it is fully migraine time. took a nap earlier to try and get rid of it. woke up worse. gonna try once more the "shut it off and turn it back on" approach. because it does feel like an ice pick through my skull.
everyday we wake up, and it feels like a cosmic joke.
not at all funny, but all encompassing and impossible to escape.
what if we received information that is so very bad and so very unbelievable, but there is proof.
and then the next day we get more.
and then the next day we get more.
and then the next day we get more.
on and on. forever.
and we just have to go on, business as normal.
what if.
"i'll ruin it"
as if it will exist if i don't write it. as if it is possible to ruin art. as if it is possible to ruin a story told from love and creativity.
like be so fucking fr rn, brain. just let me write the goddamn thing.
i have the doc open. i could finish writing the fic. i have the idea completely fleshed out.
but. now that i've done all of the work on the concept, made a list of major plot points i'd like to include, and wrote more than 2k words.
i am no longer capable of writing it because i'll ruin it. :)
i wish i didn't feel the need to self-criticize my writing so much that i can't finish fics i've started writing because they don't feel good enough. or they don't feel polished enough. or like they're not written well enough.
as if i am going to be judged for putting out a sub-par fanfic.
took a migraine pill and then laid down to take a short nap.
four hours later i have awoken. unbalanced, dehydrated, and sweating profusely.
i still have the twinge of a migraine.
i know the character is bad in canon. he's a dick. he's reactive and aggressive and a bully.
i also know that i don't give a fuck about canon. never have, never will.
the only thing canon has ever given me is a framework on which i can imagine a new story.
a sadder, gayer, happier story.
if i could just pack up and leave that'd be different. but i'm trapped. i haven't had a paying job in 5 years because of my mental health. i was prevented from getting my license by my parents. and now i am stuck at my grandfathers 5 days a week, where i barely sleep or eat.
i'm so fucking tired.
i haven't talked to anyone that i would call a friend in over two years. i have been a live in carer for my grandfather who i hate for almost two years. my most extensive conversation with someone was a five minute conversation with a gas station clerk who i see every week.
i'm so fucking tired.
can't wait to go to therapy tomorrow and tell Sabrina that apparently it can get worse than being obsessed with Steddie.
unfortunate that i'm going to have to explain what Harringrove is tho.
'i just think he's neat'
i say about steve harrington, who was an asshole in hs, but ended up being a frantic and worried mother of 7 in like a year, and who only had any sort of romantic/sexual tension with the two men that ended up dying to protect him and his 7 children. :)
just... so neat.
i just want to go to sleep.
but instead i am chain smoking cigarettes in an attempt to get the lingering panic attack that is gnawing at my bones to go away. or to get it to actually, ya know, happen so i can feel something other than impending doom.
it's 2026.
i've killed my cringe. i will keep doing the shit people have called me cringy for since hs, and i will do it happily.
if i don't like a persons vibes, i immediately block them. i'm too tired to deal with bad vibes. get out.
i'm done saying i'm sorry for being angry. i'm not. i never was.
"i just think he's neat," i say, gesturing wildly to an emotionally unstable and heavily traumatized fictional man
i would love to write the fanfic that has been running through my brain for days.
but then i start to write and all the words are gone or wrong or not flowing in the right order.
which, fine. i've had writers block before.
but then i change tabs and the words are back.
like. fucking hell brain.
it does feel a little sad to get into a fandom years after it was at its highest.
but on the other hand...
the fanfiction is already written.
one would think that i would be used to disappointment by now.
but alas. i keep allowing myself to focus on the possible positives, and then i am surprised when i get hit with the chair.
Happy Crisis all.
I shall be spending the day hiding in my room, reading WinterIron fanfic and ignoring my family.
Truly a wonderful day.
Hope yours is just as magical. ^-^
can't say how pleased it makes me that my therapist thought when i walked in yesterday that the fuckery that was my facial injuries were not in fact real and were in fact very convincing makeup.
bc she knows me so well. and i would show up to therapy with very convincing fake injuries.
yall should see the other guy. (again it was a tree. it won. i not only lost, but i lost against something that wasn't trying.)
i fell face first down a hill and into a tree today.
so i am in a bit of pain.
pretty sure i didn't break my nose.
but i deffo have a concussion.
yayyyy
i'm having thoughts.
and very few of them are captain america friendly.
i just wanna read an unstable amount of fluff and fix it's, because i am sad
however... if i read the hurt/comforts i get to feel the sad harder and then get rewarded with the fluff and fix it and it makes things better for approximately 2 minutes
and not even like... a cathartic breakdown where we manage to cry out all the feelings we bury on the daily.
but just enough of a breakdown that we spiral. and then we bounce to manic. and then to such an overwhelming melancholy.
we are so tired. and yet.
sleep will not come.
we have only slept 2-4 hours every day for the last week.
which is not the worst insomnia we've dealt with.
but is proving to be somehow worse.
sleep deprivation with benefits. in that we have slept just enough to be mostly functional. but not enough to not have a breakdown nearly every day.
btw i wrote a thing yesterday.
a little winteriron song fic that took an hour to write because my mind was buzzing with it.
just in case ya wanna check it out. ^-^
archiveofourown.org/works/75591441
don't worry. the innocent person is no longer the target. the anger has, with very little difficulty, and much familiarity, jumped back to the person that truly did piss us off.
all i did was do all of those, and then take a two hour nap.
oh, and have to speak to the fucker who started it up.
me, more often than i would like: "why am i so unreasonably angry at this person. my rage does not make sense and that is making things much worse. gahhhhh."
babes. you have bpd.
drink some water. smoke a cigarette. read a fanfic.
you dumb bitch.
having fictives is kinda like grieving all the time for something that never actually existed but was real all the same.
