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This is an actual feeling!

I finally connected a bit and more actually felt this…after a couple yearsor so of being basically emotionally dead with 2 emotions, anxiety and depression, it’s pretty nice.

We’re meant to love each other, damnit, life is a dead slog without it. It doesn’t have to be romantic, just more…feeling like a part of the human race.

I’ve started volunteering at the library, its nothing major, just a monthly Memory Cafe for older people and their caregivers, and the east side library needs help with gardening…

Pride is next week, I’ve never been to a big city Pride event before. And I have a full week off work, which is appreciate the hell out of. Paid time off, you are amazing.

So I’ve found a local event buddy that’s more into intellectual stuff and my brand of like, fearful exploration and oh god, it’s good to be alive and connecting with someone on shit that isn’t chemicals and oh god, this is a mood swing, isn’t it?

I can’t project into the future with things so much, but it is good to know that there’s still trustworthy people left on this planet. Like, more than the one person. Cause my best friend still rocks, obviously, but I swear I just mentally went into some kind of schizoid distrust of everything including the integrity of humanity, myself, and my bone structure.

Um…life, it doesn’t always suck.

Mental Health Weirdness/self-involved rambling

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I was talking to a guy who was literally 5’2 and fifty, he got in my personal space, and we went from having an awesome conversation to me getting super laggy and him asking if I take drugs or medication.

Also he insisted that we talked last night, which, yeah, I was mostly home last night, or at least not wandering around talking to random people.

  • I have mastered the art of silent anxiety attacks, but they’re so fucking stealthy that I’m unaware/dissociated from them that either the person I’m talking to notices that I get super fucking spacey, or eventually I notice that my heart is pounding and the person I’m talking to is impossible to understand.

Also I no longer have insurance, and I’m being more social, which unfortunately requires a certain amount of drug and alcohol use to do successfully. So I feel kind of fucked about this situation. Like I’m trying to be a good employee, develop friends,  lose weight (down 100 now!), find a successful relationship, leave the past behind me, and survive sans medication and why does this shit have to be in my face all the time?

Literally, my (last) ex started checking my heart rate at certain points…”Well, shit, she seems not to know what’s going on again, better preform a manual check, here…”

I’ve had panic attacks for a long time, and “cured” them for a long time with self-injury, alcohol, and drugs. So there’s like this weird thing with me where I don’t show it, and actually am pretty much unaware of what’s going on with me, until I notice I can’t follow follow the conversation and I become aware that my heart is pounding in my chest.

I kind of wanted to be done with being the “obviously crazy girl who’s really sweet and fun to use with”.  and I somehow I manage to find this guy who’s in psychology, and bammmmm I think I’ve been through this thing like 3 times now, can I be fucking done please. Jesus fuck. I’ve actually done this significantly once before, feel like I wandered away from that again…

Like the love for weird is appreciated, but I feel like there’s a fine ass line between trying to figure out a person’s brain and help potentially and digging in their to exploit weaknesses.

All I’m saying is that I picture this nightmare scenario where I’m dating a guy who trains me to jump through a hoop, bark three times and idk what goes after that, but nothing good.

It’s the weakness that bothers me. I would literally prefer someone think I’m a sociopath/acting fucked up intentionally than know how afraid I am of everything and how many issues I have with functioning. I just feel so tainted by my past and history…it’s a lifelong thing really, but a shorthand description of my twenties sounds like “graduated high school with honors, despite being kinda math retarded, better with words than anything else, dropped out of a college three times, 5 year relationship with woman, pulmonary embolism from birth control delved into drinking a bottle of whiskey for a night for months? years?, pills, iv’ing, brief period of sleeping with all the men ever, has a leg that breaks when she’s fucking standing on it, and then turns into a functional shut-in by 30.

Like im the Ron Burgundy of fucking up.

Oh, throw in a brain tumor at age 8. I can’t talk about myself without sounding and feeling like a pathelogical liar at this point. Like, my perceptions are so limited, but so are everyone’s but I just doubt anything and everything that comes out of me at this point. It’s just too much, dude.


I feel so incredibly disociated from all of this, it’s just disgusting and painful.

I just hate how I’m basically a fucking mental case no matter what I goddamn do. It’s like I confused therapists and a psychiatrist for years, at this point I have to consider myself vaguely an “anxiety oriented cluster B clusterfuck”, but literally, my ex was pretty convinced that I had multiple personalities, besides the obvious ever-present anxiety element.

Who fucking knows or cares, really, there might be good sides to me, but this existence is a fucking slow-motion trainwreck at this point. Like I don’t really know what to do with myself anymore, so I’m just kind of reverting, which isnt good…but I also need people, would like to have friends that get me and also won’t like, kill me, basically, but that doesn’t seem to be possible.

Walgreens weirdness.

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Think I’m starting to find my type of weirdos in this city, finally…only took me like a year, haha.

Befriended a man selling shoes out of a suitcase.

Well, this was before going to Walgreens. Was checking out at night, and some lady walks in, knocks over a display and starts screaming “Call the police if he puts his hands on me.” Keeps screaming call the police. Like, she walks in, knocks stuff over, and really wants the cops for some reason.

We have a security guard at night, kinda a bigger calmer guy, he tried to get her out without touching her, ends up pretty much having to bear-hug walk her out, all while she’s screaming for someone to film this and call the police.

The cashier at night is an older lady, like close to seventy, sits down and shes yelling at her to calm her mess down…she was pretty awesome at this, to be honest. At some point she quotes cabaret “leave your troubles outside”…

Eff yeah, older Walgreens cashier.


