sleeplesssecrets

[sleeplesssecrets]

today i went to my sister's for a party and it was fun and nice. i weighed myself this morning which i shouldnt have done. i weigh five more pounds than i did the last time i weighed myself. so now i hate myself just a bit more. i hate hating myself, it is very exhausting. im so tired. i hate myself 20 pounds ago too. but i will continue to deprive myself of the small joys in order to drop weight. its weird to admit it. when i disordered eating habits before i said i was dieting, or not hungry, whatever blah blah. but i can at least admit it now. i have a bad relationship with food. and cutting it out in all sorts of ways makes me lose weight. it hurts so much. in so many ways. it hurts to think im not good enough for myself. it hurts to think about how sometimes i do what i think i have to to lose weight and it doesnt work so whats the point. it hurts to feel inadequate. i am kind of sleepy so im a bit more in my head than i need to be. at the party my sister talked about something to calculate how many calories i burn a day based on my height etc. and it showed me other things, like my ideal weight and bmi. when you scroll down it has direct links to scales for food and for bodies. it's really terrible and i know this as fact. i know it as something i have learned. counting and weighing and calculating turn into eating disorders. and i refuse to do all that. i just know it's a rabbit hole with no ladder up. i want to be little and take up no room and skinny so that someone with large handsome hands can fit them around me. i want to be lifted flirtaciously and not exhaust the person who did so. i want to wear small outfits and be wispy. i want to be able to curl up to tiny and to stretch out so thin. anyways. i met another one of my brothers friends and he's really nice. he was going to be in town this weekend but he wasnt. id like to meet him in person some day.

[sleeplesssecrets]

idk what i have but ive been wondering if im on the autistim spectrum or depressed or have adhd or trauma or whateva, but now that ive been curious and looking into all of that, ive read some interesting stuff. idk where but i read someone say now they know what masking is and when they do it, they began to unmask, and cant go back. there are a couple things that i learned are signs of autism esp. that i used to mask, but now i dont because i didnt know i had the option not to. and i say this all very lightly because i dont have a real diagnosis and havent done enough research to self diagnose. anyways. ive been feeling weird the past week or so. not bad i guess, maybe overwhelmed, but not bad, just weird. i feel like i felt a few years ago kinda. which is like, bored, stuck, discouraged. i want to move so badly. we're renewing our lease for the fourth year here and i wish we werent. moving is easier and feels good. throwing so much away and keeping what you like and sleeping somewhere fresh. i own things i dont like having and my bed has been against the same wall for a long time. and i dont have whatever it takes to feel like going through my things or moving my bed. if i were moving, we would have to. it would help a couple things to just move but probably not everything. i have no idea what would ultimately solve my little issues. what makes crumbs stop getting into couch cushions and makes me feel like cleaning it when it happens. nothing. the crumbs spawn in there. and then i clean them and there's crumbs in my fingernails and that took a while to do and the kids are running around stuffing crumbs somewhere else, and im down for the day. ive been in worse positions for sure. but it's too familiar. some things about learning about mental illness or diversity have kind of ruined my fun. when i learned about social battery, it immediately hit me that ive been dragging my dead social battery corpse around for my entire adult life. and i would just sleepily get through it. now i feel like i want to go home. and i dont want to go home. i want to stay out and be with people. why do i have to have a battery. and why do i have to be aware of it. i wish i wasnt on tiktok so much. i feel like we werent ever meant to know the exact lives of all these strangers. every thing they buy and say and wear. i liked not knowing everyone, not knowing what people could possibly be doing. not knowing what they were thinking hardly ever. i still like going on tiktok and seeing videos, i cant yet bring myself to uninstall it.

[sleeplesssecrets]

ok so i found out earlier today that my ex uncle died. let me explain ex uncle. my mom used to be friends with this chick from pennsylvania and her husband. they became adults together and remained friends. my mom and dad couldnt support me financially for a hot minute when i was like, 11 so i moved in with those friends. he was like an uncle to me, and she my aunt. but they weren't great at being stand in parents and i think even hated me a little. they definitely were obsessed with me but never treated me exactly right. they never bought me new clothes out of their pocket, they made me hate keeping house rather than showing me the ropes, they judged me, they hated sharing with me, they accused me of doing stupid shit i never did, they yelled at me even when i tried, the list goes on and on. and my ex uncle in particular was creepy ish towards me, not in any substantial evidence heavy way, but in a way i wish i could have not experienced. but they were also nice to me lol. i went no contact with them sometime while i was in high school, so basically a decade ago. i wrote this in my physical journal but i truly mean it, i thought that ten years of no communication would make me feel indifferent but that's not the case. and come to think of it, i've never lived peacefully. i think of them when i do dishes, when i see certain license plates, hearing certain songs, even using like, mayonnaise. there's no escape. they broke my cd player, lost my journal, hurt my feelings, and filled the void with annoyance. god i wish i could not care. i really wish i didnt wish i had spoken to him recently. i have decided, instantly and easily that won't be going to his funeral. i felt so weird when i found out. i was just finishing up a brisk walk with my son when my husband found out on facebook. i was a bit winded from the walk and the cold wind in my lungs, so i couldn't really tell how i was feeling from the news. i wanted to sit down, but i already wanted sit down. i wanted to stare off at the sky, but i already wanted to stare off. so i just sat and stared until my husband came out to the car and we went to the grocery store where i felt so aware. i could read in my periphery, and not in a clarity way, but in an over whelming i don't know what to focus on way. i was watching myself shop in wide screen mode. but also felt completely normal, talking joking shopping normal. i don't know if you're supposed to talk joke and shop normal if you find out someone you used to be close to passed away. i won't have to sit at their dining room table to be judged and invalidated, but i won't be able to sit at their table any more at all.

