mrmcrreference

[mrmcrreference]

i mean my therapists tried to convert me but it's not like they actually called it conversion therapy

[mrmcrreference]

for me, the cold turkey day-counting approach has always been very attractive and very counter productive. the "one last day" always turns into weeks, and i feel motivated to continue and push my limits because i've created a false sense of scarcity by saying that one day i will Never do [X] again for years and years until i die and then i still can't because now i'm dead forever. and honestly i'm so crazy that it's less self destructive to do Bad Things occasionally then it is to give myself another set of numbers and dates and symbolism to obsess over. i just have to work on accepting that i am an Impure man, and there will never be a magical day where i'm reborn perfect and stay like that permanently, so that i can make better informed and less emotional decisions. it may not make sense, but i really just am personally better off when i keep it up for debate. i gotta reverse psychology my pathological demand avoidance when i catch it smoking cigarettes by setting out a pack and going "you could smoke all or some or none of these, either right now or at any other point, just so you're aware" and walking away. there's always gonna be another cigarette, so there's no need to worry about smoking as many cigarettes as possible as fast as possible at all times until the hypothetical special day where i decide to not have desires anymore which will Definitely Work This Time

[mrmcrreference]

"women are always like—"

"men are always like—"

shut up shut up shut up shut up shutupshutupshutupsHUT UP 🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄 gender essentialism-hating herd of cows running you over

[mrmcrreference]

i wish i had the drug professor x was addicted to in days of future past that made his back fixed and silenced the voices in his head, the screams and prayers of the world. or at least ketamine for my back

[mrmcrreference]

warning: shame around mental health diagnosis, indulgent in self-hatred

i hate that my mother knows about my ptsd diagnosis. it fills me with such shame that she knows some of the reasons why I have one, even if it's severely watered down. i'm ashamed i ever got any diagnosis at all, that i attempted to find "help" or whatever. any worthy man would've been able to find a way to keep it a secret, to hide what happened forever. i can blame it on that one thing "forcing" me to reveal that one part all i want, but i'll still be here in the back of my mind to remind myself that it was all my fault in the first place. i bet i wanted it to happen. i bet i'm happy she found out. i bet i love her knowing more than anything in the world. before that one group of things that happened (the ones that led to the diagnosis) i knew for years and years that i was already infected by ptsd. oh, how i'd toil over the satisfying release of telling her, whether it'd be worth it or not. but self-induced circumstances outed me, and in a way that was pitiful and pathetic instead of vengeful and cathartic. and now everyone knows. not how bad it was, not everything that happened, certainly not about the diagnosis (even my father may not know, i'm not sure), but they know, generally, that Something Happened and now i'm Worse. i can't tell if the full story is more or less damning. it doesn't matter, i couldn't bring myself to say it if i tried.

i'm just so disgusted. with what happened, with what's happening, with other people's p3rsp3ctiv3 of me, but mostly myself. even with feeling like as much of a loser i used to feel like, it still is nothing compared to me now. i'm looking back and thinking "wow, that guy has it so together right now, no one has any clue what your life is like at all" even though they fucking did and i know they did they all did they all knew they could see it and i showed them. but i just had to go and fuck it all up. permanently. i am seared into the eyelids of everyone i have nightmare of (if they still have eyelids to have my face seared into, that is). you could even say that i am "living rent free" in their minds. why did i have to drag everyone down with me? why am i still doing it right now? am i doomed to ruin everyone's lives forever? i wish i could take it all back, everything would've been better than they are now for everyone else. what was the point of sacrificing everyone if i was just gonna end up too tr4um4tized by my own actions to take advantage of their falls?

i hope i have horrible nightmares forever and i succumb every day to the torment of fl4shb4cks. i hope it absolutely ruins what little chance i have. i hope i suffer and never let myself wish for anything better. i hope i never forget what i did again. when i do, i will punish myself for it. i have to. i can't make the same mistake again.

