Habitrpg

Readers,

My bad habits have changed from ‘these are good coping skills and they help’, to ‘need to stop, but can’t right now, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’, to ‘pansy, you can do this, I know you can!’

It’s an uphill battle, these habits have been entrenched for so long. (for example, sleeping, the computer, going to the shrink’s office and trying to solve the impossible) I’m climbing up without a knot on the bottom right now, so that makes it harder and scarier to keep at it.

But climbing I am. It’s 9AM. It took me 15 minutes to turn off my alarm and get out of bed, but, I did not turn it off, or press snooze. I got up.

I am getting to the point where I am ‘consciously bored’.. I no longer melt into the computer, or something. I am still on the computer a lot, but I am conscious and separate from it, itching at the fact that I know I want to do something else.

(Don’t know what else to do, though)

But, I do have some ‘this is good for you’ things put down.. I am struggling to find other doable ‘good for you’ things, to fill up some space in a good way.

In the meantime, the only knot system I have right now is habitrpg.

labrynth dancing bowie

(this helps too)

Anyway, you put your habits in there, good and bad, and your ‘to do’ tasks, and your daily things to do. It’s like a rpg game (that’s probably obvious, but anyway) You lose ‘hit points’ if you do a bad habit, or skip some of your ‘dailies’. You gain experience and gold for doing good things, as well as ‘drops’ – food, or ‘eggs’ to hatch pets. There are 90 pets. The zombie ones and the skeleton ones are just plain scary, but anyway. Of the pets, you can turn them into ‘mounts’. Also, you can buy equipment with all your gold. There’s a community there, too, but y’all know me, I don’t know how to open (or close) that door.

Here’s me, currently =D

habitrpg avatar

I also have a lot of other ‘outfits’ to chose from, if that one gets boring!

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Now What?

I have read a bit into Bear’s book, (go me!) and came across ‘glitter family’.

I miss them.. and here, when the veil is thinnest, (they’re not dead, just gone), I want to reach out to all those who have passed through my life, old friends that I wanted to call family.

But I know that’s really not a good idea.

…….

One of the bars here is holding a halloween party. Takes an hour to walk down there. I’m debating on whether I should go, and try. But, ‘and then what?’ is the question. I don’t have a drinking problem, per se. I’m not an alcoholic.

…but I am a former psychotic. And alcohol makes me feel like I’m losing it.

It’s really hard for me to feel safe anywhere, and alcohol just magnifies that sense tenfold. it’s like my core flickers wildly, and my shields are pulled outwards like cobwebs. As my insides roar, it’s hard to keep my tongue in my mouth, to keep ‘seated’ in a sense. I feel like I have to work hard to stay here.

Smoking, I can’t breathe, and that sends my anxiety everywhere. Smoking something else *ahem* if I smoke to much of it, I really feel like I’m close to losing it, and I have to sit there, and work hard to keep myself whole. Painkillers, I hate taking them. They do it too.

Anyway.

‘Just get a soda!’ you say. Ah, but there’s the rub – I actually do have a soda problem. I’m trying to quit, it’s been five days. I’m dying.

so, now what? It’s a ‘tradition’/stereotype, that queers have met in bars.. and for 20 somethings to drink. And, now what?? I’m socially graceless in general. If I have no ‘habitat’ in which to pretend to know what I’m doing.. now what?

Daily Post (In which yesterday, you came up with a name for a horoscope, and today, you write October’s)

Hold on, dear woodst.

The waves will be pushing against your heart, and you’ll feel the need to keep on your toes, and to keep the suit jacket on.

Who cares about the suit jacket? You know about the rainbow flag, and whatever the color of ‘madness’ is, hiding underneath, and maybe someone will see it some day.

But now is not that time.

I know you feel like jello, like too much water added to that strip of water colors you get from the dollar store, and you don’t know who you are now, and what you can manage runs across the canvas.

But you do see who you want to be.

So work on it.

Should I really move?

Shrink said I don’t fit here, that I’d probably do better in the city. I agreed, even if later I resented it. How come I can’t do it? Is it me, is it this place? Is it both?

The city is exciting, and my type of people. Together, and alone. Or alone, and together. On the train you feel united with these people who have pasts and are with you in this moment on an adventure, something in common with company you don’t have to talk to or perform for. Here it’s a together or alone situation, two extremes, you can’t blend or find your people very well. You’re in or out, and it’s hard to turn the volume up to eleven all the time because you can’t rest and move with the tide, they notice. And then you’re alone.