So by the time I’m checked out, he’s maneuvered her to the front, they’re yelling racial shit at each other…I just slid out the other side of the door like “don’t mind me…”

So I met a guy selling shoes out of a suitcase last night. He’s from Louisiana, and pretty interesting. Works in a factory. He seems like the right intersection of “weird and smart”, plus I don’t get all stupidly tongue-tied with him, which is always a fucking upside.

Also, he memes.

Oh God, that shouldn’t be a priority, should it?


Listen, Little Man!, Willhelm Reich

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God is primal cosmic energy, the love in your body, your integrity, and your perception of the nature in you and outside of you.

Twenty-two years, twenty-two long, eventful, anguished years have passed since I began to teach you that what matters is not individual therapy but the prevention of psychic disorders. And again you’re behaving as you’ve behaved for thousands of years. For twenty-two long fearful years I taught you that people succumb to madness of one kind or another or live in misery of one kind or another because they have become rigid in body and soul and because they are capable neither of enjoying love nor of giving it, because their bodies cannot, like those of all other animals, convulse in the act of love.

Instead of flocking to executions and shouting hurrah, hurrah, make a law for the protection of human life and its blessings. Such a law will be a part of the granite foundation your house rests on. Protect your small children’s love against the assaults of lascivious, frustrated men and women. Stop the mouth of the malignant old maid; expose her publicly or send her to a reform school instead of young people who are longing for love. Don’t try to outdo your exploiter in exploitation if you have a chance to become a boss. Throw away your swallowtails and top hat, and stop applying for a license to embrace your woman. Join forces with your kind in all countries; they are like you, for better or worse. Let your child grow up as nature (or ‘God’) intended. Don’t try to improve on nature. Learn to understand it and protect it. Go to the library instead of the prize fight, go to foreign countries rather than to Coney Island. And first and foremost, think straight, trust the quiet inner voice that tells you what to do. You hold your life in your hands, don’t entrust it to anyone else, least of all to your chosen leaders. BE YOURSELF! Any number of great men have told you that.”

But you’re built like a tub, you’re awkward and physically repulsive. That alone is enough to give you a bitter, deep-seated hatred for every attractive, living body. Naturally I don’t blame you for being built like a tub, or for never having experienced love (no healthy man could have loved you), or for failing to understand love in children. But I do blame you for making a virtue of your affliction, of your wrecked, tublike body, of your lack of beauty and grace and your incapacity for love, and for stifling love in children. That, you ugly little woman, is a crime.
Your existence is harmful because you turn healthy children against their healthy fathers, because you treat healthy childlike love as a symptom of disease, because, ugly little woman, not content with looking like a tub, you think and teach like a tub; because instead of withdrawing modestly into a quiet corner of life, you do your best to imprint all life with your ugliness, your tublike ungainliness, your hypocrisy, and with the bitter hatred that you hide behind your phony smile.




Before Willhelm Reich mysteriously died of a heart attack at the age of 60, while in the care of the American government, he practiced and wrote about psychology. His bend on the issue of mental health was a bit different than normal, he believed that most of our issues have to do with supressed sexuality and desire. Which is actually pretty close to Freud, who he was trained by but he’s different because he encouraged open sexuality and presence in the human body. He encouraged teenagers to be sexual and was a strong advocate of birth control.

An interesting theory of his was “character armour” in the sense that you can tell what a person’s psychological issues by the way they hold themselves. He believed in a universal energy, which he called orgone…humans wall themselves off in certain ways to protect themselves in a maladaptive way from the world around them. So an overly-aggresive person will hold themselves one way, a passive person another way, and all of this is done unconciously.

He was a socialist, openly, and leaned heavily toward libertarianism, with this tendency getting heavier over the years due to government persecution. He advocated free love, equality, and love and trust between individuals. Clearly, the man was a psychopath.

This book is less psychological theory, but a screed of a frustrated man toward the end of his life. He had his own issues, certainly, but knew that his life, which he dedicated to helping humanity as a whole had brought him mostly frustration and failure. One last try at trying to get people to awaken to their true natures and potential.

Y is for “YS”

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“YS” (pronounced: Ees) is Joanna Newsom’s 2006 album produced by Van Dyke Parks. Joanna’s work before then had been generally her alone with her harp, and relatively lo-fi. Van Dyke Parks added this lush orchestral element,and you hear more variety with instrumentation here, some guitar work and also some accordion (the most underappreciated instrument in the worlldddddd), and one lovely piano piece.

So why should you listen to this album with the weird Ren Faire looking cover? Well..

What really shines here is her story-telling, use of language, and ability to weave startling tempo changes in longer works -. Her lyrics are intensely emotional and use strange imagery – ““a mud-cloud, mica-spangled, like the sky had been breathing on a mirror” – from “Emily”, a song written for her astronomer sister. Her voice here is definitely a change from her earlier work – it’s still distinctive and quirky, but has lost a bit of it’s “Lisa Simpson” quality.

So why should you listen to this album with the weird Ren Faire looking cover? Well..

The title is a reference to the mythological island city of Ys, in Brittany (near France), which was destroyed in a flood due to its turn to sin. Supposedly the land itself was reclaimed by a pious king and rich in arts and commerce. His daughter, Dahut, however,  “had made a crown of her vices and taken for her pages the seven capital sins.”*

Either she destroyed the city by opening the sluices instead of the gate to allow in her lover, or like…something with orgies and possibly taking the devil as a lover? Story-tellers do not seem to be a fan of this Dahut lady. Sure she was charming, though.

Or potentially, her father escaped the city on horseback, and she fell off the back of the horse accidentally after God told him the only way for him to survive was for her to die.

Again, we’re not sure.

*Spence, Lewis (1917). Legends & Romances of Brittany, uncovered on Wikipedia’s YS article. What a beautiful arrangement of words.