rancidexpression

[rancidexpression]

Am I Hypomanic or Just in My Twenties?

Everyone around me seemed to be overwhelmed by the in and outs of the events that plague each day of my life. I give many the sense that I am a ticking time bomb, someone to be worried about. Many stories I have told others seemed Far Bigger to them than it seemed to me, that I should be more concerned or worried or scared about it, are you okay, yaa yaa yaa.

             I thought it would be funny to chalk that up to me being a Scorpio,

 but my therapist said it is because I surround myself with chaos! 

A few of my less desirable traits are as follows:

- zero second thought to many of my worst actions

- cannot fully close a drawer or cabinet

- that I think I am right about everything

- the best way and only way to do anything well is by doing things how I do them

- will try and do anything once

- I have the worst impulse control and will fully send anything to the moon

- Fuck It We Ball mentality 

- will leave anywhere if I do not want to be there

 XXX said they liked how spontaneous I am, while my spontaneity is actually because I cannot fathom the consequences of any of my actions, I would miss 100% of the shots I don't take, there's a 50/50 chance in everything- that is, until they arise (I promise, I am getting better at not completely disregarding myself in my endeavors. Slowly but surely. At least I do not drink to be stupid anymore). 

In a way that was Conceited and a bit Vile, I gained a small bit of

 “>:-) muwhaha”

(felt in my throat, like a warm hug- but from tonsillitis) whenever I was able to shock someone by my little stories of life. If one of em’ did not shock someone, I would surely be able to gather up enough material to at the very least make them uneasy.  I do not do any of this for pity, or for people to see me as weaker than them. In a way I hoped to make my Lore seem so Big. Damn this bitch has had a crazy life! They have done everything! It was my idea of self-protection perhaps, my little bubble of allure. My storytelling sometimes consists of:

“My dad just got married to a woman after being engaged for less than a week”

“Want to look at my relationship history?”

“I fainted and cracked open my eyebrow at my first job. My boss said I did it on purpose to get out of working that shift. The chef at this place also assaulted me and I was told just not to be near him”

“My friends and I made up a fake story to trip an older woman with guilt by saying we were making a club to stop bullying, but we needed funds to help supply the activities for it. We really just wanted weed money”

Any story that involves one of my exes has a very large chance of being Fucked Up, comical, and crazy

“Once while being  institutionalized at 14 some dude jizzed in a Skippys peanut butter condiment packet and showed every adolescent in our hallway.” (my next room neighbor).

“When I was 15 I pierced my own nipples and belly button while I was high on  oxy. I did it because I was hoping to get my first ex to be mad at me for being Young and Wild and Free,  but afterwards he just spread a rumor at school that I was a ‘whore and addict’. Granted somewhat true”

(I promise, again, I am getting better at not completely disregarding myself in my endeavors. Slowly but surely.)

A coworker of mine, XXX, asked me why I couldn't just be friends with anybody. It has been a long running joke between everyone I worked with, that every week I come in and exclaim that,

Here Ye, Here Ye, My Loved Ones,

     I have met The One, my True Love! Blessed me, I believe in the humanity of life again!  They are magical, and actually treat me with little to some decency! Oh, if only you could feel this love that is inside of my heart, the world would be a better place. I am elated, I am joyous, I am excited by everything!

To be fair, I have had some of the worst dating history imaginable, and if there was any Hint of there being a crumb of decency pushed my way, I tend to leech onto it with an insane fantasy, to hoard the feeling of mutual reciprocity, gripping like it was my last Hope. (Well, what I would think to be mutual reciprocity) At heart, in mind, body, and soul, I have always been a hopeless romantic, a sap, a Lover. But because of this, I am naive, I give the benefit of the doubt too much, let wayyy too many things slide, and always end up getting treated pretty Badly. The definition of insanity is to keep repeating the same thing over and over again, but expecting a different result each time. That is with me and trying to fix emotionally unavailable people who have no interest in treating me well. And you know what Baby, Let's Buckle Up For The Next Ride!

 Ask anyone I know!! Yall Heard?” No One Loves Like XXXX Loves!”

