TRIGGER WARNINGS! Post contains references to sex, self mutilation, suicide. 3000 words long. A dark, revealing and desperate post. A great deal different from what you may be used to from me.
Ceridwyn. You are the single only person who has access to this. And…I want you you know that whatever I write in this single WordPress thing, is the “fucking terrified” part of me. It’s my safe space. Were I can… not feel alone. Where I can show you my… insides… Because all the other pages… they’re certainly me. Parts of me. But they’re not all of me… so…
This is the single space I can be terrified and vulnerable and that… disgusting human being that I hate. The “real me”. The me that i fucking hate.
Mymetame is my silly funny, over the top me.
Modernmysticmother is the me I wish I was. Or could be. It’s my very public very personal “construct” version of me. I don’t put my… real really I think I might be fucking crazy stuff up there. It’s… like my inner crazy and my inner fun, combined into a cool, satirical pinnacle of society.
But I really inside fucking hate myself. Because… of all the things I’ve been told about myself… And… what if everyone is right? What if I really am all that stuff people say about me?
Because… you might think I’m good because you can relate to me. But for the exact same reason you feel safe with me is the same reason other people hate me and think I’m manipulative.
I am manipulative. I manipulate myself. I mirror the other person. I do whatever the other person does… Because I’m scared and alone.
If I am a mirror, I hate the look of myself, so I turn my mirror around and instead of hating myself, I copy other people. To fit in. To be loved. Because I’ve never felt… that I was allowed to do things my way. I was never trusted. I was always wrong whenever I “trusted myself”
After my dad died, my mum said that what my dad said about me was true. She said that he said that it’s true, I don’t care about anyone but myself. And… i don’t know…
I hate lies… I always assume people are telling me the truth because I don’t know why people would lie…
But you seem to be intuitive.
Please … not narcissistic self inflated self promotion…. I want you to go through my WordPress blog and read everything. Please.
Help me? It’s all there… And I’m terrible at remembering stuff….
But I wrote about kore of queen persephone. That’s where I introduced Alita.
And … the stuff in August? That’s where c_______ found my blog and he’s been… mimicking me. Lol but he doesn’t say thanks. And that.. bothers me…
You are a gifted writer. And I have nowhere near your power of the written word. And… you are god. The word of god. But fuck god. You are the word of goddess. Or whatever. Gender is really not important to me. But I understand that it is am important marker of self identity. So. You are the word of deity.
I’m just a spin bullshit artist doctor. I bastardise shit. I.. try, but ultimate fall short. I’m… the fallen angel. Trying to be like deity. Like you.
And people see me, but they see what they want, hear what they want, interpret what they want.
Nobody ever sees.. me.
I thought you did. I really thought you understood me. Now I realise… how harmful I am… And… I don’t want to be alone. I’m so tired of being… used up and spit out.
And I lost 2 hours of time this afternoon. But I must have blacked out somewhere in between the start and then.. when J got home and asked where the kids were… it was after 6pm already. I had no idea…
And… I love you. I really do. I… wrote the thing.. about when we collide we feel like home… I wrote it for everyone I have ever loved. And… sometimes things survive the collision, and they are fused. And stronger. And other times it doesn’t work out and people get upset and they decide to not continue. And other people get angry at the other person for being the reason they hurt. When… you both are responsible? sorry?
I want your help. And I don’t want to fuck you up like everybody else that has ever known me….
But not really. Because if I really wanted to die, I would make sure there was no backing out. I was all in.
I don’t know how many times I was “all in” 3? Or 2?
2 times were medically induced.
1 time I was jumping out of moving cars, walking train lines. Cutting. I was going to wait for a train to hit me. But I was facing the wrong way. And freaked out when it came from behind inside of in front. It was the loud “bleerrp” of the horn that shocked me and so I ran out of the way.
So… I dunno.
(images removed) // (censored).livejournal.com
I’ve got somewhere in there super fresh juicy ones of this. That was almost a decade ago.
Oh and the scars on my face and thighs are also self induced. Because I hate myself. I hate my face.
I used to take my hate and anger out on my teddy sooty. And then I hated myself and would always say sorry and try to stitch him back uip again. I remember saying “look what you made me do”. But he didn’t make me do anything. It was a bear. Just a bear. But he was my best friend. My only friend. My teddy bear and this little tree shrub thingy in the back yard were my only friends.
That’s actually really pathetic now I say it like that. But it’s true. And I didn’t want to be the weird kid anymore… I just… I’ve always just learned to fucking adapt to my surroundings… Because if I’m by myself, I tend to destroy myself.