[sleeplesssecrets]

i could have journaled in my physical notebook journal tonight but i think i would rather dim my desk lampa and write here. im going to try to really go back to my roots on this blog, typing withing backspacing, and writing what im thinking about pretty much as ai think it. what has been on my mind is how much i crave a routine where i acknowledge the parts of my day and receive fulfillment from each moment. i have no idea how ot write that without sounding cheesy but i mean it. i want to wake up and say this is the morning. i am having my morning. i am changing into clean clothes because it is the morning. my moring coffee. my morning snuggles from my babies. i like to play animal crossing in the morning. and then when it turns noon i want to have lunch and read and give my baby his lil noon nap and recognize that i am experiencing noon today. then it will get later and my baby girl will be home in the afternoon after school. we'll have our afternoon snack and our afternoon craft or activity or whatever she feels like doing that day. i will notice how the sun chnages and watch my neighbors come home form work and switch the laundry over because laundry is an afternoon chore. and then i would have my dinner closer to night and do my skin care and find the moon in the sky to show my brai that it is in fact night time. and my phone will be charging while i fall asleep instead of a few inches away from my face showing myself an endless stream of short form content. i noticed today that i am truly enjoying being a stay at home mom. i love waking up and stacking wooden blocks ith my baby first thing. i dont have to worry about what im wearing to work or what the back of my hair looks like. my baby boy learned how to smooch this week so he's been kissing me when he feels like it. we are practicing consent in all areas of his daily life, from changing diapers to kisses to nap times. i ask him if he wants to nap with or wihtout a blanket, if he wants to let me change his diaper now or in a few minutes, i ask him if he wants to kiss or not. i would not be able to enforce this if i was away form my house 25 hours a week. we also got my baby girls room entirely cleaned, we took out some furnituure and rearranged ther est and gave her so much room to play on her floor. shes been really enjoying her timein her room again. once i have the dining room table the way i want it, we'll be able to craft together again, i already have some projects in mind. anyway. another thing htat has been on my mind which is so very hard to describe, is my mood board of landscape-ish type photos that ifound on the internet that give me a feeling of longing to be somewhere ive never been. and i dont add pictures to it if i recognize the place or if it's captioned with where it was photographed, that ruins it. i want to spawn in somewhere vibey, no signage, and just exist on earth. maybe its because i truly am terrible at cardinal directions. i unfortunately know where i am on a map. when i look at those pictures, i dont feel like i am somewhere specifically. i feel like ive talked about this a lot in real life to people as well as trying to write down the feeling but i wont give it up. ie only had a real feeling of being nowhere a few times in my life and i grip those memories in my hand like they're my last two dollars. i have a memory of being at someones home, a friend of my mom's. they had a dog and we were by the back door in the kitchen. i was on the floor peting the dog and the back door was open letting in light. and i couldnt tell you a single thing that happened that day other than that. i dont remember getting there or going away from there, just being there existing. it was just a house that day. not a house at an address, not in a city or a town, just someones home with their dog and the sunshine thats been shining down on me ever since. another memory was actually a little different, because i know exactly where i was, i can go there again, but i wouldnt be able to experience the feeling again. i was ont he porch of my inlaws home and my

girl was paying in the yard, and the overcast sky, the fog, and the way she was dressed that day was just so nice. i definitely dissociated and as my peripheral vision blurred i imagined we were in a soft grassy meadow. it gave me that somewhere nowhere feeling. one more thing ill document here that relates is how much i love courage the cowardly dog for this. i know some people say that show fueled their night mares as children but it only inspired my most interesting dreams. the sky is almost always moody. the creatures and people are just off putting enough. and its setting is literally "nowhere". ok im going

[sleeplesssecrets]

ugh so i normally dont go back and reread my old posts on here because the original point was literally to enjoy the physical and tactile feeling of typing about not much on a blog that literally only a handful if people that has ever seen over the course of several years BUT i did read what i wrote on february 16 2021 about post partum and wow. i captured everything i was feeling so perfectly, no holding back, just raw feelings and thoughts. i, even tho that this blog is completely devoid of structure or on going theme or truly and deep purpose, want to evaluate my current emotions a year later. i wont reread the post again, that last time i read it was a month ago when i wrote my last post. so yea it's been a year since i felt all that. i left my job i was talking about, went back to my old one, and recently left that job again. i am currently not employed. i have chosen full time mommyhood. every time i get to pick up my baby and hug and kiss him, i check the time to relish in the fact that if i were still working full time, i would be clocked in and not hugging and kissing my baby. a senator i follow always talks about how she wants to made day care more accessible for parents so it's affordable and parents can keep working. ok fine. but i dont want to leave my baby with anyone and go to work. it doesnt make any sense, even if the child care is free. i am personally meant to be home with my baby and my big girl. i am not supposed to be shoveling yesterdays dinner leftovers as today's lunch in less than thirty minutes, or shushing my playful curious children while im on call, or messaging someone when i need a two minute break to pee. i am supposed to be slicing bananas, folding very tiny pants, and washing in between my children's toes. and i knew this while i was working. i hate that in order to live securely, i had to be clocked in. this makes sense for no one. my babies thrive with me as their mom one hundred percent of the time. and i truly believe they do now that i am home. i am trying to be more joyful and playful, to get on the floor and be the mom i see myself being in my head. im getting way better. today is day 6 of not being employed so im allowed a little time to get back into it. even my part time job interrupted my mentality of being a mommy because i had to spend thirty minutes to an hour getting ready and getting to work. even that little loss made me feel guilty. to put bub in his crib and do my makeup while he plays in that little area felt wrong. hes totally fine in there, i know, but hes even better in his large play pen in the living room with me. my baby girl had me one hundred percent until she was about three and a half and i started my job. i want to be able to raise bub equally. anyways. my husband and i are tlaking about moving in the summer which i really ant to do. we have looked online at a f ew places that are cheaper and farther away from fast food, but near by good schools for the babes. i love moving. i have probably talked about it on here. i love picking what comes with me when i go, what gets thrown out, and reorganizing it all in a new place. it makes me feel good. i dont want to do it too many more times in the babes' lifetimes tho, because it is better for them to grow up in one place, go to one school, keep one room. i dont have one singular childhood bedroom. i have like, ten. and each time we moved i lost things. clothes, toys, memorabilia. it made me better at shrugging my shoulders when something gets lost, while at the same time cherishing and taking care of the things i had. i started to keep a back pack that had things i didnt want to lose in between moves. i think im adaptable in that way. when i get uprooted, i see possibility in the new arrangement rather than destruction of the last one. i saw a meme that was a video of a few cars loaded with things that someone commented, that is an eviction convoy. i was a little surprised to see that other people could relate to that. because in an eviction thats what you do. you pack up everything with or without boxes,

tetris it into two or three cars, and hit the road. and i just like the purging and adventurous nature of that.