During the week of my coworker saying that, and although at this time I am on cloud nine, I was almost certain that… But..okay…. Please just Hear me out.. okay.. But  this has to be The One I have waited centuries for, and finally I will be loved with the same force in which I love), I joked that I would just have a go at one of their friends when we ended (let me have a little hope here). I liked to make myself seem bigger and tougher than I really was.Nothing could hurt me, I was better than that.  If I could make others believe that I was wanted and desirable, The Hot Commodity of this Town, maybe it would come true and I wouldn't feel so hopeless and out of control.

 In June of this year, I went on a wild streak of about 4-5 dates per week. I was a lunatic on dating apps. A few weeks earlier I had a very intense and horrendous breakup, and went batshit crazy in my rebound era. I would invite a random man, an absolute stranger from a dating site, to come to my apartment- where I lived alone- with no way of fending for myself and while also being quite weak. Each date we would have dinner I either cooked or we brought to my place, play a board game, and drink way too much cheap wine. 

I would invite them 

*pat pat*

to sit next to me on my beige velvet couch, with many candles dancing in the dark, cozied up close but enough not touching them fully- just a little tease of skin contact. Some of my dates were not memorable, but most were with bizarre characters with the worst personalities, who would very much cross any boundaries. In all honesty that is how most every femme person's dating history in this city looked like. Nothing to call home about, or they probably have pedo/abusive tendencies. 

I live in many corners of the Octadecagon of Extremes. Mentally, emotionally, physically. I do have a hot head about myself sometimes, what can I say. I will walk around like I Am The Shit, I am so HOT!! I want to kiss everyone and they want to kiss me. Or I cannot bear to look at myself in the mirror, probably in a relapse, and continuing to do Everything that disregards any sense of my well-being, because I deserve horrible things and I suck, Woe Is Me! I just to Feel Something Please Oh God Let Me FEEEEEEEELLLL. Or everything is so intense and fastandracingandmoving oh Oh i'm overwhelmed help me there are so manythings going onARound me I can feel people's heartbeat in vibrations around me and  I Am So Young And Alive And Hopeful god might just make me a penny to keep in their pocket Everything's So Beautiful and Life is Love YIPPEEEEE!! Or institutionalization, extended stay with my sister or mom, or completely up and leaving, missing in action, see ya later (or not). I genuinely feel horrendous for the amount of people I have hurt in the worst of those extremes, through my words and actions.

 When I was in an EDA program, the fourth step was to make a “searching and fearless moral inventory”- which consisted of making a list of people and things I hated, my fears, pity for myself and others, all of my points of shame, everything I felt I was guilty for/harm I had caused to others, and experiences I am confused about in my life that still impact me to this day. I couldn't do it, all down to the steps of writing down all my resentments, and the harm I have caused myself and others. Maybe someday I will be able to go back to the program and face the faces I have caused harm too. I hope many people do that for me. I hope you reading this, do too.

[rancidexpression]

Some Small Poems

Lucky

Every single four-leaf clover I have ever found (2)

were signals that it was time to let someone go, and time to move forward.

The first one I found was at my grandpa’s funeral, in a small patch by a swing-set.

The second one I found was a few days before my first partner and I broke up. This was after a few months of decline.

I am so very lucky! To be granted permission from the world,

a delightful push and shove,

that brought together growth and grief in each green leaf.

I am scared, for the future, the inevitable, to face the face of my next four-leaf clover.

Untitled

I told myself I understood my identity.

No, not me-

Not directly.

“Better to feel guilty, a liar”

Something as bad as seeing

myself in opposition to moral.

I give comfort to the enemy.

Would I ever forgive?

Tea Time

Oh, but I have so much love

to seep and sip on you’re

My porcelain cup and I

the chamomile tea.

Let me fill you, let me warm you

skin to skin to lips to inside you to

I wouldn’t mind tea time together

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Sex Adverse or Just Depressed?

I have always been quite adverse to sex. The idea of it, the build up to it, having sex. All of it. There was nothing that disinterested me as much as sex. 

When I was in maybe 6th or 7th grade, I had a friend named XXXXX. Her house was two doors down to the left of mine. I used to hate her in elementary school and she hated me too. One time she and I were waiting at the bus stop while it was raining. Our mutual hatred started off very young, as we shared a best friend. (But of course- I was the shared best friend's best friend). The story ends with her bashing my head multiple times with the metal part of her umbrella. For dramatic effect, I pretended that I had passed out on the ground while the rain poured down on me.