I don’t want to destroy myself. But I don’t want to destroy you either.
I promised J that if I lost control again I would hospitalise myself for a full fucking study. My brain scans are normal. All my physical biological whatever is normal. Except I have diabetes which diagnosed March last year.
So… it’s my psychological framework. I should… tear it down and build it from scratch. But because I always just… manipulate bullshit. I could consent to a full hardware wipe. Just… empty myself out completely to be whatever was the right way I was supposed to be…. what was normal. Because… people don’t like what’s different… And I’m different… But not the right kind of different.
There were other times. Like trying to hang myself and drinking poisons, organising someone to watch the kids while I went off and hopefully never came back… But I’d chicken out and break down and cry and seek help.
But then I was an attention seeker.
And I am fucking crazy when I’m emotional. But also enigmatic?? I dunno. That’s what draws people in? Oh look a scene someone is making a scene! Let’s watch!
But… they only receive whatever they want… And I don’t… I don’t want to be someone else’s muse or puppet.
Like… sure maybe I can be. I can work with that. You’re the person and I’m the ventriloquist dummy. But there’s a clear distinction between who is actually in control. You know? There’s an acknowledgement of both and praise for both. Both get love.
And… isn’t that was it is to be a god? What’s the point of living forever if you have no one to share it with.
This is the shit I used to write about on mmmother. But …. i don’t want to. It breaks my heart doing this and I don’t want other people picking through the fleshy rot and taking the gems for themselves without saying thank you.
And c_______ is releasing his book in December. I feel like it’s for me.
All my childhood memories… from before school. Those are in my paper journals. But only in dot points
My parents loved me and didn’t think there was anything wrong with me so I never got tested. FOR ANY THING. I was quintessentially mediocre. Average. Normal. Fully assimilated into the Australian cultural identity. Because both of them were from overseas…. I’m first gen. Half Scandinavian, half filo. And filo people aren’t your “typical asian” because they’re island Asian… like… indonesia. Or whatever. So… I wasn’t even Asian enough because I didn’t know how to use chopsticks. Filo people eat with their hands. Ugh.
I will take photos of my… website planning notebook. Yes I am neurotic I have notebooks for everything to help keep me… compartmentalized…. But they all end up turning into “a beautiful mind” crazy house….
I know you have your own personal demons to deal with. And I am so so sorry if I have caused the complete fracturing of your psyche. But I believe you are strong enough to get through it to the end.
Please.. stay with me for at least a bit longer… Because I feel in my heart… Like… literally feeling it in my chest… that I might die… And that it will be worse without you.
I am selfish… I’m sorry… I don’t mean to be… But I think its important.
Because you’re important to me.
You have no fucking idea how much you mean to me. Right here, right now. Fuck what everyone else seems to say. Fuck them. They don’t know because they’re not.. they’re not us. If that makes sense?
It’s not their fucking thing or whatever to understand. This is us… if you trust me the way I trust you… umm… this is my fucking everything. And I’m putting it out in the “open” to you
I showed you my face… I told you my name…
That’s what I’ve been most afraid of showing the public… Because those are the things that have always fucked me around… that because I was born with this face. I’m forever trapped by what people think of it…
I think I look nice sometimes, and other times I don’t. I… don’t feel feminine or masculine… I don’t identify with either gender… But I like being me. Which is cis female. I dunno?
It’s.. That’s why I never felt comfortable with sexual or religious labels…. so I made my own. Hetero flexible. Because it’s easier to tempt dudes. “Miscellaneous” – because It’s whatever I make up and like and bullshit into my own ideological framework.
The difference between a cult and a religion is their leader is dead. Why Scientology is a religion and not a cult. And all that money and debunking of whatever. Who cares. It’s no different from every other religion or cult. They just changed the names of the gods and shit.
I have no plans. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I only wanted to… do me. And live comfortably while doing so. Because my husband wants financial security. And I’m like “there’s always been money, shit just works it way out”
And he gave me an ultimatum yesterday. I need to make $20k from my blog within a year or the blog is over. And that’s not including casual teaching jobs.
And I’m like. What the fuck? How the fuck do I do that? Honestly. I just wanted to read tarot cards and still do what I do, which is teach. I don’t know. I don’t like making goals based on undefined parameters because… literally, anything can happen. Make short term hard goals. But have some ideas with where they could be taken if developed. Projections. I dunno.