[mrmcrreference]

i hope to one day truly earn the "p" in ptsd

[mrmcrreference]

warning: descriptions of ableism during childhood

i've always had tics. we didn't know that was what was happening to me as a kid, but it was substantial. i'd even get in trouble for them sometimes. what's funny, however, is that i gave them to my mom. she says that when she was pregnant with me, she suddenly developed a tic that we called the pterodactyl sound/screech. it never went away until a few years ago when it was replaced with many other sounds and movements. we found out sorta together that we may both have Tourette's or another tic disorder. her's are mostly vocal with some motor, but mine are mostly near-constant motor tics with occasional episodes where vocal tics get really bad and embarrassing. before we knew that tics were more than just uncontrollable cussing (it's actually rare, and i did end up developing them as i got older in my more severe episodes), i thought it was entirely attributable to st1mming that i needed to stop. before i knew about st1mming, we all thought i was just weird and badly behaved for no reason sometimes and i chose really odd things to disobey. i remember hiding in my parents closet as a kid after having gotten yelled at by my mother about my tongue clicking, i was trying to stop but i couldn't, i tried to get it all out but it wasn't enough. i got in trouble at a hospital one time because they put me in a room with another ticcer, but he had real bad H of ADHD and we couldn't stop feeding off of each other's disorders. a nurse came in to yell at me because Tourette's wasn't on my chart. my chart was a god damn lie, almost every bit of it. i had so many things that even if i hadn't gotten misdiagnosed (or maldiagnosed, as a term i found the other day more accurately describes), even if they did care or help or know, it still wouldn't even be on the radar. i was in an active crisis at all times for my entire childhood and most of my adulthood too. every other day was a tr4umatic event that permanently altered my brain. i was too dis4bled to finish high school without getting diagnosed with more pressing matters so i could be allowed the shitty accommodations they offered (which now includes being on a hostile g0vernment registry, hooray). we didn't have the time or money or respect for my differences to go get a frivolous diagnosis that didn't even immediately threaten my life or future, just stupid shit like how other people and myself saw me as a person and how i was treated by authority figures for my odd movements and sounds.

i had a neighbor across the street who was a few years older than me and got diagnosed as aut15t1c at a younger age than me. despite my mom seeing it in me too, she still made fun of him all the time for his st1mming (until she started seeking a diagnosis for me when i started middle school). she'd make fun of his hand flapping to me and my younger sister every time she saw him, calling him a bird who was trying to fly away. it's just another way that my wings were metaphorically clipped as a child, being raised with constant examples as to what happens when i slip up. and i did slip up, often. if i tapped my foot, now i'm in trouble for being annoying (which is even more funny given the context of me being by far the quietest and least annoying of my (also autistic, but with lower support needs and higher social and general functioning, as some may put it) family, their bothersome habits often being outrageously offensive and gross). i move around a bit, and now i'm being made fun of for dancing. i don't know what it is, my family is like the cast of a musical. they constantly break out into song (to the point i was worried maybe my life was a musical and not real for a few months), and they all dance and st1m too. they say i sung along with them as a younger kid. i don't remember what happened, but eventually anything musical in nature i participated in, even if it was them purposely mistaking me for doing so, it was all grounds to be picked on. if i tried on my own, they'd made a big deal about how the party pooper was finally joining in. if i didn't, they'd make fun of me because not doing what everyone else is doing just makes me stand out more. it would steal my voice from me and i couldn't find it fun. it took me years to be able to talk and sing and hum when i'm alone. the fact that i've been singing for over a year now is one of my most embarrassing secrets they still don't already know too much about. i can't image what it'd be like to share my voice in that way. at work, the costumers and my co-workers all hum and sing along to the radio all day without a care in the world, but i can't even recount the way a song sounds to my own mother. i feel like i'm good at singing, so it's not that i lack confidence. i've already been so thoroughly humiliated and degraded on every level in front of every person, that singing a song, logically, does not phase me. i'd blame it on what they made us do for kindergarten and 5th grade graduation, but i was only so extra affected because i couldn't get myself to sing or dance, physically. even the pledge from my first day of school to my last, it always made me feel ashamed and watched. walking with bubbles and duck tails made me feel bad too. maybe it's just that i don't like being made to humiliate myself in silly ways?