We made up in middle school.

She and I were in her backyard, having a sleepover outside in a tent. This is when we started to steal bits of alcohol from our parents' stash. We would fill a water bottle with 1 part liquor and 3-4 parts anything else. Probably something fucked up like CapriSun or Zero Gatorade. 

It became that time of night where insane conversation took place as a developing teen. 

“Have you watched porn before?” XXXXX whispered to me, all while stifling a laugh.

I had not.

“I have seen some on accident before, like in those sketchy ads that pop up”

I had seen those but I didn't dare click on them.

She proceeded to tell me about porn she watched. I couldn't believe it. Not because it was outrageous for someone our age to tell me this, but because I couldn't believe anyone would want to actually watch porn. It just sounded like a chore to me. 

XXXXX dared me to watch porn right then and there, nestled together in the tent. I felt like I would rather die, but I wanted to impress her. She then proceeded to type in an incognito browser on her iPod. She was smiling while she did this, and then quickly gave me the phone, and ordered me to watch it alone while she waited outside the tent. This was terrifying to me.

“ ‘Two girls one cup’?”

That was pretty much the sum of my experiences with porn.

I hate the way that men try to make eye-contact with me while eating me out. I cannot imagine that being the sexiest angle of me, in an insecure thought, and it's just weird to me. The act felt juvenile, like a joke. Staring into the eyes of someone who truly is believing that I am enjoying what they are doing. Sex in any form felt like an act for me. I loved the idea that I could be so disconnected from sex while he is genuinely, probably feeling like a God. It was pathetic. They all were pathetic. 

I started to toy with the idea of sex when I was 15. A boy quite older than I, sent a DM on Instagram. Of course he was my first love. First of many things. We were once in the backseat of his moms SUV when I sucked dick for the first time ever. He said it was the best he had ever had, and I thought that was supposed to make me feel good about myself, so I let it.  He waited till I turned 16 to have sex with me, and then broke it off in a text about a week later. 

From ages 15-17 I had had sex with 9 people. All of it was horrible. It wasn't till my first partner that I realized sex is something people expect out of a committed relationship. I was only able to give my best performance when I was drunk. It was not till 21 that I had had sex while sober and actually enjoyed it.

With almost every person I have had sex with, I pretended to cum. Not only to get the damn thing over with it, but I loved lying to men. It was my little secret, their ego growing as a consequence, my action being to try to make them think for a second that they were of importance to my sexual experience. My favorite part was gasping while they choked me, I would strain fake moans coming across as, Oh My God, Blessed Dick! Sometimes they hit my face to the point of bruising. I would go silent when this happened and it would continue. I pretended to like it.

This summer I had a string of absurd first dates. I would buy wine, one or two bottles from Trader Joes, and get ingredients to make a homemade pizza. The staff there must have pitied me for weeks. 

I would invite a man over to have dinner, wine, and play Scrabble. We would listen to a blend of our Spotify’s, and drink very fast. I loved telling them that I had never lost before, which was of course a lie. The smugness they expressed while I played my worst words made me feel a deceptors joy. These were all very important pieces in my game. All of it was routine, planned, carefully executed. This first was to make them think I was weaker than them.

I liked to think that I was taking back my sexuality, bruised and beaten and rancid and probably moldy with some kind of rare disease, (the rare disease was men who did not care about me) by trying to have the upper hand in the shared game of attraction. Once objectified by others, I would now objectify myself. It was just me repackaged with some new stickers and maybe a cooler logo. There were no winners to this game, each date was worse than the last, and I would get sadder and feel more pathetic with each

 “let's do this again” .

We both were lying. If we happen to see each other at an Aldi we would probably look down immediately.  There was no point in trying to meet each other's eyes when there was barely a connection there in the first place. He would think about me maybe one more time in his life, and this person will be a name in my notes app probably till I die. 

[rancidexpression]

My Friends Discovery of my Sex List

TW SA

In my notes app I write down forgotten passwords and grocery lists.

Cat litter

Kale

Almond Milk

Baby cucumbers

 I sometimes use it as a space to try to remember things I will inevitably forget about. I mostly write about people. 

