teacupsandtolstoy

[teacupsandtolstoy]

xmas/ny 2024 (part two)

[teacupsandtolstoy]

xmas/ny 2024 (part one)

[teacupsandtolstoy]

new hair, who dis?

[teacupsandtolstoy]

[teacupsandtolstoy]

the anti-bride.

[teacupsandtolstoy]

its time.

its not going to happen. and having this dress and that old lace from yiayia's glory box hanging up in my wardrobe for another year is just setting me up for more pain which i honestly do not need.

so. no fuss. no tears. no dumb ultimatums.

i neatly folded my dress, hand beaded/embroidered sheer capelet, yiayia's lace, and placed them in a lidded box to store away with all my other dreams and memories, at the top of my wardrobe.

i let it go.

but i had to try it on. it deserved to be worn, just the once.

it was just after dawn, the house asleep, so no one would see me. i didnt want to bruise hearts anymors than we already had.

this wasnt an act to coerce or guilt. this was for me. me alone.

i found a wig and added yiayia joan's string of pearls & some faux peonies/foliage to my sideswept vintage-inspired hair. spent an hour on my makeup. paired the 20s style midi dress and sheer capelet with patent oxblood platform mary janes and a gold locket pendant from yiayia.

when i stood back and surveyed this outfit, this specific ensemble.

i couldnt help but cry. which i then cursed myself for because fkn hours of makeup.

but not a sad cry.

the cry of a girl who has never once in her life believed she was beautiful. truly felt it. like truth. like it was real. i hear words. i tell myself kind things. but some i have never been able to convince myself of.

and i looked at the girl in the mirror looking back at me.

she was shining. she looked radiant and happy and i found beauty there.

i truly never believed i could feel that way.

this was the first time i have ever felt beautiful.

the box is stored safely away now. the world keeps turning. and theres no place in it for a girl stuck on old dreams and the misery they bring with them.

but for one glorious sunny early morning, i was beautiful.

and i am so grateful i got to know, even for a fleeting moment, what that feels like inside a heart.

[teacupsandtolstoy]

its another surgery day.

join me on a journey through time and space.

i wish it was to the mighty boosh. infinitely preferred to surgery and hospitals and panic attacks and ptsd triggers.

but. join my disabled ass, just the same, as i pre-game and then dive into some serious post-game self care.

[teacupsandtolstoy]

i am still here. each and every part of me is loving you fiercely across the vast and infinite space between.

infinite nothing. indifferent. the vapid banter of social niceties. the thickest of silence or caught off guard with some viscious verbal assault down a telephone line.

you truly love that infinite space between us. the distance. erased from your days, your thoughts. your heart and your concern. your cares.

that space is more beloved to you than i ever could be.

[teacupsandtolstoy]

the scapegoat & the narcissist.

[teacupsandtolstoy]

what i do & why i do it/part two.

(radio interview pt.2 with flic manning on 3cr melbourne/may-june 2023)

[teacupsandtolstoy]

where ive been, what i do & why i do it/part one.

(radio interview pt.1 with flic manning on 3cr melbourne/may-june 2023)

[teacupsandtolstoy]

stream of consciousness/ thoughts from the in-between; the disabled hermit girl in denial & falling far behind the others out there living in the real world; trying to keep pace with a life no longer meant for her. approx 2021-2022.

Deadline/Completion Date: I’m not a complete fkn idiot. I’m not going to put a time limitation on something as important as this. Doing exactly shit like that - trying to fit my disabilities/chronic illnesses (Read: limited existence) & ADHD-hardwired way of thinking/navigating this world into a life that never quite fit right, that I could never really make work, and of course it was at a pace that I could never keep up with, leaving me behind and feeling defeated and very alone each and every time I tried my little heart out to make it work. My isolation at Balwyn Cottage and very limited social interactions outside of home or at all had this awful way of making me feel like I somehow had started existing outside of time that ticked by out there, watching people pass by my windows, faces almost distorted as if I were viewing them on a sped-up VHS tape.

The people. Busy & full with their intricate and interwoven lives. The million and one faces of humanity floating by the cottage window, every one blissfully unaware of the sickly hermit girl, hidden within the cottage, unseen for closed doors & shut garden gates - and how she ached with missing the daily ordinary of their lives. How they made moving through the world look as if they were dancing across days – their lives an artform – one that her neurodiversity could just never make sense of. She never ceases to gape in awe at the ease, the grace of movement - The people outside seem to be so inherently gifted with; the way they move effortlessly through the hours – stepping & spinning in and out of social circles, passions, learning; with the must-dos, need-to-dos, want-to-dos - beautifully burdened & blessed by the obligations & expectations bestowed.

And yet, the sick hermit girl is still to see any one of the many-faced outsiders stumble on the beautiful paths each of them cut through the day. Not one has ever missed a step.

Not yesterday. Or the day before yesterday. Nor last week. Not six months ago.

The sickly hermit girl has counted years made from the numbered days spent at the cottage window in silent wonderment at the beauty of the lives dancing across her view; at the artwork in their fluent motion, weaving through the world, navigating their paths through this life with such natural ease.

She cannot remember if everyone outside always were so teeming with rhythm & joie de vie - or perhaps everyone is a lowkey professional ballroom dancer in their spare time.

The sickly hermit girl didnt know. Even when she lived in that world, she never quite could figure out how.

Oh yes. She is envious.