My chest is so tight because this is my heart outside of my body. And I’m holding it out for you. To you. You can’t keep it because I need it to live.
But it’s everything I’ve got.
But right now no one can tell because I am writing profusely. Just endless word vomit.
And it wasn’t until I felt… understood…. i couldn’t calm down until I felt heard and listened to and regarded….
And because I refer to these self ideations as various voices, I was almost hospitalised for complete mental derangement.
And when I’d make farcical jokes… offensive jokes that I think are funny because they are not real. They are not serious. I’d make these jokes. And then people would comment on my bad taste. And think I was being serious.
Like.. being the antichrist or messiah. I’m not any of that. I’m just… being me.
And you dont have to tell me anything. But i have a feeling your name starts with C, or J. But I don’t know… J____ or K____. Or something. Catherine. I don’t know.
Unless your parents were totally cool and did name you _____________
But I never asked because I didn’t care what you styled yourself as. We were the names we choose for ourselves. And you wear yours for protection. To protect you.
I don’t know anything about anything really, I’m really just blowing smoke out of my ass here. That is the authority on which I speak. No accredited or certified or verified anything. I just.. do what I do. Which is… fuck myself up and drag people into it… But if you believe in fate, then I’m pleading with you for help. Because you’re the only one who knows how.
If you weren’t, then I wouldn’t be here. You’re my Jupiter. Or my signpost to point where to go.
And if you’re my Jupiter…. you have that power within you to do it yourself. And to heal yourself. Because I believe you can. And you can get your strength from my self absorbed narcissistic sense of self righteousness. She’s stowed away underneath.. somewhere in the bowels of my body. I dunno. But get that strength from her.
If you’re not my Jupiter. That’s okay. I’ll go on and find them somewhere else… Like I’ve always done. But I’m not leaving you until I’ve fixed my mess. I’m so so sorry.
But you are your own god. Get yourself out of your cage. Remember you made that cage. Only you know how to get yourself out. I’ll be waiting for you.
Androgeny is neither male nor female…. And it’s hard to tell what gender a person is. Hermaphroditism is both male and female. And.. it’s hard to tell what gender a person is… hahaha.
Im laughing because I am only making up these definitions for myself. And putting what my ideas about intersexuality is.
I don’t give a fuck about intersex. Because I am just so in to the sex. All the sex. I like it and I love it.
In terms of gender, which is a social construct, it’s merely aesthetic. I like the dynamic interplay between masculinity and femininity. It’s so fucking hot watching. And looking and participating.
But inside? The inner person? That’s the only thing that makes a person. Because outsides can change. Puberty. Hormones. Surgery. Make up. Acne. Hair. Whatever. It can change.
Get a kick to the face and it changes, but make up on and you can look like you got kicked to the face. Whatever. It’s aesthetic superficiality.
One of the hottest fucking guys on the planet who totally fucking gets me off? Aydian Dowling. Before and after. Don’t care. Gorgeous both ways. But I dunno… I like guys to not just LOOK like a dude, it’s also voice, comportment, style…
A person isn’t just one thing. We are all so multi faceted.
And in cinema, you see heaps of dudes who dress up as chicks to tell the stories of these men who wanted to be women, which is a bit of a mirror to the actual goings-ons of what was happening in real life. Women masquerading as men in order to succeed.
So, Eddie Redmayne looks good as a lady! Not really my thing as a dude.
But he’s a good looking dude none the less.
I’ve been with a huge variety of guys. Who looked a whole bunch of different ways.. I didn’t have a type. Sort of like… I was Aphrodite and just slept with a pantheon on deities. But my favourite was Ares. Yet… my husband and I, we don’t really belong… so we’re like the hyper sexed up hades and persephone. But I am no fucking martyr or victim.
Body type? I like being small in comparison, because smallness is a sign of… being smaller than a dude. I’m just a little spoon. Haha. I like being the little spoon. So… I didn’t like short guys. Girls could be as tall or short as whatever. I just liked whatever. It depended on how they carried themselves. How one looks AT THAT PARTICULAR MOMENT.
And recognising that ones appearance isn’t the same as their insides.
I like being naked in my room. With J. And I won’t even do shit. We just don’t feel the need to get dressed. Haha.
You are important. Your existence is important. If you didn’t exist then I wouldn’t be able to fucking carry on with anything. I’d be essentially… screaming like Lyssa out into the void. A wailing banshee of mania.
You have helped calm me. You quiet me. And I feel heard. By you. You’re one of my prayers I guess. You answer my prayers. By just existing.