[sleeplesssecrets]

ok when i logged in and saw that it has been nearly an entire year since i posted on this blog my jaw dropped. there is no way. every time i get an urge to write a bit on here, i think to myself that i prefer when i wait a few months between posts. but it has been nearly a year. there is no way time slipped like that. anyways. i was thinking today about how when i was younger i was once riding in the back of the car with my grandma and mom. and i saw an old dude riding his bike stopped a red light beside us. he was looking vaguely our direction, it was hard to tell with his sunglasses on. but my mom and grandma speculated that he was looking at me. and they kind of shrugged it off and the light turned green and life moved on. i had, before that point, definitely internalized male gaze in my head. like, i imagined i was being watched at all times and acted cute and precious always just in case i in fact was. then i got a bit older and knocked that off. and that moment brought it all back. men are looking. usually they arent but sometimes they are. and i do not wish to be perceived. i exhausted my cute and precious after age 12. i am simply trying to exist out here. and men have the audacity to look at me through their one hundred percent tinted sports sunglasses at red lights through my grandma's car window, to be able to speed off on his bike without any consequences. for him, it was fleeting, for me, it's stuck with me this long. i cant even be sure he was in fact checking me out as a young girl. it's so frustrating. when people ask what i wish my super power was and i say to be two places at once, i am lying. i really wish i could be invisible. to be myself in peace. whats funny tho, and i dont bring this up to anyone, is there are people that i hope see me. i do want people to find me interesting and pretty. but only after i've mentally invited them in. random dudes are not invited in. but someone i am becoming friends with, who i begin to care about, i want them to care about me. maybe thats obvious but it kind of contradicts wanting to be invisible. maybe it's a consent thing. like underwear and bikinis. no, i don't want random people seeing me in my underwear. yes, i do want the right people to see me in a bikini. but like, without the sexual implication haha. im going to stop here for tonight.

[sleeplesssecrets]

oh my god i don’t even know how to start writing any more i am so unbelievably out of practice. im going to try to be loose like i know i used to be when i wrote on here originally. i had a haircut yesterday, i spent all day at the salon in the store i used to work at. my old manager asked me when im going to be coming back and i would like to i think. i like having a full time job and i like being paid for my full time job and i like buying things with my money on a whim and being able to pay off credit cards and buying things for my daughter and buying things i never could buy for her as a baby but can now buy for my son. my son. my baby boy that i gave literal birth to. wild. i hold him and he’s my baby and he’s a boy. it’s so weird and great. before i went back to work after having him i spent collective hours crying over not wanting to work ever at all. holding him is everything, clothing him and feeding him is everything, cleaning up for him and folding laundry for him is everything. my daughter is my everything too i hope that goes without saying. i feel like i have to say it with him, that hes my everything, because it doesn’t feel as obvious. im clocked in forty hours a week now, forty little hours with long generous breaks to nurse him throughout the day at my work from home job where i wear pajamas and no bra and make a living wage, answering phones to people with real problems i get to help them solve or understand. i like my job technically, i like it a lot, i feel important and helpful. i dont get up early and get ready or even dressed and have to go out in the cold to an office. i am very lucky to be a mom of a two month old whose desk and bassinet are in the same room. but i dont want to clock in. i do not want to. i want to cuddle my baby boy, only cuddle him. i want to wash him in the tub and put lotion on him. i want to play with him and teach him how to reach and grab toys. i have been experiencing this thing where when my milk lets down, it causes a drop in dopamine and it makes me feel actually depressed for about a minute while im feeding him or while he’s napping and my milk comes down randomly. i had no idea what depression was before. and i still dont because the feeling is very fleeting. i had no idea you could feel depressed. like feel it physically. i feel it in my hands. i feel it in my eyes. i feel it in my gut. it doesnt wash over me like anti depressant commercials portray, it is me. when i experienced it and noticed it for the first time it absolutely threw me. i am not exaggerating when i say it stopped me in my tracks. i stopped walking and i had to stare off and everything was not ok. not a single thing felt right. i was grabbing something for my husband and it didnt feel right. i was walking to the other side of the room and it didnt feel right. the time of day didn’t feel right. when it happens, whatever im thinking about will be suddenly very very sad. and im usually thinking about anything at all lmao. if you dont know, milk let down reflex happens at specific times in between feedings if you’ve started to feed your baby at regular intervals, but it can also happen when you think about your baby or hear a baby. so sometimes im thinking about him, my baby boy, and my milk will let down, and then i get depressed about thinking about him. and it hits so much harder than anything ive ever been hit with in my life. it knocks the wind out of me worse than falling down wooden stairs. it stings worse than having a door shut on my fingers. i am aware of it, so i know its happening when it happens, which does help. i can swipe the thoughts away if im quick enough to notice. but the worst has been when ive been feeling depressed like this when my milk didnt let down. when im literally just sad and irritable and dont want to be looked at. i feel like i can feel people thinking about me and it bothers me when im feeling this way. i want to be left alone and i only ever see a handful of people any more. i was holding him today and feeling this way and i cried on his clothes. he recognizes faces and will smile when you smile at him. today he saw me crying over him and he frowned a little. i apologized and and cuddled him and we smiled together. i put him over my shoulder and i started crying again. it hurts so much, it hurts so so much, its the worst feeling i have ever felt. i had no idea what depression was like at all. and if this is only a little fleeting feeling i get every now and again and it is this crushing, i can not imagine what people who have depression more often must feel like. when i think back on how my mom spent all day in bed when she wasnt working, i can kind of understand it now. i used to hate that she would wake up, work, and sleep again. she used to do all sorts of things, like read, play card games online, highlight her bible, print recipes and organize them in a binder. then slowly she stopped doing those things and worked and slept. she would work occasionally from home, transcribing her boss’s voice-recorded notes into word documents. it took her a couple hours every night to do and i thought it was so cool she got paid for working at home at a computer, i used to think it would be so fun and cute and easy. i didnt know why she was so quick to snap, why she wouldnt want to cook dinner, why she didn’t change out of her clothes before bed. i now sort of kind of get it. i literally dont ever cry. my mom will tell you that she knows im hurting if im crying. i might cry emotionally a few times a year, and i will cry if im in a lot of physical pain. now i cry most days out of the week. it does not get easier. every morning after i feed him and put him down for a nap before clocking in, it’s no easier than the day before. its the worst good bye every time. the first day back to work was rough, i cried as i placed him in his newborn boppy and tucked a blanket around him. my husband gave me a wholesome ‘we got this babe’. when he asked me how my day was after clocking out, i was not lying when i said it was the worst ever. i know i pretty much have the dream job as a working mom. i knoooooow. but i hate it. 

