Vent Back to your regularly scheduled wine&cheese tasting

here's a picture that made me happy earlier

 

a+ picture, would lol again

in other news, all the stores are closed because it's a holiday. whoops. no chocolate, no lemonade, no herbal bath. still have some foam bath, that will have to do.
bluuuuuuuh

 

ah shit yea I should'a mentioned that I even remembered I should remind you but forgot >_>

 

pros of being an adult:

• eating in bed without people judging
• bacon and chocolate whenever i want
• no bedtime
• im eating cereal while taking a hot bath because i was hungry but didnt want to let the water cool while eating

 

my bathtub is magnetic. meaning the bottom of my tablet, which usually magnettaches to the keyboard, and likes to attract pins, needles, and other metal knicknacks, sticks to the edge, and ican lean it back against the washing machine and it stays put.

 

My tablet now refuses to boot. "No bootable device" it says.
Wtf, yesterday everything was fine, and today it booted and then froze so I had to hard-reset it. After which it refused to boot.

 

Disassembled tablet a bit.
Reattached likely culprit for "speakers not working".
Removed battery. Put battery back in when I realized that I don't trust myself enough to remove the copper thing that covers 3/5ths of the motherboard and possibly hides the internal memory chip.

External boot stick not recognized.

I will most likely lose the musescore files, which sucks hard, but since I threw the converted mp3 files at everyone who stood still long enough for me to aim, I should be able to recreate them.

I am still motherfucking pissed.

 

Aw shit what the fuck, your tech troubles are the absolute worst D:

 

Today: mostly spent distracted by the desire to be frenched into the mattress by either a cute enby or a cute girl

is this what puberty feels like
is this what being allosexual feels like
how do people even get shit done

 

With great difficulty. Or at least that´s what i remember from when my sex drive existed on a regular basis. You kinda learn to tell your body "Not now" eventually.

 

Me: Has Job interview the next day
Egg donor: THIS IS THE PERFECT TIME TO GUILT-TRIP YOU INTO OBLIVION

this is the second time.
bitch.

 

Is it petty of me to refuse to give my birth family my trans name?
Everyone but my egg donor would be chill about it, my cool uncle already knows, but I'm afraid one of them could slip up and tell dad or egg donor.

Dad told me it'd be easier to view me as trans if he had my "new" name.

But dad is also under egg donor's thumb and like hell I'm going to tell that bitch before it's not on my official passport. (Germany doesn't have a nonbinary option yet, there's legislature in the works due to EU pressure IIRC but that's for intersex people, dunno how that'll overlap...)
It's my name. I want her grubby fingers away from it. I don't want her to know it. She'll just shit on it because she'll shit on anything I do that she doesn't agree with, and her plan for me is to be a cis woman who marries a cis man and has 2.4 children. Fuck you, egg donor, I'm an asexual, sex-repulsed nonbinary whow ill never have children because I know that a pregnancy would kill me psychologically if I don't off myself first while trying to off the parasite growing inside me. The very thought is repulsive. The sound of children crying makes me want to gouge out my eardrums. But ~*~it's just a phase~*~ and ~*~you'll want children eventually~*~ and ~*~you shouldn't label yourself that early~*~
But if I tell her that she will dig up that I read their adult comics while I was younger as ironclad proof against that. Bitch, I scoured them for the story that was there because all that porn had plot in it, the sex scenes were weird and also kinda boring. Sometimes they had some interesting insight if there was narrative around them. But no, I read that stuff when I was 13 so I must be an allosexual cis woman who is only doing this to ~*~hurt her~*~

Back to my name. It's my name. Mine mine mine mine. Along with many other things she'll yell about being "not me". Fuck you, bitch, they're me, they're mine, and that doesn't change just because they don't fit your stupid and wrong image of me that you refuse to change because all the things that would prove that her image of me is not actually me get labelled as "things that aren't me". Augh. Circular logic.

 

agreetnessed
Also it super sucks that you have to be paranoid about telling your family things bc it might get back to The Conspiracy Bitch =///
i fite her in the arby's parking lot with a frozen tuna if u find me an arby's first

 

Wanted to make chocolate.
Went to test the coconut oil. Nope, that's not food grade any more. Bah.

 

HAH, I knew I had teal lipstick. Take that, colour scheme, I almost had to wear red. (I mean, I've got the boots, eyeliner, lipstick, and tie, but I'm not feeling the red today, yknow) (No teal boots tho. Or eyeliner, whoops, time to mix something up from the palette)
And no I'm not doing a pyrope colour scheme.

