thoughts about ceilings
(continued from previous post) (warning for thoughts regarding nightmares, ceilings, and anything bad or distant, please take care of yourself.)
snowstorm.
endless.
endless endless.
still endless.
hands didn't weave strings, nor create god's eyes. (the yarn craft)
still.
turned over to the clock.
wasn't there.
didn't understand.
didn't try to understand?
stopped breathing.
funeral.
- 9 years ago.
nearly there, horribly twisted.
for once in my life.
for once.
just once.
no.
nothing at all.
how much can one handle before they break.
for me, the infinite.
trying to make sense of the strings.
trying to make my hands work.
trying to find the unknown melody.
trying to not throw it away.
trying to throw it away.
fell back, confused, sick again.
spun my head up, there it was.
closed my eyes.
again.
woke up.
again.
can't hear anything. radio static, electrical static, tv static, midnight static.
this...isn't understanding.
but...it almost
almost certainly is
for us.
- yesterday
cyclical.
falling upward...and upward, I fell through the ceiling.
I drifted into space. I looked down and I saw myself.
What was she doing?
what was she doing?
what was she doing?
too dizzy to think, so she spoke on my behalf, because I was no longer in control of my body.
She is not me, but she is me.
- every year.
how to invite winter.
i created a pocket for myself.
i laughed really hard about it.
why?
because i just thought about leaving.
i didn't know what it was going to be like.
when I did leave.
i really did invite winter.
Instead of envisioning a different ceiling, the truth was revealed, and the subsequent embellishment was denied completely.
Where did the ice covered lake go, or those dreams of those restaurants, or maybe those movements in the snow, or that skatepark, what became of it?
The illusion was shattered, the ceiling was no longer home, but "home."
She tried to think to herself, and even though she didn't lack the capability to do so, it was lodged in place, festered, Winter became Winter, which with time turned into Winter, and after the season ended, Winter came.
An eternal snowstorm just for her.
it was what she would have wanted.
we can be sure of it, now that she's gone.
gone, but, not forgotten.
Just another phantom inside of me, because Victoria is me.
Closed to open eyes.
I can always be found, if someone truly desires it.
- every year/4 years ago.
fresh blood.
fresh varnish.
fresh wood.
How quiet do you think is too quiet?
On a deadened street.
In an empty land.
Past the cornfields and sight lines.
There was a marker on that ceiling.
And...drip...drip...drip.
Was it tar? maple? rain? blood?
I imagined it.
But to this day.
It still stands.
- 2 years ago.
Tomorrow is another day.
Until Then.
- Victoria
CRUMPLED UP NOTE?
Ceilings have been a recurring theme throughout this blog. To me, they represent and hold the same space as bed sheets in terms of horrible staying power and release.
After taking a deep breath again, my thoughts steadied, my hands calmed, my muscles relaxed, I can think forward and straight again.
I still am not fond at all of people touching me, this relates to ceilings and bed sheets, I promise.
But the thing is, some things are movements towards feeling, because there's an end to any tunnel.
A tunnel implies an entrance and an exit.
If it were one way, it may instead be considered a cave, or a mine, or an unfinished tunnel.
However, I will state it in red.
I am referring to a tunnel with an end, not a cave, a mine, or anything without an end.
Using the red may make things a little easier, if one were to understand what red text means. To clarify, anything written in red is the truth; for example: it gets so lonely here
This does not apply to headers.
I also...uhm...just like the color red.
Anyways, this note is somewhat like a message in a bottle, but the references can quiet down for now.
I am making movements towards feeling.
There is a tunnel, forever on the way.
How contradictory.
Now, I did hold hands with a friend the other day. It was something I used to do so often. I am generally still repulsed by this action, not because of anyone, but due to how I cannot deny my previous trauma's effects on me. I didn't freak out though or feel gross, which is good!
Nonetheless, at the least I didn't feel too bad, I am healing in one way. And for how oft said as it is, healing is important. In fact sometimes I think my trauma, or my responses to it seem to get worse, but it may be a lack of sleep, and lack of me realizing how many times people took advantage of me, physically. It keeps coming up every night, I do want it to stop, but onyl I can keep fighting.
I am not healed yet, but if I were to send a message, for as obtuse as it is.
Victoria is making a considerable, concentrated, effort to feel alive and reach the ideal.
I do realize my trauma tends to get triggered when anyone tries to be romantic with me or even tries to do anything with me, or suggest something. This is why I will now always continue to say no.
How basic it may sound, but how horrible everything has been for me in that regard.
I blinded myself.
But I am living now.
It may hurt, I may liken it to a sandstorm, but, truly, it may, have to be done.
...I said, in red.
it has to be done.
...?
What?
No, this has to be done.
Huh...
I have to heal, it has to be done.
That works when using the red but why not the other statement?
Is there something that isn't necessary to my process to move towards feeling?
I am perplexed by the red text's refusal.
It is absolute...
I will pay it no heed for the time being...using video games as a medium to talk about my lack of feeling and struggles. like this is certainly silly, and undeniably even more obtuse than anything else, but it helps me, and that's what's important.
Anyways, I still am thinking I am aro ace, but I will never quite label myself like that, because I am not. It's just been really tough lately as I am repulsed by anyone who "wants" anything from me in any way like that in any capacity. I have every right to be.
For people to "pity" my situation, is a way to deny a form of existence, which I am not entirely fond of. It may sound harsh, but it's only specific types of people...bweh...hard 2 explain. >~< There is a difference between empathy, sympathy, and pity. That's what I mean. It has been incredibly rare for someone to see me as equal as opposed a thing to be revered, pitied, or otherwise.
Okay, this is quite harsh for me to say, and I don't blame the people who had never encountered someone with stuff that happened to me in my life, but I am still allowed to be tired and upset by people's reactions, namely men, but others too.
For those who have had similar traumas, and are relatively well adjusted,
it means everything to be seen as a collaborative culture of healing is essential, being seen as equal is all I want. (I know this still sounds a bit, fluffy? I'm unsure how to put it)
One truth is certain.
There is a raison d'etre regarding all of this.
Please be patient with me, and thank you for understanding.
Take care of yourselves everyone!