[sleeplesssecrets]

two whole years ive gone without writing on this blog, thats wild but entirely believable. i got a new laptop today so using it and typing on it to get a feel for it feels nice and just pleasant. my instinct is to write about all of the life events that have happened in two years, but this isnt a journal. its funny that i started my physical journal the same year i stopped writing on this blog. hopefully now that i have a new laptop ill be bored and slightly inspired enough to write on it. i try to write in my journal twice a week but i have no goal on this blog but to write more often than every two years. i will update and say i am about thirty weeks pregnant right now, im filling up with baby and my life is going to change here soon. i saw something that said its easy to feel like you’re in the transitioning phase of your life when youre actually in the middle of it. to me, i dont own a house or a license to drive or know what im doing when i apply for medical benefits. i feel like a full adult, i feel older and i chuckle at adult jokes and i learned about imputed income the other day. but i dont feel like im settled, that im always kind of reaching with every thoughtful furniture purchase or purposeful habit making or being friendly with neighbors. i imagine tho to my nieces and nephews, i am an aunt with children and her own place to live and talks about cooking and reading and music with her adult family. to my nieces and nephews im not transitioning or in the middle of becoming the whole complete person they know, i already am. when i was little, my aunt was a whole adult to me even tho she might have been in between apartments or boyfriends or whatever. now shes been in the same home for a long time and my cousin is tall and teenaged and she never has dirty dishes in her sink and she has a trampoline and she’s not moving any time soon, she’s in her house, whole, employed, and rounded with tax advice. i expressed to her before i moved out the first time that it hurt my mom acted like she didnt believe i was moving out. her advise was to move out anyways, and it felt so obvious. it was evening and she was driving me home from somewhere and i felt like a 13 year old who was getting away with sitting in the front seat who got to peer into being a settled adult for a moment. if your mom or whoever doesnt believe youre going to do something, you do it anyways. fucking duh. i really feel like she has it all together. but i also have it together. i live in an apartment with a child in school and access to money in my wallet and i think about day to day responsibilities. im not transitioning entirely, im here. im at where im at. and when i have my baby, ill be there. ill have the apartment, child in school, credit and debit, and a newborn. and when i drive, ill be there, with all of those things and the ability to drive. baby steps are a lie when it comes to babies learn to walk, and at every other age. you dont crawl before you walk if you stand up and just walk. my cousin who is tall and teenaged walked and never once crawled. he was eight months old and had it all figured out for being a baby. i will admit i do have a problem with staying in the same place for too long. houses and apartments have an imaginary expiration to me. when i move into somewhere and nothing is put away and it doesnt feel like i live there, that doesnt bother me. then when i feel like i live somewhere, it feels like five minutes go by and then i feel like ive been here forever. after opening the same fridge for so long and taking the same turn to go into the bathroom and putting my shoes in the same closet, it expires. i think ive written before about how i miss not knowing where i was literally. but i also miss not knowing when days are. memories would exist in a bubble, separate from the season or the week or the following day. my mom and i have an ability to recall when things happened, sometimes on the day right on the nose, but usually what year and month. i string together in my head what i was wearing and who was there and whose house it was and how long tanner’s hair was and i can accurately guess when something happened. i rarely ever say that something happened some years ago, i usually pinpoint the year. i could not do that as a child obviously and i miss being able to detach memories from the things that define it’s place on a timeline. it made really special days feel really special. the day we went on an evening hayride with my sunday school, visiting a big library with a reading fort, making a puzzle from a picture i drew with my older sister, those all happened on days i cant remember what happened before or after them. they’re just good, inflated memories in my head that i can hold in one hand. i think its why i dont read old journals or blogs that ive written, i let them be as ephemeral as speaking at the sky. i say the words and then time moves and it happened, but the words are gone. the only way to look back on how it felt to talk to the sky is to talk to the sky again.

[sleeplesssecrets]

i don’t exist as detailed and specific as i feel like i do to other people. im just a bit of a blur, really. people who go through my cash register at my job barely remember seeing me and if they don’t look at the receipt, they don’t know my name. i’ve worked there for nearly a year and i’ve been asked what my name was a handful of times. i don’t have a name tag. tanner likes to drive through nice neighborhoods, which i dont really care for, which i confessed to him today, but he took me any way. he has a habit of taking wrong turns and that’s how he came across it. so we drove through a nice neighborhood and looked at the houses. i’ve seen houses lol i have to be wowed to be impressed at this point. but seeing all of these houses and imagining people inside and what they do and talk about is overwhelming. it makes me feel very unimportant. i don’t live in a neighborhood people drive through just to gander at. nobody peeks through my bedroom window and fills in the details of my life based on what they saw. and like i do for them, if they were to, they would get it all wrong. every little itty bit of time i spend with myself, i sharpen the image i let people see of me to make judgments on. but no more than like ten people or less are even paying attention. how wide i smile, where i wear my jeans on my hips, which side my hair is flipped to, is all carefully constructed by me based on comfort and company. but even in a room full of people, no one is watching. i wish i could just be vocal about who i am and people would romanticize me in their heads, but i have to pull a lot of weight to even make a visual impression. and im not even cute. everyone gets called cute. everyone in a certain size range is cute. people with genetically fortunate combos of features are cute. i’m conventionally cute. im not noticeably cute, to anyone. so i make myself stand out to other people so they can register me as memorable for at least a second in their minds. and i lose my shit when people have something to say about me. it drives me nuts to think people talk about me when im not around. in a neutral way, it drives me nuts. when someone points something out to me about myself that they took their own time to conclude, i liquefy. i take compliments with auto responses because i know. i know. i know my shoes are nice or my hair is pleasant or my skin is clear. i know lol and thanks. anyone driving down my neighborhood just judging me at a glance knows. that’s the distant, fuzzy image. they can’t guess my actual minute to minute life based on that. but when someone goes out of their mental way to make a judgment and literally tell me, i lose it, and everything around me abstracts. cruising through nice neighborhoods annoys me because it looks so false. backyards and string lights and people jogging in expensive active wear, it’s so superficial. your backyard isn’t a place of comfort, the string lights aren’t a source of light, the nikes don’t have much to do with your exercise. it’s not practical, it’s a show. those are the things they picked out for other people to look at and make judgments on. and what a wild fantasy it would be if those things were real. to buy backyard furniture solely based on how many guests you always plan on having, artisan string lamps that emit an effective ambiance on people’s moods, to have just the right kind of clothes for any occasion. to exist like that would be too fast, no matter how fun the fantasy is. i love the fantasy of minimalism as well. what a privilege to up and decide physical belongings don’t mean enough to you. to only have the amount of things you need, nothing more, at any given time. there isn’t enough detail in that. in photography and i believe other types of art, we call unused part of a composition white space. and it can be used cleverly, if you’re playing with texture or color, but otherwise it’s story-less, background-filling nonsense. just put the important things in the frame in a pleasing and detailed way and you already have a shot worth ten times more than the half empty one. and even then, photos are just eyedrops of an even bigger story.