I am feeling a french braid, but I've never successfully pulled one off despite the tutorials.

 

Teal lipstick is good and important

 

omg i'm wearing lightblue lips with green metallic gloss in the center
almost matching lipstick is queer culture <>

 

anger is rearing its head again
im crying and shaking and on mobile and not sure ill be able to curb all typos but

there was a skype message. skype tile only says number if people, not who
i ignore it for a few days because i know my egg donor and im not going to even risk ruining my mood and concentration when i have a movie to look forward to. that was thursday.
today i thought i can check the messages because ivy is there and i can lean on them for reality checks from egregious bullshit. it was nothing ehregious, just valentines greetings (to her own kid, ew, but if i say anything shes insulted because sje only wanted to do something nice), some pokemon download codes if my friends need any (as if we didnt have more gamestops here than in birth town), and the mention that she hasnt heard crom me in a whike (yeah last time we talked she somehiw simultaneously managed to ignore everything i said and darvo rhe shit out of me, and then say that heavy topics shouldnt be done via text. apparently to facilitate the ease with which she can scream at me and then deny anything has happened. not playing that game, bitch, i want that accountability. all conversations have been screenshotted. i will need someone to translate them for me so yall can partake in the fuckery she pulls, because i cant read them without another panic attack. memo to self: "its not that bad" does not, in fact, apply when your reaction to the potential of a guilt-trippy message or rereading past conversations is a panic attack. yes, it's that bad, and you'Re allowed to cut her the fuck out of your life despite her many attempts to buy her way back in. when everyone who reads the logs goes "wtf, sense, cohesion, and actual interaction with you not found", then the problem is NOT ON MY SIDE.) (not that there'll be anything of the inheritance left because i know her, she'll squander it all and then wonder where it all went. my n-grandmother, for all her faults, at least was intelligent about her money and put a lot of pride in doing her work to the best of her ability. egg donor wants a handout when shes already got a looot of nuts squirreled away.)

((here apparently i was typing so furiously my phone chrome crashed and then proceeded to have no memory of what i had already typed so i booted my tower and half past one in the fucking morning where lo and behold, my post was. not correcting the typos just now. maybe tomorrow morning.))
((you might want to stop reading here if you have a problem with violence, because anger gave me a triple whammy of it. i recognise that im a choleric who needs anger management therapy. i am also a bit of a nervous wreck right now.))

but when ivy left, i saw there was another message. one that hadnt been there before. and then my personal spider sense did an acrobatic fucking pirouette off the handle. i have not read it. im officially making it a policy to only open skype when ivy is there. and then putting my ass on DND so i dont get the message notification. or better yet, remove the tile from start. yes. good. much less destabilizing. i could forget about it, really. they have my phone number, if there's an emergency they can call me, but chances are i'll hear it from my uncles, aunts, or grandma first.

anger had a different idea, and really liked spider sense pirouetting of the handle. there was the thought "what if she's trying to guilt-trip me into visiting again" because sucker that i was folded last year after minimal guilt.
i want to visit for easter, but stay with my uncle because uncle and aunt know how crazy my egg donor is (aunt has a crazy egg donor herself). problem is, aunt and uncle and grandma live like 5 minutes away on foot from my parents, and if they get wind of my presence shit will hit the fan.

and then anger showed me my mom stabbing a scissor into my back. and i took it out and stabbed it through her eye into her skull and brain and didnt stop until she stopped moving.

and then anger showed me my mom screaming and interrupting me and me trying to leave, and my father standing in my way and me growling "get out of my way", and he slaps me. and i go cold and silent, touch my cheek, knee him in the groin and then crush it beneath my heel, sneering, because it's not like he's using them, they're in mom's fannypack anway. and then i gently put my heel on his throat, look at mom and tell her that she ought to be really, really careful about what she's going to do.

and then anger showed me an all-out brawl and me kicking and screaming and my uncle restraining me because let'S face it he's military, if there's anyone who can restrain the me who has empathy off and an agenda to hurt people it'S him, and the police comes and we all get questioned and i come down from the damn anger high and just dissolve into manic laughing and cryign and telling the police lady the background and then my language center shuts the fuck down and i switch to english because it'S the only thing i can still speak and she tells me to speak german and i cant explain WHY I CANT and it just devolves from there. because no matter the me who tries not to be like that, in the end it couldnt control angry me, angry me who did and said a lot of fucked up things.
and i just want her to leave me the fuck alone. i want her presence gone from my life. gone gone GONE
i dont fucking CARE if she dies, only that it would give me the peace of mind that she can never interfere with me again.

