A poem about my mothers, once my greatest support. They are now the greatest source of conflict in my life.
I'm struggling to feel empathy for them anymore, despite it coming so damned easily for me all the time. They prescribe to a set of beliefs that I can no longer stomach, and they truly seem to believe they're in the right in all their wrongdoings.
I'm tired of the bullshit. I'm tired of being discredited for my illness and the ease with which I am manipulated. If you hadn't been gaslighting me, maybe I would have formed thoughts of my own years before now.
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I haven’t written anything in over a month and it’s starting to bother me. I’ve been burying myself in video games since a certain life-altering confrontation with my mothers and I’m traumatized over how petty and petulant they’ve been. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Lily. A lot of time in bed. My … Continue reading One Month Later
An old poem laced with madness. Written as part of a multi-chaptered short story and used in countless places since.
It often repeats in my head when I’m having a bad day. Well, I’ve been having a rough time of things lately with my family.—I’m nowhere near a mental breakdown, but the feeling if desperation and helplessness is always familiar in this piece. May we be kind to ourselves in our moments of suffering.
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Today was life-changing for me. I have begun the process of seizing financial independence at the cost of my relationship with my mothers.
I know they want to protect me, but I'd rather they let me be an adult. My siblings got to make their own life choices. My siblings were allowed to make horrible mistakes. Why can't I be given the same freedom?
They say I'll always be taken care of, that there will always be someone for me, but they cannot guarantee that.
I'm tortured, loves. Now nightmare has come.
So it was, and so we were, and so we are.
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“I love you forever,
But now I love too
Myself and the river;
I love the sun and the moon.
Life ebbs and it flows.
I have observed it is so.
But also I’ve seen
The hidden spaces between.”
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There was a period of several months where I did not think about, write about, or desire sex. That period has ended, and now I am back to an old struggle with Lily over how to be intimate with an intangible lover. This is a somewhat older piece of writing, but it still holds true today.
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