[sleeplesssecrets]

im finally in our new apartment and i’m so fucking psyched. we dont even have all our things in here yet but im so ready to just live by ourselves again. my family has an inside joke that came out of living with lots of different people and moving arounds lot of different times. we ask each other, do you hear that? and after a moment of silence, we say, thats the sound of nobody else living with us. it’s an amazing inside joke and a total jab at how much it fucking sucks to live with other people. i cant imagine a single human on this earth i would ever want to share a home with besides tanner. i would share my home with anyone, because my family all throughout my childhood depended on people opening up their homes to us, and there have been many times people depended on us for a house to live in. but it always sucks every time no matter what. the worst in people come out when youre in each other’s space. i knwo there are a lot of things online about how wonderful it is for adults to permanently roomie with each other for life and raise kids in multi-family homes but im just too particular about my space any more. my mom always calls that feeling walking on egg shells around the house. where youre always worried about taking one wrong step and making someone mad. blah anyways were finally in our new apartment and everything can go back to being right in the world. we’re both closer to where we work, its just so much better for us. i am worried im going to go back to sleeping all day and doing absolutely nothing again tho. i dont know how bad it actually is for me, to just want to sleep instead all the time. there are no urgent day to day matters in my life in the near future. i dont have an infant to wake up and feed every three hours, i don’t drive, i don’t have people im living with to please any more, i dont have to worry about brynn waking up and fucking shit up or annoying people or people annoying her. brynn and i sleep in and wake up at the same time any more. shes not in school this year. i want to eventually go back to my hobbies if im able, but i was able before, and didnt pick them up. i was expecting exterminators to my apartment yesterday and was literally napping when they knocked. most of my stuff is in storage right now and im dying to have my things back because they will give me something to do. ill have my colored pencils and paper and journal and books and the rest of my makeup. im more worried about my things at the moment than i am furniture, which we needs lots of. we got rid of our couches when we moved, and we never had dressers or bed side tables. i also got rid of my desk. our stuff is just going to be on the floor for a while i guess hahaha. im also worried about eating a lot and gaining weight again. i did that the first time we had our own apartment. i gained ten or fifteen pounds. i stopped drinking pop and eating some junk food and lost twenty over the winter a couple years ago and i never want to be over a particular weight again. and over the past three months, i havent been eating three times a day every day, so i think ive lost a few more but i dont have a scale so i have no actual idea lol. we also got rid of our scale when we moved which is probably a good thing. i dont like to guess tho so im probably going to get another one. im going to let brynn play on my laptop so bye

[sleeplesssecrets]

honestly i dont feel like myself very much right now so im hopin this blog can help me feel like. like. unlike how ive been feeling. i used to kidnap bugs from their environment and trap them and give them, like a dandelion and a puddle of water and keep them in my room for the night. and they lived but im like a hundred percent sure they hated it. i trapped a lady bug under a mason jar on my very own counter and forgot about it, and when tanner found it, he released it and it flew out of our door like it was so fucking ready. anyways i feel like that. i like to write but i have no where to write. i like to draw but i dont have the space, physically or mentally to make art. the biggest hobby in my life right now is makeup. i plan my whole day around getting ready for work and doing my makeup and keeping brynn right next to me. tanners siblings are back in school and when they get home from school, they are obnoxious as hell. so i keep to myself in our space, doing my makeup, keeping my daughter entertained for hours. ive lived in worse, more insufferable conditions but somehow never really cared. i lived away from my parents, with two people unprepared and unwilling to step up to caring for someone else’s life, i’ve lived with a loud, angry, hungry, dysfunctional family who literally (literally) believe they’re above everyone else (twice, mind you), i’ve lived with thieves, liars, vandals, manipulators, abusive ppl. but i came out ok. its probably because i have a daughter now and i keep having flashback memories of the places we’ve lived, of my mom fighting with whoever, trying desperately to keep me tucked away from the noise, while my young sweet little brain played lobby music as i avoided conflict and shrugged my shoulders. whatever was, just was, for me. i never questioned anything, i never longed for anything. even when i wasnt with my parents, when they lived together with some other horrible people, and they had their own goings-on, i was completely whatever. my biggest problems, to me, in my own little world, was literally middle school drama. i was completely unfazed. my little brother and my mom were more affected tho. panic attacks and anxiety and depression and mood swings. and it wasn’t always like that, only the moments when things were bad. when we finally “got out” and lived together on our own as a family, while i was in high school, it really put things in perspective. but that was like 6 years ago or more. now i’ve had a baby and lived in an apartment and married. it feels regressive to be back in someone else’s space, keeping quiet, minimizing my life, my things, my head space. going from having a place to call all your own to being in a temporary spot, long overdue getting out, feels a little squished. but on the other hand, it has been worse. someone getting annoyed at me for putting a dish in the wrong side of the sink is one hundred percent trivial compared to having my hairspray pissed in by an abusive cousin who spent hours whittling knives. it’s nothing compared to the microaggressions and bullying my little brother has gone through with literally every single “man of the house” type. where i’m staying at now, my things don’t move from where i put them, my space isn’t invaded by people uninvited, the snacks we buy aren’t eaten by mysterious forces of the night. but i remain unhappier living here than any other living situation i’ve ever been in. i finally feel like i relate to my mom’s complete manic reaction to tension when she stares off, slightly shaken, in a shrill voice, saying, get me the fuck out of here

