#sysjournaltemp

[purrality]

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[purrality]

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[purrality]

I hate that our body forces us to do the things that bring me out. what's the point in figuring out the triggers if they happen every fucking day and we can't do anything about it? can't even sleep. tension headaches on and off for days. meds seem practically useless lately, only notice the physical effects if we forget. hard to think, doesn't feel like any self care is doing anything. updated my resume to start applications tomorrow. cooked a hot meal. talking to friends. art. distraction. at the end of all of it, this body can't stay out of this bed. we come back, and I come back, and there's nothing good left of me cept for what I make just so I can leave. I get why I'm like this. I know. it has to go somewhere. I know. I know. I know. but it's not my fucking fault and I don't want to carry this shit anymore.

[purrality]

really weird to realize but I think seeing my own icons influences who scrolls tumblr LOL

[purrality]

I think one of the best parts of being plural is being able to make stupid fucking jokes whenever I want and it's guaranteed someone else will think it's funny always forever no matter what and sometimes they even tell equally good jokes back until we have no choice but to kiss about it inside of our brainmeat

[purrality]

chest feels really heavy. hard to breathe. not sure where the line is between heightened anxiety and panic attack sometimes, think ive kinda been floating between em. it's funny to think about. does it "count" if you only hyperventilate for a few seconds before everything dries up just long enough to get back to the state just shy of being full-on triggered? doesnt matter ig.

it's so fucked to know exactly why it's happening. i hate not being able to tell people why the most innocuous shit is so hard for me and having to eat it over and over. i hate that just THINKING about letting anyone see me like this gives me panic attacks. i hate that when i push through and do it anyways i cant admit the desperation it takes to ask for reassurance or to be sat with. i hate that writing about it makes me feel like i cant fucking breathe again when im trying so hard to find something, fucking anything to just give me some relief.

so whyyyy the fuck cant i just feel ok? why cant i shake this feeling? tried expressive art and I even liked how it came out, tried eating food I like, tried diving straight into the hurt and examining the trigger and working on my shit. all of it makes things feel just a little better, im not spiraling and thinking of suicide anymore, but it still feels really bad. I still feel like no amount of anything I ever do is going to fix these stupid fucking reactions wired into my stupid fucking body.

im scared that im getting worse. im scared that dealing with everything alone all the time is fucking up the way i think more and more, like a depression echo chamber constantly confirming that we cant talk to anyone about anything anymore or they'll either smother me with worry until I have to be the one reassuring them, or they'll confirm for me that if they care, they can't stand to do it for long. it always feels like too much. i feel like it must suck to know me, let alone to care. at least if im not hiding all the time.

i dont want to. i feel like a liar and general piece of shit. but when i do hide, im easier to tolerate, even if not all of me/us is/are worth the effort. i know no one knows me. not me as a whole, and especially not me in particular. everyone feels like strangers, if they haven't done awful things to me. it's so disorienting to have the memories anyways. it's even more disorienting when the rest of us forget and have to put together what happened later. i wish i could tell them more clearly what's going on and ig this is a part of that. seems like we dont touch our journals unless we're writing in them, but we do come back here a lot.

maybe come back and answer this later. i dont have one myself for now. im tired and you can do what you want whenever im gone but i dont want to talk to you or anyone else tonight. but what i want to understand is, why are we still alive? i ask that question all the time and i can never think of a reason that feels right. i know there's got to be something. im pretty sure it was wesley that stopped us way back when. so. why? and have you been listening this whole time?

im dissociating a lot now. finally calmed down. i think this has been going on for like 4 hours. exhausting. it was def panic attacks. gonna lay down

[purrality]

like I KNOW I'm not faking I KNOW I wouldn't do that but it still blindsided me sometimes remembering how much I DON'T remember

it literally felt, and still feels like closer to 2 days have passed at most. I can't remember, even being aware of this, how I've spent like 75% of my time and it's hard not to feel really disturbed by that

I'm forgetting important things all the time too, like the details of very serious and intimate conversations, birthdays of people I've known half a decade or more, names and plots in pieces of media that were literally part of why I didn't kms at given points in life, etc

and I'm just like

fuck dude, if I don't write this down, would I just forget how much I forget again too? I feel like I've thought about this before and idk if that's just paranoia or what but it's weird and scary either way

(shutting off alarm that says 'therapy')

wait do I have therapy? no today's saturday, we just did that

(remembers therapy is on mondays actually)

... uh