im tempted to write her a letter, and send it. screw the gifts, screw the inheritance, screw everything of mine that is still there. she either accepts me as her genderqueer asexual kid and apologizes for her absofuckinglutely atrocious behaviour (verbal abuse, physical abuse, neglect, making everything my fault whenever i tried to tell her that she hurt me and make it about how in reality i was the one who hurt her, and overriding my wished on basically everything in favour of what she wanted (including, but by far not limited to: the entirety of my bedroom, which was also used as a storage for her hoard, privacy, what privacy; my choice of third language; my choice of whether or not to accompany n-grandmother on her vacations (the answer was always no because she was an old witch who wouldnt let me read in peace, among other things, but i was lambasted so much that i said yes just to stop her); my choice of ren faire garb (HISTORICAL ACCURACY! WEAR A SACK! CUT TO FIGURE IS WASTING FABRIC!) and she did the same fucking thing with my prom dress -- i like cut to figure but apparently i am a threat if i am not wearing something that completely hides said figure (she's quite apple shaped but has about the taste of a crab apple but if i am wearing form-concealing clothing i look fat and worth of ridicule... the way sge wozld promise me stuff but then not deliver (my binder, among others). she would threaten to kill herself over not getting her way. always always always the victim.
out of the fog has a list of types of bpd mothers. she's witch type. just for reference, in case that paragraph up there did not illustrate it.
i want to tell her that i would like her to fuck off out of my life, and a prerequisite for me even thinking about letting her back in is proof of at least fourty eight therapy sessions, an apology for the shit she pulled outlined in the letter -- a real apology, containing admittance of guilt and harm done, statement of regret, promise to be better in the future; without any attempts at deflection, darvoing it back to me, or the narcissist's prayer --, acknowledgement of my identity and that just because there's something she does not like or understand about it DOES NOT MEAN THAT IT IS NOT, IN FACT, ME, and that she actually leaves me the fuck alone until she can deliver those. sending flying monkeys in does not count as leaving me the fuck alone.

but anger does not care if it's keeping me awake with a panic attack. anger only cares about the violence, and the catharsis of hurting the people back who have hurt you, and literally crushing them beneath its heel. is it just anger? anger flips the switch inside my head that is labeled empathy, flips it off and then all that remains is that thing, that thing that wants to hurt others above all, that craves power over others and has absolutely no regard for them whatsoever beyond their capability of whimpering and bleeding for it.

and i am so fucking scared

that the fay will come

probably triggered by my egg donor because i have the nagging feeling that its some sort of really maladaptive coping or defensive mechanism

that the day will come that i cant hold it back anymore

and then there will be blood, and it will not rest until it has exhausted itself to the bones and torn everything in its way to shreds, used the blood as makeup, and has cemented itself in everyones mind as hostile, aggressive, and devoid of any reason beyond its own wants.
and it wants blood.

 

im tired and drained any my head hurts

i grabbed all my plushies. i really need to give the rest of them names. they keep it at bay, somewhat. they deserve names.

used to be that only full blowouts between eggdonor and me would reduce me to this state, now it's only the possibility of a message from her. the possibility of a guilt-trippy message. this cant go on like that. this is bullshit. im just... im tired. im so, so tired.

theres chickpea the turtle with a screen cleaner bottom
theres an unnamed snivy
theres an unnamed water droplet
theres an unnamed shoop
theres nastrovya the platypus
theres curry the umbreon
theres ignatius the hambean

one of them will be named asha, which is indian for hope.

im not looking for name suggestions.

but their immediate presence is already helping. the tower crashed a second time and this time i was only slightly annoyed, not mad enough to tell my tower that i really fucking hate it.

i think i'll name the shoop asha. its been with me for a long time, and ive named a few younger plushies before it.

 

at what point does become lashing out at someone a thing that was their own damn fault for pushing and pushing and pushing and crowding someone into a corner?

cant be that bad if youre not lashing out

but lashing out is bad, cant you see how youve made your poor abuser cry? look at them, so sweet, they dont understand what theyve done wrong for you to behave in such a manner

at some point the reaction to "you pushed someone into a corner and got hit on the way out" should be "your own damn fucking fault and now stop victimizing yourself"


...

my egg donor would tell me to apply that to myself.

but honestly?

fuck that bitch.