.

With him being 40 I revert back to a childish place of being completely taken care of. When looking for a boyfriend I am attracted to older, well established, financially stable men. Can you completely take care of yourself? Do you have enough money to take care of someone else? Like a wife or children if that's in your cards. I desperately want to be taken care of. It is a real strong desire that I have. When existing in the element I feel at home, I feel conferrable and stress free like I'm living me best life. I have little to no anxiety, when in a stressful situation I don't feel the pressure to self harm, less self dialog, mental stability and physical comfort in the safety of it all.

My partner pays the rent in a rent controlled building and utilities, he buys the food and house supplies, takes care of the cannabis medical supply weekly, and tampons monthly. I am really blessed. I have little to no money when pay day comes. I owe and pay child support on top of paying back money borrowed and bills that are past due form having my own apartment last year. We don't drive, so I pitch in for Ubers, wine, food, and other things when we go out. My $984 before taxes every 2 weeks including cash + credit card tips is nothing to his $1,100 after taxes a week. My money is to be saved he says so I can have a apartment of my own soon.

I was evicted from my Koreatown apartment. It fucked my credit and now I'm playing catch up and repair woman. I kept the apartment after leaving a abusive relationship the big victorian 2 Bedroom 1 Bathroom was mines to find a new roommate to pay half the rent with. I had gotten pregnant again and I just knew I was going to do something stupid with suicidal thoughts. I missed out on a months full time shifts gagging or vometting every 5 minuets dizzy, very low energy, and just the most physical pain and discomfort. I was the maitre d in a very popular Italian establishment so pushing through work with these kind of symptoms is more of a health code violation as l like to call it. Rent got bagged up paying only half for months. Then my roommate moved out after a year because her and her new boyfriend wanted to move in together. Going on to packing up my apartment putting everything out side for the community to have (& they took it all... yessss) that I could not pack to have ready for Make Space to pick up. I was mentally relapsing *hard.*

I rented one of my best friends living room futon before moving in with my partner now. We had a blast, for them to be a married couple we all feel like siblings when hanging out, staying up late watching Cosmic Discloser eating popcorn and drinking red wine. There too I felt safe, I felt loved and cared protected. It was stable, I had a job, paid my rent and always had a place to sleep. I wasn't dating for a while because I believed I didn't deserve to once I got evicted. Just like millions of Americans right now I am waiting till the economy is back up in runny to apply for a job again. I have been working in the Food & Beverage industry for over 10 years now and we are all being heavily effected right now.

My partner asked me if I regress. I said no because I was ashamed, I felt like a child in trouble once again like someone seen me pick my nose and eat it. Because I am so interested about my trauma and the mind I looked it up. Among this one I do suffer from many other forms of behavior and psychosocial disorders, I identify with a lot and its scary and amazing. I know that I am not the only one going through these feelings so it make me want to look and search more. To find out the when, who's, why, and how's. I wanna know why I am the way I am, how I got this way so that I am able to reverse it. How to get out of my head...

If I am not suppose to be in a relationship with a 40 years young man then Universe, let a sista know! All the anxiety I have is not only for myself but for my partner too. Dose he want more, dose he want to get married, adopt a baby, dose he ever wanna live anywhere else, what dose his dream home look like, political views, universal views, do you morally believe in good or evil. He deserves joy and freedom just like me-like anyone else. And as I seek these answers I don't like what l find. I find that we want two completely different lives. We live in two different worlds. I love him and that hurts me, my love is what I stay. I feel cared for and wanted even when its rough. I stay rough because a part of me feels like this is the best partner I can gain in a relationship. These are the best days. The battle between ungratefulness and self worth continues. I never know if i am settling or being ungrateful. The craving of acceptance and unconditional love is finding out who l am and how can she be loved.

I know my triggers. Not all of them but enough to know what will send me into relapse. The sounds, smells, people, places, and events. The most important thing is l am aware of the work that needs to be done on me. She knows that she can't do it successfully on her own, she knows that this requires money and resources that she dose not have right now. She knows she's a survivor, but she is dangerously eager to live to explore, to no longer live in slavery of her trauma only having to search for more coping practices. To have the privilege to take time not worrying about money or bills as an obstacle to get the help she needs. To have absolutely no excuses. The courage it takes to stand alone, stay up late, cry, open up about the things she pretends never happened. To get away from it all retreating to a safe place where she can fall completely apart emotionally, visiting those places that she brainwashed herself to believe never existed.