I broke my wife's big wooden spoon last night.
My wife wanted $5 to replace her spoon, and I am not to beat myself up with her things.Again on that last.
I honestly thought it was mine. I couldn't sleep without hitting myself with it repeatedly, as well as whacking myself in the head with a phonebook.
As to why I hit myself...long story...
My wife bonds through us doing things together.
The thing is I'd just rather curl up around my agony at home then have to go out in public and try to act normal...well...then again, past the age of 4 when have I ever acted normal...hmm...
Rephrase that:
I act ok enough to not (a) be victimized, or (b) have emergency services called on me on the spot.
Being ambiguously gendered and kinda...Christopher-Walkenish? helps with the former, and cutting only on the nonvisible body parts helps with the latter.
At any rate:
I emailed my wife regarding going out together and said it was like she'd told someone with two broken femurs they needed to learn ballroom dancing to save their marriage.
But then I emailed her again...and told her I relinquish control.
She can compel me to do...whatever she wants in terms of bonding activities that please her, the only stipulation being that she not ask me whether I want to, I won't lie.
I don't want to do anything anymore, not even watch a movie, I try to focus and...*bloop* I get restless, I lose focus, the pain resurfaces and it all just seems bloody pointless.
But it will make her feel connected, so I have to.
This voluntary giving-up of the power to say no terrifies the living fuck out of me, because she...has no clue how to take me somewhere and not trigger me.
All she has to do is raise her voice in a vehicle, really, that's such a powerful trigger that I told her I want to start riding in the back of the pickup, and I really, really resent she won't let me ride in the back because it bothers her!
I'd rather she strapped me to the fucking hood like a trophy buck than shout at me.
But...I think I've gotten to the point where either I force myself or someone forces me to...I dunno, not be an animate corpse anymore.
If I were any less lively, they'd have to put me in the morgue at my job.
Speaking of which.
Speaking of which.
I really want to die.
And no, my wife's not holding me here.
I get the feeling she does not truly need me the way I need her or understand what I am going through, that's why.
When I remembered the first time dad raped me over the summer and was just...this ragged, gaping wound inside...she was working the night shift, so when I got home, got down on the floor and was rocking, shrieking until my voice went out...or sometimes it was my cuppy-chair, but you get the point.
She didn't get it when I told her how bad it was, and really I didn't feel safe telling her how bad it was anyway...so she was really shocked when she saw what I was calling "a good cry." Fetal position, age regression, screaming, shaking, rocking...that was every night for a couple of months this summer.
Squirrel still needs me.
He's still in a psych ward, still struggling. If I pull the trigger on myself I'm almost certainly doing so to him.
He's my anchor.
I'm what he has left...poor guy.
I told him I broke a wooden spoon on myself today, and he said "There's nothing I can say without being a hypocrite."
This last month he cut badly enough that, in his words, he was "leaking too much." So, having a needle and thread he handily sewed himself up again.
The psych people took away his needle and thread.
Guess they want him sutured by professionals then.
No, he's not doing so well either.
I told him I loved him, he told me he loved me, I teared up That part is usual.
Hmm, think I need to curl up in the office chair. Yeah, I'm putting on weight again, dammit. Fetal position in chair is becoming not so comfy.
I ought to force myself to bicycle when I go home tonight. I really ought.
Today I saw the ospreys are back from wherever it is they winter.
I might go for a trespass down there, but that pair is too wary to let me get anywhere near close enough for my camera to take a good picture.
The willow tree is in bloom, and covered with bees. In about a month or so it will start putting out fuzz like the world's biggest dandelion.
The bird feeder I made last year has finally been discovered by a pair of cardinals. The feeder is literally leaning up against the window, and so the birds are right there.
The cats find this amazing
I am finding squashed little turtles on the road. I keep thinking if I find a live one I might keep it-I'm pretty good with turtles...but then again, I already feed too many animals as it is.
I still need to get my motorcycle hauled to a shop and repaired. Need to see about having that done, should see if I can schedule a wrecker on Friday or Saturday.