[sleeplesssecrets]

i give myself goals to reach that are easy but i never end up reaching them. ive never believed in goals or making goals or reaching goals outloud. my birthday is new years day, everyone else’s reset button day, where their goals matter more then than any other time of the year for some reason. it’s arbitrary but i dont have to point that out, neil has me covered. i give myself time and space to want to do the things i feel like doing and want to do but never end up doing. i have things that i bought with money i earned and things i thought would fulfill the time and space i am longing to fill with not just material things, but hobbies and expressions of myself. i like to create, to write and draw and take photos. but i can’t write atm in the capacity i want to because my journal is in storage. and i want to draw, and i have three sketchbooks and a complete set of 50 crayola colored pencils and a brush pen, but i don’t end up drawing because my nice pencils are in storage. i have my camera and that’s all i ever thought i needed before, a camera. i wished so hard for a nice one and i bought one. and i used it a lot. and now i have it, it’s up there on that desk right there, and i havent picked it up. i remember just sitting still staring off into nothing only thinking about how people with nice things never use them like i would use them. i thought people who had nice things and never used them were inexcusably irresponsible for not appreciating their nice things. i would day dream about the mundane photos i would take just because i could. a million years ago even before i started dating my now husband i had a blog on a website where i followed another blog, ran by a girl my age who was german, and had blue shoulder length hair. she had a nice camera and would post photos every day of the same stuff she photographed every day. her hair, her bathroom, her clothes, her pets, the grass, her friends, her stuff she liked. she never really explored outside of that and i always longed to have that privilege of just being able to take stupid wasteful photos of ordinary things. and because her camera was at least mediocre, the photos were all interesting and colorful and different every day because it doesn’t take a lot of talent to use a nice camera to take a decent photo. i romanticized, in my mind, what it was like to have things available to you to create. and for a long long while, all i needed was a simple camera, or simple paper and pencil, or simple scraps of magazine and i would whip up little dumb arts. i threw a lot of my old stupid creations away but i have some of it, and i dont look back on it often, but when i do i am just impressed i used to not make excuses and sit down and do the dumb little arts i want to do now. i didnt have expensive paper or pencils or a nice camera but i made cute shit, sometimes even meaningful little things. i wrote pages and pages of letters to no one. i scribbled little sketches of characters and people i knew in real ife. i took photos of my hands and bedroom and boyfriend and even my legs. and given the materials i barely had, i made so much out of so little. and now i sit in front of blank screens and fully charged cameras and sharpened pencils and... do nothing. i dont know why. i feel like theres nothing to express. i can’t make something about something else when that something else im looking to represent is running dry. i at least have enough in me to open tumblr and open this blog and open the new text post option. that doesnt take anything. maybe a late night and a little insomnia and a teaspoon of feelings and a pinch of eagerness to type. but im at the bottom of my barrel when it comes to writing here. i used to write here almost never because i had other ways of putting my words into expressions. photos and drawings and conversations with people satiated my drive to create. i always hope that the next thing will accelerate my inspiration. the next time i get a moment alone. the next time im at a park. the next time im sick. the next time i move. the next time i glance at my supplies. the next time my phone dies. the next time an album comes out. the next time will be the time. im waiting on an environment that doesn’t exist until i manifest it myself. i like the way things feel like other things. i like having an arsenal of feelings that relate to other things i’ve felt. when i watch old episodes of cartoons, they feel like another house. when i wear my old pajamas, they feel like my old bed. i can almost shut my eyes and lay the right way in bed in the right clothes and imagine how one of my old bedrooms felt when i would lay in that old bed in my pajamas in that room. theres an unidentified laundry detergent or something that immediately transports me to first grade. my friend alex and his friend who had purple dip dyed hair. i can smell that classroom and feel the carpet we sat on in a circle and see the shiny metallic necklace our teacher would wear occasionally. first grade was when i grew my interest for spanish. i had an american girl book set about josefina, that i read all the way through several times. i picked up lots of spanish words and used them in conversations in my head so much i would use them out loud and giggle when people asked me what i just said. when i think back to that time in my life, in that house we lived in with my grandma, it’s different every time. sometimes the living room is big, sometimes small, bright, dark, full of people, empty. the kitchen feels like liquid. i can’t pick it all up and look at it all at the same time. i think of all the physical spacial memories i have of any place, that house would be beyond surreal to visit again now. i havent been to that house in maybe 15 years. i love to add up in my head all the things about my life that make me me. and im still, like, in my youth. who i am or who i think i am, is only the tip of the ice burg. im incomplete. but all of my memories and favorite things and conversations ive had and art i made and art i saw and movies i watched and books ive reread and words ive heard and time i spent with other people and halls ive walked and shoes ive worn down to the sock and photos i took and especially photos i didnt take, those are all fragments of myself. all the hours ive spent microwaving food counts for something. all the pages of lined notebook paper ive filled and turned in for grades counts for something. all of my haircuts. all of the things, every single god damn one, that tanner shows me, are parts of me. i take them all and consume them constantly and mold myself into myself every time i take a breath. theres this thing about how you’re not just the age that you are now, you are all of the ages you have ever been. im 1, im 2, etc. im all of the ages ive been, im the places, im the people, and im the things, and im especially all the concepts ive ever encountered. i love concept and hypothetical. im an infinite character sheet. im unpredictable within reason, a physics concept i enjoy. that anything that happens is predictable, although it feels random. you might not be able to predict what would happen if a large group of grads throw their hats into the sky, where all the hats would land. that is just impossible because of all the variables youd have to consider. how heavy the hats are, how windy it is, how high each person is going to throw their own hat, how the hats are going to bump into each other when theyre airborne. its technically predictable, you could eventually come to a conclusion about what you think might happen, where each hat would land, one possible future out of very many possible futures. but by the time you do, the hats are already spread all over the ground and picked up and forgot about. any fuckin ways im super duper rambling so im going to super duper sleep if im able