i remember what happened with jokes, though. my family is only capable in communicating in comical insults and complaints. i've adapted really well to learning the art of bitching and moaning in non-offensive ways (complain with your family, not at them), but that wasn't a skill i was born with, nor is it enough. turning it into a happy mood because i pretended to laugh at the absurdity and affirming everything they ever think, feel, or say by explaining in depth why they're right for having gotten pissed isn't enough. when it's insults directed at you, there's no winning. either way, you reenforce to them that you suck. disagree? you have a bad attitude and always think you're just so right. say nothing or agree? well now you've signed off on the insult and there's no takebacks.

my signature st1ms back then were to clench my hands at my sides when i was angry, and to contort myself in ways that my mother considered to be embarrassing to have onlookers watch. soon after, i'd start to lose control over more harmful st1ms. the urge to hit my head became too much to resist, especially when it was needed so often. i'd genuinely injure myself with many methods for many years, and sometimes i still need to. it's strange that this could all be a lot better if i'd been allowed to just exist. and what was the point, really, if i was just gonna have tics all along on top of it? never allowing myself to be seen flapping my hands or tapping my foot or rocking on purpose is a stupid goal if i'm still moving weird. i don't flap my hands in front of people, but my whole arm flutters with violent neck jerks as the shock waves. i don't tap my feet, but it looks like i do when i physically can't stop shaking. i don't rock, especially not when there's music, but it looks like i fucking am when i'm unable to rest due to back pains.

the only real "improvement" i've ever made with my strange movements is that i realized recently that i can kinda control what side of my body is affected by tics by occupying one arm or another. it takes a moment to switch over, but it's a good thing to have for when one side gets sore. i don't know if that would be able to help anyone else, though.

[mrmcrreference]

warning: rude descriptions of tr4ns male appearances

one of my reoccurring nightmares is that my head h41r grows uncontrollably and there's nothing i can do to stop it, usually in public with a mirror appearing for me to gawk at it. i had one of my more notable ones on April 13th a couple of days ago. it started as just the h41r, but then i saw my face. it was morphing back and forth between a cringey young tr4nny tw1nk and a gross trashy deformed ugly scary somewhat older man. as frightened as i was at the initial sight of him, i've never felt more better represented by any image my mind was ever able to comprehend of my body, much less produce on its own. when i saw the pathetic one, i was genuinely horrified and saddened. it made me wonder why i wasn't already dead. when the Gollum (LOTR)-adjacent man was shown, i yearned for him to be real as Steve yearned for the mines in the Minecraft movie. the harsh words i used to describe him only have a n3g4tive connotation to others, i consider them desirable from myself. if things go well for me, i'll only become more and more like him every day.

i used to look in the mirror and it would look like something was physically distorting my vision so that i couldn't see what i looked like. that's starting to change. it's not fixed, but i'm getting pieces of the puzzle. maybe one day i'll be able to recognize myself, maybe it will feel good. maybe seeing mirrors won't make me question if i'm awake or having yet another nightmare. it's every time i sleep with the nightmares. they're so vivid, the same things happen so often, the dream world is so close to consistent, and it mirrors real life so much, that i'm starting to not be able to tell if something happened for real the other day or if it was dreamed. i once heard this could happen years ago. i freaked out and thought my whole perception of the world was based on false memories and dreams. now that it's happening to me, i know it's not like that. at least not for me, not yet. it's more insidious. i get confused about backstock at work, i try to recall just a few days ago until something or someone there makes me realize that the whole day was just a nearly realistic bad dream about a regular day. my nightmares flash over my eyes like my memories too. i wish i was able to control my ability to visualize mental imagery like the nightmare and bad memory parts of my brain. g0d forbid i be able to see what i'm thinking about in my head Or what i'm looking at in real life.