My wife wanted $5 to replace her spoon, and I am not to beat myself up with her things.Again on that last.
I honestly thought it was mine. I couldn't sleep without hitting myself with it repeatedly, as well as whacking myself in the head with a phonebook.
As to why I hit myself...long story...
My wife bonds through us doing things together.
The thing is I'd just rather curl up around my agony at home then have to go out in public and try to act normal...well...then again, past the age of 4 when have I ever acted normal...hmm...
Rephrase that:
I act ok enough to not (a) be victimized, or (b) have emergency services called on me on the spot.
Being ambiguously gendered and kinda...Christopher-Walkenish? helps with the former, and cutting only on the nonvisible body parts helps with the latter.
At any rate:
I emailed my wife regarding going out together and said it was like she'd told someone with two broken femurs they needed to learn ballroom dancing to save their marriage.
But then I emailed her again...and told her I relinquish control.
She can compel me to do...whatever she wants in terms of bonding activities that please her, the only stipulation being that she not ask me whether I want to, I won't lie.
I don't want to do anything anymore, not even watch a movie, I try to focus and...*bloop* I get restless, I lose focus, the pain resurfaces and it all just seems bloody pointless.
But it will make her feel connected, so I have to.
This voluntary giving-up of the power to say no terrifies the living fuck out of me, because she...has no clue how to take me somewhere and not trigger me.
All she has to do is raise her voice in a vehicle, really, that's such a powerful trigger that I told her I want to start riding in the back of the pickup, and I really, really resent she won't let me ride in the back because it bothers her!
I'd rather she strapped me to the fucking hood like a trophy buck than shout at me.
But...I think I've gotten to the point where either I force myself or someone forces me to...I dunno, not be an animate corpse anymore.
If I were any less lively, they'd have to put me in the morgue at my job.
Speaking of which.
Speaking of which.
I really want to die.
And no, my wife's not holding me here.
I get the feeling she does not truly need me the way I need her or understand what I am going through, that's why.
When I remembered the first time dad raped me over the summer and was just...this ragged, gaping wound inside...she was working the night shift, so when I got home, got down on the floor and was rocking, shrieking until my voice went out...or sometimes it was my cuppy-chair, but you get the point.
She didn't get it when I told her how bad it was, and really I didn't feel safe telling her how bad it was anyway...so she was really shocked when she saw what I was calling "a good cry." Fetal position, age regression, screaming, shaking, rocking...that was every night for a couple of months this summer.
Squirrel still needs me.
He's still in a psych ward, still struggling. If I pull the trigger on myself I'm almost certainly doing so to him.
He's my anchor.
I'm what he has left...poor guy.
I told him I broke a wooden spoon on myself today, and he said "There's nothing I can say without being a hypocrite."
This last month he cut badly enough that, in his words, he was "leaking too much." So, having a needle and thread he handily sewed himself up again.
The psych people took away his needle and thread.
Guess they want him sutured by professionals then.
No, he's not doing so well either.
I told him I loved him, he told me he loved me, I teared up That part is usual.
Hmm, think I need to curl up in the office chair. Yeah, I'm putting on weight again, dammit. Fetal position in chair is becoming not so comfy.
I ought to force myself to bicycle when I go home tonight. I really ought.
Today I saw the ospreys are back from wherever it is they winter.
I might go for a trespass down there, but that pair is too wary to let me get anywhere near close enough for my camera to take a good picture.
The willow tree is in bloom, and covered with bees. In about a month or so it will start putting out fuzz like the world's biggest dandelion.
The bird feeder I made last year has finally been discovered by a pair of cardinals. The feeder is literally leaning up against the window, and so the birds are right there.
The cats find this amazing
I am finding squashed little turtles on the road. I keep thinking if I find a live one I might keep it-I'm pretty good with turtles...but then again, I already feed too many animals as it is.
I still need to get my motorcycle hauled to a shop and repaired. Need to see about having that done, should see if I can schedule a wrecker on Friday or Saturday.
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