#i have not slept in like 2 days approaching 3 because i cant afford to sleep right now

[mrpenguinpants]

Aahh did you know that you are so cool?? Well now you so know. You're so coolllll <333

god the fucking strength this gives me istg. These are literally the only thing that keeps my sanity together.

[becomingamermaid]

me and my dissociating ass: Hasn’t had medicine for months, doesn’t know when i am able to get an affordable therapist again, nor anyone to really discuss what the fuck is going on,  dissociating heavily for the past 3 days, ..pretty unsure if awake or asleep or even real, suicidal, depressed, mixed manic mood, visual hallucinations, unable to focus properly,  and on the verge of a relapse

me: 

I have literally been smiling and staring vacantly because my brain is doing the thing and I have to do other things but I can’t get over the first thing and mother needs me to do something and I can’t do it and I am probably n the verge of a panic attack. But ya know, yolo. I also need to start cooking for my brother’s birthday but I am pretty sure I am not 100% in my body right now.

 I can’t describe it other than my nerves are sticky, like a sticky hand kids play with, you throw it and it sticks to the wall,  and my arms are static..and disintegrating, melting into a puddle. I keep rubbing them but it feels weird. My head keeps floating but there is something at the roof of it. 

I am well aware it is odd. It’s as odd as looking at chunks of the world missing. Not there. An absence of a corner. Or someone calls your name but no one is there.

I am mixing up words and have to reread more but it’s harder to catch.

It was easier when I had my dog before they gave her away. Now I tell myself I wake up to take care of my plant. Her name is Camilla and I have no idea what she is but I touch her soft rubbery leaves sometimes and enjoy their gloss.

“Hold on.” I tell myself, but I awake up everyday and I don’t want to. Less and less I am finding reasons to wake up. or excuses or whatever.

I think I got triggered by a memory. I remember I was never allowed to sit on mother’s bed (as I was told I would break it), even now, i hesitantly sit there and she quickly makes a move to get me off of it. Mother is never very comforting. I know I am starved for affection, but I would rather spurn it at this point. I don’t want it.

I remember I wasn’t really allowed to sit on the toilet for too long, I would break that too, I remember getting fussed at about it and when the toilet did actually break, I broke down. It wasn’t my fault, everything in this house is old. The plummer said it was indeed not my fault. Still I felt guilty.

Today marks my brother’s birthday. I am more his mother than his sister. I’m the only one who spends time with him, takes him places occasionally if I am up for it. It all started because my step father used lock us out. I was 13 with a baby and I had to find things for us to do. My childhood was spent taking care of my brother. I had no rest after school, depending on the daycare, right after I got off the bus I either had to walk there, stroller in hand, or catch a ride to the other one. Homework was spent beside him, feeding him, changing him, taking him places if I dared to go anywhere (and once my aunt fussed at me because I left her a note begging her to watch him for an hour because I had a book report and needed to go to the library). I couldn’t do that one again. The few pictures I have of me as a teenager, I always had my brother. I had to accommodate him. 

There’s dried blood on the walls of the bathroom in the back, my mother’s bathroom. Unspoken rule is that I am only use it at night. My bathroom door does not have a lock or a knob and there is no way to close it from the inside. My sink does not work properly and the tub doesn’t always give the freshest cleanest water.

Should christmas been spent repairing this broken place? We wouldn’t have had the money anyway, not enough of it. And forgive me for wanting /something/ other than a reminder I live in a broken down decaying home on the poverty line. For once, I wanted something.

We live in a shit neighborhood, 2 murders up the street from my home in less than 6 months. 1 maybe a week ago. I do not go walking anymore. It’s not safe. Not anymore.

My court case comes up soon, next month so I’m hoping for a good ruling, even though the judge is known for being a hard ass, unpleasant, and not very understanding. I’m scared it wont lean in my favor. It’s been years now. If anyone thinks living off benefits is ~the life~. You are sorely mistaken. It’s hell. They put you through hell. They make it feel really bad, disgusting, worthless.

Maybe they aren’t all together wrong. Im tired of feeling guilty for my existence. I really don’t want to exist anymore. I’m tired. I started crying. 4 tears. Then I stopped. I don’t see the purpose anymore. Not of living or waking up or existing.

+2 tears.

I think what’s worse is not being pretty. I’ve lost over 100 pounds and it’s not enough, it’s never enough. I shouldn’t get happy of feeling bones sometimes, but I do. Wrist, collar, leg, pelvis. I can’t always feel them, but sometimes I do. I hate how much it gives me joy. I hate it. I love it.

 I had a crush on this guy once, a friend of a friend. I approached the friend to ask him more about his friend, my crush. He told me point blank “you aren’t his type.” and I thought it was because I wasn’t convientally like everyone else. I’ve always been off or weird or in an “otherness” category. (i was one of the few high schoolers known as “miss” before my name). I was wrong. When I friended him on facebook I saw the kinda girls he liked. Small, petit, right size and figure, right curl pattern. lightskinned. It hurt. Normally if a guy approaches me, it’s generally over a friend. My then-friends, were the kinda black girls that were “acceptable”. Cute and pretty and glowing. Smart and talented and beautiful. Even now, Kase gets compliments and whatnot. Usually I get ignored in conversation. She even got a marriage proposal. Like ring and everything (funny, on a guy i had a crush on once long time ago at that) (not that she would accept the proposal, the guy is..., there is something about him I cant put my finger on. He’s a nice guy just...something’s..fishy)

I remember the childhood days of slimfast and skin bleaching and nose pinching by my emotionally distance, physically absent mother spliced with running outside. It’s weird when they had an abusive “put dents in the wall” or “he threatens me with a knife” type of fights and the next morning admit all the broken stuff, I would have to walk over it and head to school. It was weird having an alchol bottle broken and banished at me, and an hour later, I would go back to my friends talking with them on the computer.

It was weird when I had my mattress thrown out on the ground, told to sleep outside, and then later begrudgingly let back in the house suspiciousy before Mother got home.  It was weird being locked in a room with no a/c with a live electric wire hooked to the metal door. Forced to suffocate until you decide, I’d rather die than stay any longer. I try not to recount the weird rules of my house, I couldn’t dance outside in the front. Do not open any blinds. My door had to be open. You don’t think about those types of things. I was never allowed to trick or treat. Life at home was hell, life out of home was hell. I wasn’t suppose to just sit here an remember these things. How the kids loved to throw rocks at me at school, big rocks that left bruises and welps. Or food.

I should not remember these things on my brother’s birthday. He, who was basically, my son. Who has been my son from the moment he took his first breath. He, who doesn’t remember I tore off a chair arm to defend him with as  kid. He who would never know I came home and saved him from a wall socket while his father slept. He who would never know everything my 13 year old self did to protect him. He who would never know I ran each an every time his drunk father took him, a baby, without a car seat seat into the car and drove off. He would never know how many times again and again I ran to save him, even when my mother made me let him go. Or how hard I prayed he would make it home okay. Or how I made his bottles and one time scalded myself with hot water while his father came in and laughed. The phone was ringing, he needed to be changed, it was chaotic. He would never know I sat in the old rocking chair, now gone, and sang to him to get him to sleep. He would never know any of these things.

I was a mother way before my time. The gossip I remember from school was unpleasant. I think it’s how I learned so many comebacks so quickly. Delivered with cold apathy behind a book. I always had a book. 

Anyway,  I have things to do. I can’t sit and dwell on my thoughts. I’ll be sad or some such later. I always hate these gross thoughts spilling out. I don’t like thinking about the past. And my life in this hell. 

I can’t afford to be emotionally compromised. But, my god, am I close to breaking