[mrmcrreference]

it's very disturbing to have watched myself grow into the mysterious strange looking man with a secret dark backstory like the character trope i idealized as a child. if anything, i was at least a wise child. this is a good fit for me, and it's safer like this. well, for now. i may venture out too far and get lost. i do worry about the day that i'm discovered. it happens in every story, that's how you find out they've got mysterious tragic backstories. i wonder what it would take to bring me back down to that level. i've already gotten tumblr again, this time with another vent blog. what do i do when i've made a decent life for myself, and then on accident one night i tell everyone everything? do i just leave? or do i live with it as it is? i don't know if i can handle people seeing me as someone who went through those things, as a v1ct1m. oh how lowly and pathetic i'd be. the whole light i'm looked at in changes. everything scrutinized from my actions to my most fleeting thoughts. the expectations rise, the sympathy falls, and i'm left open and vulnerable to the disease of their words. you'd think it'd be the opposite, but no. being on the receiving end of mistreatment and misfortune always makes people feel the need to be skeptical of your issues and of the guilt of the other party. they throw that disgusting v word at you as an ironic insult. "you just want to be a-" "you have a - complex" "you're just playing the-" they say, like it's nothing. they put it on just a high pedestal, they take you up to see just how high it is, then they push you off and yell all the reasons you're unworthy of such a title during your long fall. you weren't even thinking about it in those terms, but now you can't stop. you were already injured, but now you have substantial fall damage. if anyone asks why your broken arm turned into all bones being broken, you aren't allowed to say because you know what they'll do to you. even if i try to imagine a scenario in which perhaps a wife or best friend were to find out and not drag me up to shove me down, there's still no good end. now they have a weapon in their back pocket at all times. they'll still be annoyed by me. they'll still think i'm weak. and with the whole 5jw panic back in the day with the tr1gg3r3d jokes and whatnot, they'll see me as less of a man. you can never just have something bad happen to you, you always gotta have everyone comin out of the woodwork to explain how it's actually your fault because you're immoral and stupid, and being unhappy about what happened is also immoral and stupid. i am not nearly the type of immoral and stupid they think i must be. if i were, i'd have made headlines with some outrageous form or violence years ago. it's my smarts and morality which led me to be this calm and collected in the first place, which made all of the events more upsetting to me. it's one of the reasons why i was so vulnerable. a kind child is more easily exploited than a rude one. a smartass kid feels better to punish than a dumbass one. i wish i could go back to when i still held onto what they told me sometimes. not for the sake of being that way, but for the benefits. before i discovered that the rules did not follow the rules, i was praised for how good i was. it was never enough, but at least my reputation wasn't so thoroughly destroyed. i can't even begin to explain how much worse it got when i stopped being able to shut up. it's taken years, but i learned to be quiet again. now i just need to learn how to keep a good balance so i don't explode.

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i hate existing within the confines and the weaknesses of a body. my brain keeps bombarding me with horrific visions and tails from my past, causing me to be annoyed by the sensations of stress and frustration, and then you wanna know what it does next? it makes me nostalgic. once the first part is over, i'm filled with an overwhelming need to return to that time and place and be with those people again. maybe i'm convinced i could get them to change, maybe i want them to see me as i am now to prove something, maybe i even long to just be with them. it confuses me, as if it were something odd i found on the ground. i pick it up and hold it in my hand, unable to understand why. why do you only feel want for what you wished away? there's still plenty more to stress about, so it's not necessary. all that time you prayed to the void, and now all you can do is look back and ask for more? surely you know you'd lose again, that you'd just want to leave. oh how you wanted to leave... how could you even accidentally entertain the notion of wishing to go back. why are you so obsessed with it? you should want to forget, but then sometimes you change your mind and you want to hang on to everything. you want to live until 102 doing nothing but reenacting what happened, caressing the artifacts, detailing the connections between all of the evidence. it's disgusting. it makes me feel like you wanted it, like you don't think it was enough. why do you do this to me every day? i don't wanna go back, it was scary and i was in trouble and i was so angry and so sad and you want me to live in it forever. i want you to give it up. i want to be normal. i want a normal life. i don't want to miss the people that hurt me. i want to forget and be happy and forget that i forgot for good.