I always think ‘I’ve been here for ____’, not ‘I’ve lived here’. And that’s just really sad.

It’s been a few years, but maybe I have to wait longer, for healing.

And there’s that old bit about keep running, and it gets easier every time.

And damn, that sunset was amazing. The stars always take your breath away.

Which is fine because the air is clear as a bell =)

I can’t, anyway. I don’t have the money. I keep spending money I don’t have. Not so much on useless things.. it feels like the type of things like.. your bladder is full and finally you pee in relief, not so much giddy excitement in buying treats.

Regardless, it’s probably a bipolar thing anyway, I don’t know.

Can I at least get a good ball to bounce around in here?

mcqueen cooler

I can’t… do anything. My neurons won’t let me. I know what I should be doing for my bad shoulder, for example, my physical therapy exercises, which I’ve been slacking on, but I don’t know what to do about a broken brain. Depression, PTSD, anxiety, I know these things, and I know when they come up, they pass in time. I’ve got a few tricks here and there to cope with them, and sometimes they even work =)

But I don’t know what to do about a broken brain. I don’t mean it in a mood like way. I mean that, for example, I can’t read anything for more than ten minutes, for the most part, and that’s generally if I know it well and I read it many times before my neurons were shot to pieces. If that’s not the case, I’m lucky if I can absorb a few pages. It takes me a full day to watch a movie. I just rediscovered subtitles, and now I can understand what they’re saying, mostly, even if I can’t connect the pieces of what’s happening sometimes. (As I said, it takes me all day to get through it. My queue on netflix is becoming more and more of a wreck. I hope the rest of my family doesn’t look on my page).

I went to see the new Marvel movie in theaters when it came out. I love superhero movies. I barely understood any of it. I wanted to cry.

I can’t hold a conversation with people either, really. I don’t sound very intelligent, in speaking. I repeat myself, I can’t hold a debate, and I can’t hold one thought through to the end. Most people I know have run out of patience and stopped listening. I’ve fallen back on my old habit, of middle school, of trying to be as invisible as possible.

The therapist says to take a nonjudgmental stance, but it’s hard to do when in a mental sense of it, I can’t even hold a stupid spoon.

I’ve been slacking on everything else, like the physical therapy and whatnot, because I want to hold that spoon. But as I said, I don’t know how to fix it.

And of course, I have to be very careful not to mention anything of this to family. Not only is appearing weak a bad idea in front of my aunt, who is the mother of my cousins, (they’re the only people who look at me with anything resembling unconditional love, though I have to censor myself because of that aunt. The only time I didn’t, in trying to explain to the younger one why I changed my name, the oldest said ‘can we not talk about it anymore?’) That aunt will cut me off (again) if I am slightly left of normal. Showing any of them, aunt, immediate family, in general anything other than their dancing monkey, their eyes. go. dark.

And so, I dance.

Recently, I went to where I spent every summer vacation as a kid with my family. I went with just my dad.

We visited all of our old haunts.

There were the happy childhood ghosts. Smells, sights, ingrained into the very fibre of my being, causing whiplash because the present is so cold and careful, when my childhood was just the opposite. The idea of dad himself is full of happy childhood ghosts, more than anyone else (when I came back here I was shaking and spooked for a week from all this, bug eyed. I’m still spooked, though mom did come here a week later, which doesn’t help).

So there was that.

I had a good time, if I was careful and followed the rules. I put on different masks, one right after another, because I just don’t know who dad, or anyone in my family, is expecting anymore. It isn’t me, because when it is they close off and drift away, and then I shut down and don’t come back for another shot at it for a long time.

I want a dad. I had a dad, when I was a kid. My parents divorced, so he was gone in one sense for awhile (other than every other weekend), before they remarried each other. But mostly, as life grew more painful and more complicated, the less dad was there for me. My sisters told mom complicated things. I felt obligated to do so at times (she has recently called me her project, to give you an idea about how that storyline goes), but really I wanted to tell dad, and be his son, even though I didn’t have the words for it.

When I told dad I was trans, the door shut completely, and for a long time I had nothing. In the beginning of it all, I think I told you already, I went psychotic, when a blast of cold greeted me when I came out to my family (that was the main reason for it, I think). I went back in the closet for awhile before coming out again, despite their cold. In order to keep it together in college, I had to build an invisible bridge to a deity father figure, real or not.

