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I think the most valuable thing I’ve learned in the last two years, re: sexuality, is that it is so very fluid. I still identify as pansexual, but usually refer to myself as bisexual as it is more readily understood. I thought at one point I might be asexual; then I hit a point in my 30s where sexual contact became very important. I doubted my attraction to women at one point because of an ugly seed planted in my head (by someone I never ought trusted in the first place), until I realised my attractions could be just as choosy and random as it is with men, and just because I didn’t want ALL the ladies, didn’t meant I wasn’t attracted to any of them. I know these things seem fairly elementary, but when you’re brought up to fit the straight mould, suppression turns a person’s natural inclinations into a guilt-trap. (Add church and you have an even more traumatic scenario.)

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m working hard to not definitively define myself, so I am able to navigate the path of my own sexuality.

In other news, as I’m like, in love with the whole world apparently (#pitfallsofpolyamory), I confessed crushes to two girls this weekend. I don’t know what’s happening to me.

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My mother used to draw swirling doodles, and sometimes she’d draw them so I could color them in. I learned the method from her; now that it’s just me, I’ll carry her arty legacy on and make the most ornate art that I can manage. I did this today. It’s far from done.

My mother used to draw swirling doodles, and sometimes she’d draw them so I could color them in. I learned the method from her; now that it’s just me, I’ll carry her arty legacy on and make the most ornate art that I can manage. I did this today. It’s far from done.

March is the coldest month

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Six years
She’s gone and I still don’t understand
Why he couldn’t take “no” for an answer
I still don’t know why the crime scene photos pop into my head at random times
I still can’t fathom what we all lost, even though I pick it up in bits and pieces
The image of her boy breaking down into silent tears haunts me -
Up until that time, I thought he was the strongest, or that he had a very shielded heart
We all lost something when her light was extinguished
I love you, friend

Well, that sums up things pretty neatly, I think.

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Erupt again ignore the pill
And I won’t let it show
Sacrifice the tortures
Orchestral tear cash-flow
Increase delete escape defeat
It’s all that matters to you
Cotton case for an iron pill
Distorted eyes
when everything is clearly dying

-Emotion Sickness, Silverchair


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here’s a few answers I’d like:

* why does anxiety feel like I’m going to die?

* why is living in the moment so fucking hard?

* why does it feel like everyone else on the planet has their shit sorted out but me?

conceal, don’t feel

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The more I’m forced to go outside and be a person, the less I remember what it’s like to be one. I smile awkwardly. Apparently I flirt by accident. I trip over thin air and flub all of my words. I drop things and wonder why, god why, cant I just go into the back room and hide under my boss’s desk until it’s all gone? Why does the medicine work sometimes but not all the time? I forget that it’s a management tool and not a cure. It makes the bipolar II better but doesn’t FIX it, and I forget that, and so do a lot of people. It would be easier if I just couldn’t feel, and then I wouldn’t get so hard to handle. Cosmic: ruiner of all the things! (Except not really, because that’s very fucking presumptuous to think I’m that important.)

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That thing? Where you forget tumblr is a thing? Yeah, I did that again. It’s not a huge deal, I don’t have a whole lot to say (doing more art than talking), but yeah. Hiiiiii. (and if I just liked a whole bunch of your posts… Lex… it’s ‘cause I tumblr-vacationed by accident)

Different day, same shit/slow motion as time slips through my knuckles/nothing beautiful about it, no light at the tunnel

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I make decisions that the saner people in my life think are crazy. I persevere with people that are seen by others as lost causes, or worse, douchebags. After all this time being around people and actually caring about them, even the ones that treat me terribly - I’m able to figure out when something is straight-up selfish and mean, and when it is due to excessive cluelessness… the kinds that comes from being neural atypical.

Combine this with my inability to speak plainly about what I need and want from people (because deep down, the “old tapes” are still playing, telling me I’m useless, a parasite, an oxygen thief, a marriage-ruiner, the reason my father drinks, the reason he would go away sometimes and spend time with people and *their kids*, would never amount to anything - can you imagine saying to someone who would speak to you like that anything as reasonable as, “Please don’t speak to me that way. When you say I am useless, it makes me forget all of the amazing skills I have acquired and my ability to get through social situations without any help.”? I can’t.

So those habits carry over. And I find myself challenged because I honestly think that the one I keep butting heads with… who is so very dear to me, I love him more than normal people love sunshine… is wired so completely differently than me that we literally come up against walls in our communication. I’m learning to adapt to how I suspect his brain operates, and so far, success! But it’s so tiring. Once in a while I want to switch sides and have him make an effort to understand how I communicate sometimes and what those things mean. And I can’t do that or make any attempt at that before I build up the courage to suggest that I’d like him to speak to a specialist about testing on a scale of disorders. Intelligent people who are neuro atypical might think that their cleverness is being insulted. It’s not. Many bright brains come in very logical, very quirky packages, and I dig that. I just wish the translation weren’t so hard and that I didn’t have to wade so far through my own overemotional state to arrive at concise communication bulletpoints.

None of this might make any sense. I’m more journaling for myself here. I’ve been making a mess of this whole “recording my life so I can see if self-affirmation, healthier choices, more attention to spirituality and love are actually things that work, or hippie garbage”… I’m going to try to write more often. It will seem cryptic and weird. ‘S’ok. Tumblr is for all the randoms of the world, even the wannagoth bronies (me).