i was watching a youtube video about brittany murphy with the quote “she knew how to be vulnerable without being the victim, somehow.” here’s the video i’m sure you can find it somewhere in there. it hit me close to home. i realized some things, though i don’t know what yet… they’re half-realized, and i am practically brain damaged according to how i feel.
perhaps i try too hard to numb the shit in order to cope.
perhaps.
okay, probably.
drinking red bulls and imbibing other substances, let’s see. who cares. okay.
here are some photos and videos, none of which are extremely recent/relevant, but here some of them are i guess?
i love my blocked list…so complete for the moment… perhaps one day i will post my facebook blocked list!this knife that once belonged to my ex has since been destroyed by a guy i have been seeing.
and here are the youtube videos:
and there they are. we’ll see until the morning.
xoxo zélie
ps reminder to take any medications you may be prescribed
i have, as the title suggests, drafts between my last published posts and now. there is a gap in time where only i get to know what might have gone on this blog but never did in those days.
people around me are slamming doors and being loud in cars… is that what a pandemic will do? the screaming at 3am has stopped, mostly, from my upstairs neighbors. i have an audio recording.
here are some cute instaxes of me, wearing a mask, and it goes over your nose!!!
also, i have youtube videos, but for mostly aesthetic reasons i must put a nice wordy paragraph (at least one!) between so many images and then probably multiple videos. yes, despite my memory failing me, i am quite certain that i have posted multiple videos since i last shared an update of them. does it matter? no. perhaps? perhaps not.
i have such a complicated relationship with certain things, like uhhh, relationships, and that has been fucking up my life. for over 28 years! i cope in unhealthy ways and let that be, most of the time. i don’t even know. was it better to be manic off a prozac overdose attempt, drawing with cray pas all night in the psych ward dining area, a day or two before i was kicked out while not only not having had my suicide attempt treated in terms of lingering depression BUT also! they didn’t even treat my chemically induced mania! how irresponsible, and you know who you are. i have talked in more detail about it on this blog before. this blog.
this blog that my ex read years’ archives from, which really doesn’t matter, except i involuntarily dream about him every night, and what’s up with that? he sexually assaulted me, no worse than some other things but far worse than others, and i don’t wish to date him again. so i wish i’d stop dreaming about him. it’s so silly. every fucking night. most people don’t even talk to me any more who knew him, like the girl in his irc he cheated on me with. oh, it doesn’t matter. i don’t know.
i listened to songs, and learned their meanings, months too late.
not every button is there to be pushed, and madno may never know that, and i have learned it too late, also.
and there you have it, every video i’ve posted on youtube since my last blog update regarding youtube.
everything is hazy, and confusing, and that’s no way to live life! but neither is dying, so i’m still trying (hey, that rhymed.) my mental health feels unsalvageable, but i know i am not alone in that. leave a comment below if you, too, feel like there is no getting better! we are not alone! everything sucks, hey!
i will figure out a way to end this on a lighter note now, because the bulk of what had to be said has been, and what should have been said never will be.
you were abusive, emotionally, verbally, physically, more?
i can’t talk about my mom. she might cut me off too, anyways, and i can’t not talk about her not because she’s never hurt me deliberately, but because she might read this. because i struggle to cover the cost of all my cat food and toilet paper every month so she helps me with specifically those items. paper towels. cat litter. that’s it. that’s okay. some people don’t even have that
when i brought up that i was raised in a “family cult” to possibly two parents with npd, one overtly and one covertly, i expressed frustration that it had taken me 28 years and i’d lost important relationships in the process, heartbreakingly important connections i had, due to my not knowing. now i know. now i know enough. but now is too late. my therapist reminded me that some people go their whole lives without any sort of realization like i’d had- they just live their muddled lives. i wanted to cry, because though in a way it is comforting to have figured it out before i had hit 30, at that time especially i was not over the fact that i had hurt a good man who at worst sexually assaulted me while drunker than he should be but never -never- literally penetrated and raped me… i had hurt him emotionally repeatedly and he was ready to move onto another girl, to follow the girl he’d desired after me but hadn’t told me about, while fucking me…i swear, he is a good man, i think. he didn’t deserve my vitriol at least. the girl who he got involved with second after me does deserve that vitriol, looking back at messages that she sent this blog. maddison. the dreaded. the you’re welcome, i know you adore your new facebook url and the permanent story i gave you behind it.