#disabled #disabledisolation #chronicillness #immunocompromised #healthmandatedisolation #adhd #neurodiverseworld #disabledlife #sickly #hermit #hermitlife #streamofconsciousness #musings #forgotten #leftbehind #fullysick #disabledat31 #disabledyouth #sick #PEG #PEGfeeds #enteralfeeds #chronicmalnutrition #chronicmicronutrientdeficient #neuropathy #nervedamage #cognitivedamage #connectivetissuedegredation #geneticcondition #nailpatellasyndrome #botchedsurgery #endocrineconditions #PCOS #pituitaryadenoma #chroniccholecystitis #hyperactivegutnervoussystem #adhesions #abdominalcavityscartissue #gutdysfunction #stomachdysfunction #enteralfeeds #nasalgastrictube #stoma #medicaltrauma #medicalPTSD #medicalgaslighting #socialisolation #disabilityisolated #chronicmalnourishment #broketummy #alwayssick #leftbehind #PTSD #cPTSD #EMDRtherapy #diagnosed #TPD #totallyandpermanentlydisabled #fulltimecarer #unemployed #disabilitybenefits #healthindecline

(youtube channel collecting all the silly, weird, informative & sometimes very sad videos/clips ive been unconsciously making since becoming disabled in 2018)

(the only song ive ever heard about sickness & death that has ever knocked the wind outta me. its so fkn real that i completely fall to bits whenever i hear it.)

(pawninsuburbia secondhand & handmade. independent, disabled owned & run creative studio space. what i choose to do with the little functional hours that i am gifted. make beautiful things in spite of this place. skillshare tutorials free of charge for others facing isolation and poor mental health due to chronic health & disability/neurodivergence in the local community. how i use the two or so occasions per year i can get it together & put on a market stall/s to make new friends/enjoy my rare time out in the world & this small part i have in it. custom & collaborative orders, fully subsidised craft tutorials, online store channels, crafting how-to guide & item care instruction library downloads. upcoming events. depop store link. all enquiries & studio contact details. handmade gallery and previous works portfolio.)

[teacupsandtolstoy]

(37 years as family scapegoat is 37 years too fkn many.)

this close to publicly tearing down that piece of shit sociopath, and taking the false world shes built for you all to see right the fk down with her.

its about fkn time the world saw what she truly is.

a sub-human narcissist, complacent in and participant of the decades-long abuse of children. which is only one horror on a rapsheet of cruelty, lies & harm longer than i am tall.

im absolutely fkn done being your punching bag.

i know more than enough truth to tear your life apart.

im done being afraid of you.

and since cutting you out of my life completely hasnt deterred you from your usual depravity, knowing that all the distance possible wont keep me safe from you, im not going to bother trying to run away further.

im putting you on notice.

be very fkn careful.

it would be time to start walking on eggshells, if you even know how.

there is nothing you can take from me that you havent stolen a thousand times over already.

this is your only warning.

back the fk away.

leave me the fk alone.

im done with keeping this dirty family secret for you.

its time for you to know what real fear is.

[teacupsandtolstoy]

there is peace hidden in the everpresent. emerging only after she buried her past, killed any future and mourned the loss of neither. nothing exists but the now. the space between seconds is her home. the world and all its riddles and awe exist within a microchasm, forever in all directions. an entire universe tucked between her rapid heartbeat.

[teacupsandtolstoy]

pre-op (2020). 6 hours until surgery. just in case i never get the chance to tell you.

I'm really afraid but that's okay. It's okay to be scared. Or forget yourself for a moment and lose yourself for a bit in the rabbit hole of increasingly morbid hypotheticals before rationality kicks in.

Yeah.

.it's 3am and the world is so quiet yet I hear everything. Every. Thing.

Silence is thick with heavy slumbers, closed windows and drawn curtains.

The silence in itself its own operatic Aria resonating, note held, fading off into the night

The loudest and most quiet

Most resolute and still frozen in fear.

I have no idea what the morning will present to me. Or what cards a poker-faced tomorrow will lay out on the table.

I will not sleep tonight. Because I would loathe to miss out on this, this bursting idiot heart of mine and the immeasurable peace of my witching hour. I am so grateful, even if this must be our last

There's no anger and I have no blame to give.

Grinning cross legged in a silly Russian hat and my head is muted. The beauty of it all. sometimes I can't breathe with how much I love all you humans. My entire life nearly every human that entered my orbit gave no cause not care. And I love every one of you and have each day of my life unfailing and at times to my immense harm.

That all I've ever wanted you see. To love you all. I don't think I will ever understand why every one of you fears, rejects and wages war against it unceasingly.

I am so happy that I could love you all so very much.

And have nothing but overwhelming gratitude, wonderment and awe for every day of my stupid tiny life.

[teacupsandtolstoy]

mad doomscrolling skillz

[teacupsandtolstoy]

unholy st. seroquel, forgive us our days of missed psych meds & abysmal self care.

bless us with temperance despite the veritable feast of mental illnesses within.

give us courage to allow the beautiful moments in, for the strength to crawl through the dark, and to make kicking & screaming in defeat become our fiercest war cry.

we belong to st. seroquel, patron of the fucked up, battle weary & discarded.

our hymns are DBT worksheets.

our bible is a DSM-5 manual.

say three hail seroquels with a hello kitty rosary less the evil eye curse you with inpatient again.

bear dirty souls in the sanctity of the therapy confessional.

bless you. bless you.

and for fucks sake, take your goddamn meds.

amen.