[sleeplesssecrets]

im gonn ado something weird and try to write here with headphones on listening to music and there are probably going to be plenty of typos since im yping in the dark on my cheap laptop that i have grown fond of. i noticed today how big i am. how grown up i am, and i have wirrten about it before but idr when or where, maybe here, maybein a journal, maybe to someone who i share my thoughts with. when i was in middle school, i lived with my parents friends for a while, as well as into high school for a minute. i was little, not just young but youthful and small as a person. i would cuddle up, knees to my chin on the couch and literally rest my freshly grown fangs on my knees, and it would leave little wet indentations on my skin after a while. i would get quite comfy and thats how i would stay warm in their cold house with no throw blankets and i didnt have any sweaters. just thrifted sleep pants and t shirts. now im cuddled up in bed trying to read a book on my laptop, so i can take notes and read it and google things and its just better for my reading comprehension to read this way, especially a non fiction book of this sort. my chin cant rest on my knee forever. i start to feel the gravity endlessly dragging me around. i used to spend more time in class during high school thinking about gravity than anything that was going on. gravity held my work against the desk, the desk in the way from the work being on the floor, the structure of the building designed in a way it sat nicely on a foundation that prevented it from being pulled down to the earth by gravity. a lot of people love magnets and the weird way you can feel or test its force with other magnets and all the fun toys related to magnets holding things up or pushing them around. we’re all experiencing something similar but were so accustomed to it we dont take the time to be amazed. the earth has a gravity that is constantly forcing it’s matter to the center, endlessly and effortlessly. you can swing a necklace in front of your face and watch it eventually stop swinging and point directly down. a necklace on the other side of the earth could be doing the same pointed directly to the same center. anyways. gravity doesnt feel like it used to, or maybe now that i know about it and think about it, it makes me aware of the effects in my daily life. i cant sit in the same position for too long any more without feeling it for the rest of the day. becoming aware of my surroundings was the worst thing i decided to do growing up. being aware of gravity, learning how long a season really lasts, knowing where i am on a map. thats the worst one, the latter. i used to just be places, wherever i was put was where i am, nothing existed outside of that bubble. i would visit people’s houses and never know where they are in relation to my house otherwise. their yard and dogs and parents only exist when im there and vaguely leave an impression on me when im not. the ambiance of their house resonates in my head, in my dreams. their different toys and the way the light came into their kitchen and how someone’s car sounded driving over their gravel. when i moved in first grade, i took a new bus and went to a new school and met new kids and learned a new building. the first few bus rides will forever be burned into my brain. i sat on the side of the bus that the morning sun would hit, and the light reflected back onto the sidewalk outside, the sun bouncing around the window panes and mailboxes and my own eyes. i would imagine that the school existed in a new world where shadows didn’t exist, and only light bounced and everyone around me didn’t know, they were blissfully unaware that they were living in a world without shadows, and only i knew but never bothered to tell them i used to live in a place where shadows fell from everything. and then i would get to school and be distracted yet considered gifted enough to sit in a different spot with another quiet distracted gifted kid with large ears. and my sisters would make fun of how i was growing into my ears and i would show them the photo of the kid i sat next to, and they would laugh at his ears with me. that was a nice place to live. we had a lemon themed kitchen and my aunt brought home lots of fun boyfriends who smelled like leather and alcohol and beard oil. they were always big and burly and funny and i looked up to her for always having lots of friends. a lot of big burly hairy dudes, consistently, from all friend circles in my life, without even knowing each other, would tell me my eyes were big and brown and beautiful and it was because i was full of shit. and a couple of choice men told me i had hairy legs for seven year old. i took it as a compliment, like i was special from other girls for having dark hair all over me, contouring my small frame and interrupting my naturally girly look with a bit of might-bite-you-back savage attitude. i was taught really early, by the women in family, that male attention is fun and to your advantage. you can get anything you want from the right man. if he was big, and adventurous, and smelly, and kept a deck of poker cards with pin up women on them, you could go any where. my aunt fell into a lot of abusive relationships and never found a tender loving man. not even to this day. she had a type. i love and look up to her. i think she’s such a babe. she doesnt care about makeup, but wears smudged eyeliner, has a horrible sense of fashion, wears clunky 90s department store slip ons, and has freckles all over her arms and face and legs, speckling her skin in a beautiful never ending landscape. she has a mustache she spends hours shaving and plucking and waxing but i wish she would grow it out. if it werent for her, i would have shaved my peach fuzz, but i hope one day itll come in like hers. my parents taught me how to love, how to be close, how to be silly, how to flirt, they set an example i follow and use in my relationship. my aunt taught me how to put my middle finger up and who to call a bitch and when. she doesnt deserve to be stuck in a loveless relationship. 

[sleeplesssecrets]

I love car rides. and I’m buzzed right now and o don’t feel.like fixing my.typos. my phone will sort put the ones I might not catch but anyways, tonight we went out to drunk and at first headed downtown and it just nice. I used to stare out of the back of the window on lo g car rides with my seat unbuckled watching the traffic pull into and away from the back of the car. it was also nice it was night time but maybe that’s cliche hahaha. the light from the city faded the constellations but I still made out Orion. whoever discovered Orion was really really looking. Orion is an archer and the bright star at the end of his arrow is kind of at a distance in the sky where you have to physically rotate your head to get the whole.picture of the constellation. the person who discovered it and named it and stared at it long enough wasn’t just looking up and seeing a man shape in the stars, he saw a man and his weapon and a bright point of light across the sky to connect to him.

[sleeplesssecrets]