i worry that i can control the universe with my mind. when it does this, it hurts me and stresses me out because i don't want to keep making bad things happen. it's ruining the world and my life and the lives of the people around me. i keep Schrödinger's cating myself into worse and worse realities where every terrible idea i accidentally come up with comes to life. i caused c0vid because i wanted to be allowed to wear a m4sk. then i felt bad about it, so then the universe said it would be seen as g4y to punish me just like i asked. i wanted b1d3n to win, he did, i felt guilty for living in the good timeline, now 7rum9 is pr3sident again. now it keeps making me get stuck in my personal life in really big ways. i should have gotten away by now, but i keep getting dragged back in. i can't help but feel like there may be a slight chance i'm in control of it. perhaps this is just my brain c0ping with my lack of control by redirecting that fear to the fear that i am in control and it's my fault. but maybe not. it's so specific, the things that happen. i am Trum4n, the director, the cast, the audience, and the concept of the show. i am the writer of the plot and the lines and i am the guy who doesn't know it's all fake but is starting to notice patterns. if the slight chance is true, i need to be more careful about how things make me feel. that's one of the reasons why i don't want to have unapproved feelings and wishes shoved on me. not only that, but it's generally unsettling to suddenly yearn for such things with so much intensity. i do not want them or the wanting for them. i couldn't be any clearer about this, but my thinking meats do not listen and instead make me do things i don't want to do and go places i don't want to go. i am being involuntarily pushed from my discomfort zone to actively hostile uncomfortable zones. i don't know how to stop me from doing this to myself. no amount of rationalization will ever be enough to convince it out of doing this to me. i'm fully against the idea of feelings. my brain knows, i am my brain, so i should know. yet it chooses to hurt us. instead of you being logically aware of what's been damaged, in what way, and how to fix it, you feel just Vaguely Bad as a punishment for not having guessed it would be an issue. it's so unfair when it's a stupid mental thing. i already know. it's over. there's nothing left i can do. but it won't leave me alone. i'm perpetually bothered and embarrassed by what i consider to be irrelevant to my thought prosses and decision making. every time i succumb to the weakness i am filled with regret, yet another stupid time waister. at least i have found a use for regret; if i regret everything as a principle, then i will have nothing bad left unguilted for, and i will always be on my toes. that's something that can be made useful. being nostalgic, however, especially for my worst moments in life, is nothing but a hinderance. it just stagnates my progress. regresses it back, sometimes to worse than i was at the time. it makes one of the evils that leaks out everywhere and infects everyone. once they're contaminated, that's it. all throughout time and space.

everything is contaminated. it has been for years and years. even as a kid, i knew that it was already too late for me. every color, every word, every person, everything. there is nothing my brain can't make about what happened, what i did. my eternal sunshines of the spotless minds keep failing because of this. i'm not able to conger internal sight by will, but constantly i am being flashed by vivid memories that entirely fill my real vision. it makes it hard to get through the day or do basic tasks, i worry it will get me too hard while i'm driving one day. i see symbolism in everything despite me not beliving in there being anyone putting it there. when i say every color is contaminated, haunted, i mean it. every number too, and i'm obsessed with it. i wish i could beam it into someone's head, it's clearly too much to write. not that i believe in it, by the way. i think it's dumb, but something animal in me can't get enough, it can't stop. every color has a meaning, every number representative of something that happened, and in honor of my username, every song, most especially mcr, is foreshadowing of or a reference to my life. i tried for years as soon as i got the chance to abandon this way of life and now look at me. i'm back. i wasn't supposed to come back. i know everything except how to help myself. maybe that means i'm already doing everything possible, maybe that means i'm doomed. i wish that deciding this is stupid and explaining in depth for years why it's dumb was enough to get past it. i feel like there's nothing i can do to make me happy, and i'm very ashamed to be that type of person.