some new youtube (singular), because i mean whatever why not;
then we have the ever-present dilemma. no. not now.
nobody believes me really, except me, which is fine, because i know, and one day i’ll be aware and coherent enough to convey how things are. and you will all eat your words.
the organ synth is so important to me as a musical instrument. music is so important to me.
what else is there? besides art, and cats. certainly not other people. perhaps the self.
so, i stopped identifying as wiccan (due to the racist origins of the word), but i am still a witch. a neo-pagan. i am also glitch vhs back on my bullshit, bitch, biscuit, bitch
i wrote something about scorpios of all things earlier and found that my passion for writing has been reignited, in typing at least. i wish for a typewriter (a pink typewriter) that i can click-clack on the keys of. that i can film myself click-clacking on the keys of. my blue switch mechanical keyboard is simply not enough!
anyways, there are other things to share, like youtube videos i’ve made (as i’ve mentioned, i’m b.o.m.vhs.b.), like i said, only TRULY this time.
gosh. looking back, i even already referenced the title of this post (a former instagram username); my memory is so shit! it’s okay though, c’est la vie.
here are the recent videos i mentioned in passing:
anyways. those are the new videos.
so.
i feel like the katamari damacy king of the universe. destroying all the stars and then especially killing time and distracting and talking too much. distraction/surveying.
i have more, but, hmmm, let’s see. i am so tired of this. all of this, this life stuff. i mean, it’s fine, i’m not going to attempt suicide or anything stupid like that, but fuck, is it hard.
this living thing.
people ask me why i’m depressed. i don’t know what to tell them, except that wellbutrin takes me to a significantly less depressed state (think crying in bed rather than crying on the floor face down with snot in my hair.)
i’ve been enjoying online communities, and i highly recommend them during this isolating pandemic. i mean, it’s okay, but my discord and twitter especially have been bringing me a sense of community. instagram too, i suppose, although i feel that i simultaneously basically hate instagram for being so sex-worker-unfriendly.
listening (telling you like it’s livejournal in 2005) to perfect by mason and princess superstar.
this synth part, so cool! whoo!
lately i have been listening to a few songs on repeat. do you want a mix cd curated for you, by me? or better yet, a cassette.
perfection, ha ha.
yes, the parts in italics are lyrics. yes, i’m brutally obvious. also why yes, i am the cliché child of harley quinn and taylor swift.
i hit my head, somehow, perhaps from fainting from malnutrition? and now it is sore. a bump swells.
the skin on my face itches in the way that a deep need to get to something underneath to scratch an unsatisfiable itch is there. i know from experience that acting on the itching leads to scratching leads to picking leads to blood. blood, red blood, bright then if i don’t clean it with stinging alcohol it’s a brownish color.
the maroon of the vial of blood in my minifridge tells me it partially oxidized, even in a medical vial.
i did not pay for that, lol. it was free blood. i mean, technically.
i told someone i wouldn’t disclose the details though. for secrecy reasons, of course. what else?
hmmmm…. i wish i had cool pictures to show you all. i’m sure i do, but what use are they? do i upload old randoms or recent snaps?
this is my (unfinished) character in the game calico, which i preordered via kickstarter.
this game is cute and fun and makes me want a controller that works for pcs. unfortunately, those cost money…especially the pink ones! rude.
i took this test pt 1i took this test pt 2
so there’s (pretty much) proof that i am the chaotic good i claim to be. a turbulent enfp, if you will! if you put weight into such things.
me, recently, getting pizza. it was delicious.
so, i guess, that’s most of it since we last talked.
i have been wearing boots in the snow too much. i have been drinking coffee and smoking weed, like always
what is a paragraph? i’ve never heard of such a thing! ok, jokes aside, i love u all.