my back hurts and im very tired but i dont want to go to bed. i was going to write in my real life physical notebook but i already hurt from being sleepy as fuck and my legs are sore from doing squats while resetting shelves at work. my thighs better be toned for the rest of my life after those hours of labor lmao. my sister and i started the wedding favors for my wedding today, 36 wine glasses, with design i made masked off and the glass will soon be etched. theyre good be amazing except for the ones that are wonky. we were talking today about how bad we are at story telling. i always get so caught up in my store telling and she does as well. i like to tell people personal stories of mine and bring up things that remind me of things cos i love when things connect. but it’s hard to explain to people out of the blue a story i remembered or whatever. and some people are so good at it. just off the cuff, narrating their memories, with dialogue and intrigue. if i have time, i can focus and put together a written true story, but irl, on the spot, i just fumble and my stories end up endless or anticlimactic. i have a hard time knowing when to be sentimental and long winded or when to be short and to the point. i do that in any of my writing. i flip flop between being conceptual and writing about my head, and being factual and writing about two things summarized briefly. if i dont know what to type, i just start talking about things that happened in real life on this blog. those are days when my head isnt fogged, cos otherwise i just fuckin go on here. i have made a habit of rereading my old blogs on here and ive realized this, especially since writing in my journal has come as a challenge. surprisingly. i thought i was going to be so good at it and it was going to be so cute, but i treat it like every other thing and over do it. i put aesthetic above content priority wise and wish i could just write without wondering if im doing wrong. the other challenge is having so much to write about, but not having the physical will to hold pencil to paper for long enough to write about all of it. i always close the book feeling like the entries are unfinished. i do that with everything i do too, tho, to be fair. nothing ever feels done. theres always like, one more thing i could do. i feel like im never fully put together when i get dressed, i feel like my colored pencil drawings could use another hour of work, then things that are actually never ending never even get started cos i know ill be in that loop forever if i do. laundry is the worst one. you can never be done with laundry unless you’re naked, and for me, laundry can never be fully done and put away and every thing clean unless every one is naked, which is not practical, so it’s never really done. three people wearing clothes that aren’t put away is a small load of clothes just walking around. i could complain about laundry for the rest of my life. i hate washing socks. socks are the enemy. and having so many different pairs is self propagated warfare against myself. i hate complaining about adulthood. idk if ive admitted this yet but yea. i hate the struggle, and i hate writing about the struggle, and i hate reading about other people struggling. i have a mindset of ‘ya gotta do the things ya gotta do’ about all the big aspects of my life. taking care of my toddler, working, talking to people i dont want to talk to, and you dont complain cos then you have to face people who think theyre wise beyond their years for pointing out that no one has a choice in adulthood, which is contradictory to their fun lil ableist inspo memes, saying happiness is a choice or what the fuck ever other lies. i also hate memes about messes mean happy/fed/safe kids. theyre on the defense of a battle no one is fighting them in. no one gives a shit. and the people who do give a shit have messier houses. anyways complaining about adulthood or defending adulthood or celebrating adulthood is all silly after like, 19 years of age. idk. just do the things you have to do, know that everyone does them, theres no escape, its all hell, we all hate doing things too. wash your frustratingly mismatched socks in silence like me lol. 

[sleeplesssecrets]

the sudden urge to do laundry at midnight is the reason im typing right now. i realized i have a full 45 minutes to kill late at night until i can start the dryer. every day my wedding day gets closer and becomes more real. ive barely written vows and dont have seventy five percent of the things im going to need to make it happen the day of. i havent been able to afford it yet. im dying to start buying things and getting ppl in place and getting details worked out but i literally can’t. tanner’s older brother is being released a week from now and im one hundred percent not wanting to deal with that. im gonna get pimples thinking about it too much and stressing. my stress pimples come in threes and my skin has been clear for weeks. excepting for hormonal ones lmao. i think i know how to discern what i write here and what i write in my physical journal. i want the in between to go here, and the boring and unspeakable in the other. if it’s something i can publicly say an/or it’s not boring it goes here. the rest, gets penciled. i couldnt decide on pen pencil or marker but i chose pencil because i have the best hand writing in pencil unfortunately. i have no idea if ive already told this blog that but probably. im doing my friends makeup for her wedding and im overly excited. she has sensitive eyes that are next to impossible to do makeup on because she just tears up right away lmao. anyways, recently i was shopping at the grocery store for a couple of things with tanner and a group of grown men near us were whistling at me and making comments among themselves about me. do i have to even express in words how i was feeling? no i fucking dont. men are the worst. and i absolutely blame the entire gender for the behavior of a few. it’s a culture and it’s not really talked about and when anyone tries, it stupidly becomes a conversation of not all men, which is the lowest saddest fake-considerate point of view on the topic of predatory men. i wish i was the type of person to steer into it, like turning to them and saying something or idk. but im not. i just choose to over fill the bathtub and lay down, allowing the water to creep up to my face while i listen to poorly shuffled music, muffled by my ears being submerged. i feel sexy in my own right and having strange people openly and publicly comment on my body and whistle in my direction destroys my carefully cultivated sexuality. which is definitely what they want. they want to have a hold on something that you’ve garnered for yourself, but just for them. they want you to think you exist for them to feast upon solely and for you to take enough interest in yourself for them to manipulate the remaining insecurities to benefit them. i could go on for years about all this but i think the real solution here is murder. cold blood. lots of evidence, messy, bad, prison for life. beautiful recurring dreams of the gore you made to happily haunt you, and the story to be told for years, inspiring young women to make victim of the grime the rest of the world doesn’t have the grit to make better. i think i heard the washer stop so im gonna go

[sleeplesssecrets]

i have a bit of time at the moment tonight because my lil fam clocked out early and are asleep peacefully in bed and it’s only eleven. i started my real life journal today, the one i thought about making for a while now. the catalyst was a video about someone buying and reading someone’s journals from ebay. i just think thats great. so not only do i have time to start that, i had a lil time to do a blog here and i am mostly in the mood even tho my wrist already hurts from traditionally writing pencil on paper already haha. you know i realized recently that something so far removed from conventional conversation yet so intertwined in everyone’s daily lives is sex. we all do it or have something to do with it, and ancient people did it and future people gonna do it and even tho it’s such a wide topic, it’s so specific that we have that in common with other people, strangers and friends and grandparents. a very happy memory of mine is my grandma talking sex with me a few years ago. by a few, i mean like... eight years ago. i wanted to be agog, but i was fascinated and attentive and it barely mattered she’s my sweet, crazy, slightly broken grandma wanting to discuss sex with her teenage granddaughter. i have lots in common with her, my literally last remaining grandparent, and sex is one. my grandma had sex, hot sex, sweet sex, baby making sex. probably make up sex and revenge sex. and she became so real and amazing to me that day. she was such a natural with the language when she spoke about it, and didn’t treat me like i didnt deserve to know. i had just revealed to my mom and my grandma that i was having sex, which prompted our short but meaningful conversation. my family sometimes has it out for her cos she’s lonely after my grandpa died and her many flavors of depression and recovery make them crazy, but every little detail about her makes me love her more. i want to be her in lots of ways, but less religious and mentally healthy. i have hope she’ll recover fully someday. i want to live the decades she lived vicariously through her stories. if she has a journal or journals, i want them to read all to myself. i have the patience enough to be around her during her worst, to forgive her endlessly for her odd methods of self harm, and to listen for hours stories about her experiences and moments with her god. i dont think she knows how deeply i care for her and thats not good on me. its funny that this topic im writing about now is no where near as wild as what i plan to write in my traditional journal tonight. this is barely skin deep, talking about grandparent sex, compared to what i plan to indulge my journal to. im very excited to let loose and write shit down, even tho i know that written things are more real than unspoken things. i prefer unspoken things but i dont want to any more.