indigos journal

it’s been forever since we wrote.  we seem to have had a block.  but now it feels like all this heavy dark energy has been gathering inside us and we need to get it out.  we picture it as throwing up thick black gunk.

anyway…

one of the things we decided we wanted to do was write down triggers as we notice them.

so…some things that are triggers for us.

skulls.  (i think mostly human ones) they freak us out everytime and we have to look away really fast.  and we’re left with a panicky feeling in our chest.  i don’t know for sure what it’s about…i could hazard a few guesses…but i’d rather it come up naturally.

going to the bathroom.  we put it off as long as we can.  yes, i know it’s bad for us.  this is worse when we’re in public.  since we were a kid our norm was to hold it all day until we got home.  it’s also worse when we have to shit.  so for many, many years we’ve been extremely constipated.  and now we’ve been brave and started eating yogurt…which “regulates” you.  and now it happens pretty much every day.   and it sucks.  it really sucks.  we know where part of this comes from, but not all.  and when it comes to “#2″, we feel a lot of shame.

little flying things.  flies, gnats, bees, etc.  and for months now we’ve had these teeny tiny moths infesting our apartment.  at times it feels like we’re going to go insane.  literally.  they panic us.  especially the stinging variety.  vague ideas of where this comes from.

cassidy is here, so we are going to stop for now.

screaming inside loud loud loud

can’t hear it

only sometimes some words leak out…but then we forget what they were.

someones are really struggling inside.

and meanwhile we is really stressed by stuff in the outside world too.

we tooked a medicine to make us not be freaking out so much…it not working yet.

jittery legs…panicky…the screaming inside…the always present “i gotta die”…we done fell off the cracker barrell!

feels like we gonna die die die don’t know what to do how to make it stop feel all squirrelly inside and some are sad wanna cry and some are mad wanna scream and yell

struggle struggle struggle

and we gots a headache.  maybe from the struggle.

we are trying to copy our important text conversations and our twits to our journal, so that we have a back-up copy.  We’ve marked most of the text convos private, as we don’t have permission from the other person to post what they said.  If we ever get that permission, we will make them viewable.

we are in a lot of physical pain.  blah.

also still shaken and probably triggered by event last night…not sure how we feel about writing it publicly yet…

we really want and need to update even more…we’ve been learning so much more about our system and the systems within it.

just so glad we have our wonderful support group and our therapist.

new shoes new shoes we gots new shoes!  and they is pretty!  (and spensive too but cassdy buyed them)

tonight we cut for the first time in a what seems like a long time.  and even then it is a stupid, wimpy cut because we can’t seem to handle cutting pain anymore.  it feels like just one more failure.

it feels like we are spiralling out of control.  and i know we have absolutely no perspective on it…it feels like there can’t possibly be another side to this.  (despite how many times of living through it before?)

the “i want to die” “i wish i was dead” voices are almost ever-present.  as well as the self-harm images.

we can’t see anything good tonight.

except for the mamma mia soundtrack we are listening to.

but that’s not about us.  we can’t see anything good about us.  and, as we twitted earlier, self-loathing gets thicker every day…and it gets harder each day to get out of bed.

enough of our drivel for tonight.  my how we go on.

We also found a story written by very little ones.  Very, very little ones.  I’m not sure if it is complete, as it was written on several small pieces of paper.  But I think it is.

So here goes.

Oh, and they would like to know what people think.

Once upon a time

A little girl was born

And her name was princess

She was blessed by the Gods

She was given gifts

Which not too many mortals have

But there was a grave price

to be paid

A lot of people were mean to her

Cause they were scared of the gifts

They gave her many other names

Some of which weren’t too nice

And she had to watch

What happened to other people with gifts like her

Soon she forgot she was princess

And she forgot about her gifts

And how to use them

And they helped her forget

They didn’t want her to know

Cause they were very afraid

Of a little child of innocence

And who she would grow to be

But she didn’t die

Like some of the others

Even though sometimes she wished she had

And they told her

Never to tell about the gifts

And about them

Or else

And she didn’t

Cause she forgot

Then she un-forgot

And got real scared

Bout the or else.

Just found a poem, by Jason, that we hadn’t added here yet.  If you’re interested, go here:

http://wolfdyke.wineberry.net/journal/1999/05/16/sunday-night-may-16-1999/

and here is our birthday thought to you:

“Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes.”

~~ Mahatma Gandhi

the autistics (aka hidden children) really want to say something but we don’t know what.

it is very frustrating for them.

over and over this memory:

Memory. voice: “that’s the best time (when they’re dry and not at all turned on and not at all ready) for creating as much pain as possible as well as maximum damage.”  the voice was instructing people.