Dad has said things since, over time, on the surface, like a birthday card that said he couldn’t ask for a better son, or something like that (I have since lost it), and admitting that he might have been wrong, to my aunt, or writing a poem about my transition (a painting and a placemat came out of that too). He has tried other things too, to try to speak my language, like playing my song in the car, and babbling why he chose it for his music class, or attempting to watch superhero movies (and insulting everything about them, but he tried, haha). It is things like these I try to remember when the door hurts, because there’s never been anything to back them up, or build anything, and that’s all I’ve got.

He’s never followed through. The energy around us is that of a storm building, even as the tone of what we say is stilted and half apologetic, like after a fight. When we are in the same room, we are aware of each other, and can’t really let settle down. I can never bring up anything to do with manliness, or transliness (everything I’ve learned up to this point I’ve basically learned from the internet, it’s really sad). We have this unwritten rule of not using the public restrooms at the same time. He’s trying to get to know me again, yes, but only enough so that we can actually hold a ‘pleasant’ conversation about something, instead of just sitting in the room hoping someone else will come in. Every time I slip past pleasant and into actual humanity with him, or any of them, the door slams in my face.

And so, I dance.

I must keep the mask up, and know the steps.

Otherwise I wouldn’t know them at all.

A Shot of Nostalgia

I’m still sleeping a lot.

Partly this is that I’m legitimately tired, my sleep schedule is extremely messed up with staying up late and staying in bed late, not wanting to miss anything. Part of it is meds making me tired, I think. But part of it, a part that’s hard to admit, is that I’m at the bar of memory and bitterness, night after night. ‘Bartender, I’ll take another shot of nostalgia’.

I dream of my long gone grandmother, of chosen family, of people who I would have called parents if I could. Of friends that took me free and easy and I didn’t have to explain why. Places where I used to laugh and walk tall.

This way of sleeping is, on the bright side, not as bad as it was this winter, where I’d only be awake for a few hours in the day. I’d get up, eat breakfast, and immediately after that, start swaying with exhaustion, both of a literal kind, and also of a ‘I just can’t face being alive’ kind. I’d fall asleep, wake up briefly in the afternoon maybe, but only get going when the sun went down, where I’d be morbidly relieved, in the back of my mind, that the day was done. It was then I could be productive, and I could creep around. I felt like Batman and Joker’s lovechild.

So, this way of not being able to sleep in a healthy way is not entirely malicious. Not healthy, obviously, but not malicious.

I have been sitting around a lot as well. I’ve paid for it. My back is in dire pain. I don’t know what to do to fix it. I have the want to eat healthy and to exercise healthy, but it’s that eyeballing a huge pile of homework (full of calculus problems) I don’t know where to start, I don’t know what to do. I have tried yoga, but (I know it’s stupid) it makes me dysphoric as hell. I want rugby. I want a gym.

I have felt more like my mind belongs to me again. The gel is receding more. The positive side to that is that I can know more of what I’m doing when playing with my cousins. I am still not jumping from thing to thing, I have to think about it, but I am fully within it, and it’s completely natural. Before I’d be a little dissociated. I loved and love my cousins to the moon and back, but before I was mentally all elbows and high strung. Now, if I don’t know what to do next, I can say calmly, ‘I don’t know’ rather than my throat being blocked and ashamed that my brain didn’t work anymore. I still wish it was easy, that I had all the answers (I felt like I used to, and I used to be a whirlwind around kids) but now at least I feel human, which is an improvement.

The negative side to that is that it’s like my brain is spluttering. Completely cold before, now there’s some warmth in the engine as I try to kick start it. I mean, that’s a positive in that it’s better than being cold, but the spluttering is embarrassing! I wish I were smooth, and cool and svelte, and handsome! – well, okay, I am handsome =P – As a result of this spluttering business, it’s like all of what I’ve wanted to say that I’ve been storing for months is coming out at once. For months, for one thing, the only people I’ve been talking to are therapists. I’ve been talking to some normal people lately. And it’s like, the basement is where you store your horrors, right, and the attic is where you store your pretty things? Well it’s true my ‘basement’ has some nasty things down there, but my attic has some lovely things too! And I haven’t been able to help it, I’ve been like dragging all these normal people up to my ‘attic’ and showing them all my pretty things that have been dusty for so long, and I dig through all the suitcases and boxes. Hats, scarves, necklaces. Ideas, thoughts, memories. But they’re coming out all spluttery and fast, because I’m excited to show someone else the attic (months, mind you!) It’s like I’m going ‘look at this! No, wait, look at this!’ It’s so embarrassing. And I think I’ve completely overwhelmed them.

It’s hard learning how to human.