Sleeping with Ghosts

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Burn the panties I guess

2022-11-17 - 9:00 p.m.

In the dumpster fire that is my brain, I just remembered something terribly stupid. It was sparked by binging Trixie and Katya on youtube. They mentioned voodoo, and my skull opened up like an old lady's change purse. This gem of crusted shit popped out:

Over 20 years ago, my former friend and her husband showed up at my door. She was upset because he had cheated on her (I guess against her wishes because they had a pretty open--yet extremely toxic--relationship). I don't know how or why, but they had a pair of panties belonging to the woman he had slept with. In hindsight, this is so incredibly weird but I didn't question it too much at the time because we were all incredibly weird, and she was always doing borderline insane shit. I have mentioned her here before many years ago: Julie. Anyway, she wants to put a curse on this poor girl. And I just roll with it because 1) I don't believe in curses, 2) My beliefs back then were wishy-washy, but I didn't believe magic worked that way, and 3) it would maybe calm her down and remove me from the situation faster to get it over with. If she should be cursing anyone, it shoulda been herself for continuing to stay with that guy and have an open relationship and know he was bound to put his dick where she didn't approve because it happened probably more than even she knew. But I digress....

So, I know nothing about real revenge type magic. I was loosely Wiccan at the time, and Wiccans don't practice voodoo or dark arts or curses. Not real Wiccans, anyway. At most, they have spells for repelling such feelings/curses and redirecting them back at the user. General neo-paganism has diluted Wicca down to wishful thinking and crystals. I don't practice anymore. But that's not what I'm here to write about.

We proceed to "curse" the panties. I made up shit on the fly. Whatever looked and sounded genuine to her was enough to do the trick. Then, she wanted to burn them? I think? My memory is spotty. The husband, all the while, was just looking totally lost and sort of going along with it, too, because I guess her directing anger at the other woman was better than taking responsibility himself. Idk. We went to a local park that was easily accessed even in the middle of the night. Once there, she continued to ritual-ize destruction of the panties as proxy for the other woman. It was the dumbest bullshit, and I'm fairly sure police would have locked us up for being weird dumpster people if they'd seen what was going on. I don't remember much of the night after that. I'm amazed I remembered this event at all. I must have locked it away, along with so many other interactions with Julie. I know I sanitized everything after that. Your crazy friend brings crazy magic panties into your house, and you wash everything down and "cleanse" your house.

Sometimes I can't help but think about her and all the things I last heard about her. Nazi paraphernalia, Mexico, more kids.
Her first child is in his twenties right now. Holding him as an infant was one of my last good memories with her before the... whatever that was--psychotic break, misdiagnosed post-partum, bi-polar disorder breakdown? I hope that kid had a better life than what I was seeing it head towards. She had the audacity to say I was still his godmother one of the last times she reached out to me. (Which I know I wrote about here many years ago.)

Anyhow, now I can't help but wonder what sort of curses she tried to put on me. She did think I was after her husband, after all, even though I thought he was just foul. He made me deeply uncomfortable, even in front of her, and she just let it happen. I mean, the dude tried to sniff my crotch while resting his head in my lap at a park. What. The. Fuck? Ugh... They were both such prizes. I wish I hadn't felt so committed to her because we'd been best friends for so long. She treated me like shit most of the time. I put up with so much bullshit when I had better people in my life. Better people who deserved my time and my love. People that wouldn't try to set me up by surprise with a guy who's only prerequisite for sleeping with me was shaved legs. (I was asexual at the time, which she saw as a problem that needed fixing). People that wouldn't tell me I would never understand true love. People that treated me like a person. People who wouldn't block me from their lives without speaking to me.

I am still bitter. That happened 22 years ago, and I am still bitter. Was that the curse? Did she curse me with heartbreak and bitterness? Good thing I don't believe in curses. All that crap is just natural.

Sweet Sangria

2022-10-16 - 6:07 p.m.

Imagine losing access to the part of your brain that recognizes your own hands, your feet, the side of your nose when you look down... your own reflection in the mirror. You still experience sensations. You know they are happening to you. But the disconnect, the disassociation is so strong that nothing feels "right." Nothing feels as it should be.

If you can get there, that's how I've been feeling a lot anymore. I've always had the disassociation thing or the disassociative amnesia. A trauma response, I'm told.