I was once on Facetime with my friend XXXX. They, like me, never seem to catch a break. Us catching up was basically just a big shout out to the DSM-5. I told them about how I love to write down quotes from people I love.

“I probably have something written down from you, XXXX”

I didn't. I deleted every single speck of them from my life the night we broke up. I scrolled all the way to the bottom, purposefully taking my time so it looked like I was actually searching. I wasn’t. Time to give up the gig.

“Maybe yours are on my old phone, I don’t use iCloud”

That is true. It's easier to stretch things out instead of facing a person with my shame head-on. I continued to read aloud some quotes. 

“I deserve nothing less than the whole world of a person”. 

I do not know who wrote that, I didn’t say. It is interesting to think I probably did not write down who said it in fear that our relationship was actually fleeting and would inevitably crash and burn. I wrote this down September 8th, 2021. I cannot remember who said it but I am slightly impressed that I knew what the outcome would be. 

XXXXX told me this joke while we were wine drunk and making dinner together. I cannot remember what we were having but I know it was special. 

“When you admitted to inpatient treatment during, like, the first month of us living here, I had the first thought of 'damn and they said they would be here more often'”

She was my best friend in the world,

XXXXXXX said, “Love should hurt but love should not harm”. 

I think about reaching out to them often. I wonder how they are doing all of the time. In many ways I think we thought about love the same way, but they expressed love in ways that harmed themselves. I did the opposite, right?

“Sucking dick is a performance and I am the star”,  XXXXX, 11/22

“OJ is in my ovaries”, XXXXX , 12/21

“I think we are all a little bit on the spectrum”, XXX, 7/23

Few of many. I scrolled a bit more and noticed my sex list. It is a laughable piece of myself.

“Every girl I know has a sex list, XXXX”

“That is fucking weird. You are weird”

“No, I swear to god ask any girl you know!”

I would later find out not many people had a list of every person they have had sex with logged into their notes app. I felt very hot suddenly with this realization, the backs of my legs started to dampen and my heart beat faster. Shame, shame, shame. I wanted to throw my phone down so hard it would shatter just to get the point across that I am not weird. I am always at the extreme ends of my feelings and reactions. 

I felt enraged. There were many aspects of my rage that did and did not make sense. How could I expect a person to think a list of all of the people I have had sex with is okay to have. How could a person -who has sexually assaulted me- give any opinion on what I do to take back the idea of being a sexual person. (It has not gone well at all. The take back. I shared with XXX that I had never had sex while sober before). Maybe this is just me compiling resentment of most of the people I have slept with.

I hated that they were on that list and they had the audacity to poke at it. Sometimes I feel rage so deeply that I want to explode. I hate how many casualties lie in my anger.

[rancidexpression]

Brain Dump of my Consecutive Thoughts Today 8/03/2023

TW: SH, ED

Today in therapy my therapist told me that

“Being stuck in a crisis is familiar" to me.

I could feel myself turn red as soon as she said it, because I already knew what she was going to say. Most people read me well, and most of the time for worrying reasons. I hate that about myself but at the same time can feel joy simmer in the

small 

Soft

Patch of skin below my belly button.   That's hot…

She said every week for the past few months a new cow has entered the barnyard.  

My anorexia told me in that instant that the cow she was referring me to was myself. The air fell out of me and my ears turned to lava. Logic came in to save the day.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You come in with a new crisis every week”.

That is familiar. I kind of feel like a running joke with the events in my life sometimes. What a tragedy, poor XXXX. I secretly liked that feeling.

I can never just do something to do something. Especially with drugs. First I was drinking to get fucked up. I hate drinking now. But since I started smoking and consuming weed again my tolerance is so high that I keep chasing bigger highs and just always want the next best thing. Or I think that is what should happen. Why do I want to always feel so fucked up?

Last night I told --- that ever since I was a small child I have had this fascination with inflicting pain upon myself. I could name out all my examples.

I picked my skin so much it would scab over and over. I would pick the scab each time, and make it bleed more and more, till it scarred over. I would stick a small clump of toilet paper to the wounds to stop the bleeding. 

I have been biting my nails down to skin, tearing out my nails, going deeper and deeper with the hangnail I could rip off, pulling my entire pinky nail out with a nail clipper probably hundreds of times now. If I had no more nails to bite down, I would bite the skin off around my nails. I was fascinated by infections. If any of my wounds get infected, I would pick and prod at it to make it last longer. It would hurt more that way.

I pulled out my hair in chunks for quite some time. It started around the middle of middle school. I think because I have had so many scabs on my head that I would have picked them off, I went to the next level of pulling hair chunks out to make a wound.

I would rip my teeth out far too early. I pushed and pulled and yanked and forced so many of my baby teeth out. I would also pull out my friend's teeth. It was a lot rewarding if it was my own tooth (I would get the money, and also control of self). Is this pain self-inflicted because early on I enjoyed it or because I wanted to be the one to control my own hurt?

I pulled my eyelashes out quite a bit

If I ever had a blemish I would tear it apart and put every chemical and serum and toner and lotion on it that I could to get rid of it. I would make it 1000 times worse each time I poked into one. I loved it.

Cutting with nail clippers again, the corns off on my pinky toes, and the skin around my toes and fingers to peel off very fast and yelp OUCH!

I couldn't not mention cutting. I still think about it often but not in an ideation type of way. I would never do it again, it is too risky. Too many people would see it, especially this time of year. Or ever. I found a bunch of my razors the other day. It is there as a reminder- I want it to be my little secret.

I could go deeper and say this is a common pattern in much of my life- horrible and toxic relationships. Working myself to sickness. I hate the thought of not being everything for everyone.

My therapist asked why I hold so much shame.

“Where do you feel that in you?”

I could feel disgust, bubbling, and black, lurch inside me. I felt sick. Shame rose up to my throat like bile. My shame lived to be the salivation of my mouth before I vomited my embarrassment. Most of the time I would just swallow it and hoped for the acidity to go away. 

I hate what I am doing to XXXX and XXXXXX right now. I feel like the worst person in the world. I have muddled some things up quite badly. It is so hard to just give the reasoning being that it feels right with XXX. It is finally something good in that area of life and I feel like people should be happy that I am truly happy. Dichotomy of man is saying why should people be happy that I am truly happy while I am also actively hurting people who I deeply care about. I can't stop. There is no rational, truly, and I feel evil for that. I hate that I cannot cry. I hate that I cannot care. 

My Co-Star today says “Today, your emotions feel like a big roller coaster. You second-guess your decisions, repress your own valid needs, and dwell on the worst-case scenario”

Boooooooooooo! 

I am fucking a lot up right now and I dont know what to do. Today my therapist said I run away from things as soon as they get hard or complicated. Or because I get bored. 

I tend to be so worried about how other people perceive me that I second guess every decision I ever make- if I even allow myself to make one. I thrive off of external validation. 

What should I do?

What would be the thing people like me most for saying or doing?

I feel like I am a spectacle. I need to be able to control how people see me in order to do anything ever. I will make myself digestible for you, and eat me over and over. I could become your favorite meal. Consume me!

It seems like the only thing I can control at this point. 

I feel like I could tell XXX anything and I would never be judged. Yesterday they said they loved how shameless I was.

I know it is on a surface level, but it felt nice to hear. I told my therapist this.

“Does XXX know you purge”

Bitch.

My legs squirm into a new position and I can feel my skin get hot when she says this. 

“No”

“But why not, I mean, you like being seen as shameless? Why not let that out?”

“I feel nothing but shame towards myself for most everything I do.”

I am embarrassed by myself. I hate being alone. I feel like an impostor when anyone tells me anything even remotely positive about myself. You know, the normal thoughts of anyone in their 20's in therapy- I can imagine. This feels like something everyone talks about ever, being young and dumb. I hate how careless I am with anything I do.

Lost my card for 3 hours and decided I needed to get a new one that day.

I have ripped two of my house keys in half for being impatient and forcing them to come out of the locks.

I will rip cords out of sockets if they're even slightly stuck

I hurt many people I do not want to hurt. It seems to be common in my relationship trail. I never see things through with people. I get bored. I leave fast and I leave early. Or move onto the next best thing. Does that make me an addict of the chase or a failed hopeless romantic?