Happy Birthday to Bry. Nothing happy about it. It's just something we say, isn't it? I hope your birhday is happy, so Happy Birthday! The dead can't feel one way or another about a birthday or what you hope for them. She would have been 43 today if her father hadn't shot her.

My chest hurts.

Today, I wanted to do something for her--to honor her. But it's no different from any other day. I shed a few tears, I carry on, I cry again. I'm listening to some Tori and thinking of the last show of hers we saw. Ages ago. Louisville. ~Drive all night.

If life's a tapestry, Bry's sewn into most of mine. In more of it than not. Her death feels like someone's yanking hard on her threads and trying to pull me apart. I'm full of similes and bullshit tonight.

Shade and sweet water, Bry.

Flowery Language and the Fools Who Fart It

2022-10-06 - 3:51 p.m.

Be kinder to yourself. That's what I keep saying, keep affirming, the last few years. It's not the easiest thing to do when you've been hard on yourself for nearly your entire life, but trying it out is better than nothing. Trying it out makes you really step back and see what an asshole you've been to yourself... even if you couldn't help it. That's been my experience, anyway. And then there's the second trick of not berating yourself for being an asshole. It's surprising how that can loop back around right into being an asshole to yourself when you're desperately trying not to be.

Which leads me here to think about Bry again in a more open setting than just my skull cavity. Inevitably, I'll think of her and my thoughts take a running leap at that slippery slope of self-loathing for not being in her life more consciously the last few years.

I sit here in a desk chair with a bathrobe draped over it which was intended for her as a Yule gift some years ago. Before the holiday, I had messaged her about getting together to exchange gifts and all that seasonal jazz. I can't recall the exact conversation, but my squirmy memory is telling me that she was somewhat distant and basically replied with "Why bother?" I don't recall if I inquired why she answered this way or if something were wrong... I just know that we didn't really hang out after that. Not in person. Despite the fact that she lived a 15 minute drive away. I was flummoxed about the whole thing, yet I didn't try to course correct, and I'll never know why she chose to write those words.

If I'd been a better person with a better brain... Oh the what-ifs I could chase right now.

Instead, I have to let the guilt rack me like a storm door to the face. And then I have to regain composure and repeat, "Be kinder to yourself."
You might as well ask me to tap dance on a spinning top.

I don't have many friends anymore, and my bubble has just shrunk even further. My partner calls me a hermit. Truly, I can't pinpoint why I don't socialize more. I mean, I am an introvert, but I can handle some socializing as long as I get to retreat when I am ready and decompress when I am done.

There is one thing I know about myself which is pretty shit and I've wrestled with since my late twenties--I am incredibly selfish with my time. It comes from being held hostage by my mom when I was a child. Okay, let me rephrase that so it doesn't seem like she was ransoming me for my dad's paycheck. Ahem. As far back into my childhood as I can remember, my mother would take me out with her while she went shopping. She went shopping a lot. I have more memories of this time with her than I do of anything else. Most people might remember all the times their parents took them to the park or taught them how to ride a bike or took them on an ice cream date or w/e. I remember being dragged along on every shopping trip. I remember wandering away from her and sometimes hiding in the clothing racks. I remember sitting in the car for hours because I was just too tired and too bored out of my goddamn mind to walk around the same shops and malls again and again and again. And I never had any stimulation on any of these trips. No books, no headphones, no portable games, no coloring books. Nothing. I was just there; I was just a collection of molecules existing and it never occurred to her that I had needs.

So, I'm very, VERY selfish with my time. I hate being at the mercy of others or doing anything by their schedules when it's something I didn't sign up for. Do not drag me to the DMV when you need your license renewed, for example. If I have something with me to entertain myself, I might be okay. Otherwise, please just let me exist on my terms.

It's kinda crappy that my brain noodles like this, but I can't help it. As a compromise, I do force myself to try not to feel like a hostage when I do get pulled into things I don't want to do. Being an adult is a series of inconveniences, so if you don't compromise, you will have anger/stress issues. Or I will. I get anxious just thinking about being at the mercy of others. This is why I prefer driving myself to whatever engagements I've promised to attend. There. Now I'm at no one's mercy. I can leave whenever I want.

The rub is that I have to really get myself warmed up to do anything anymore. I'm so tired. When even hanging out with people I like becomes a chore because I feel like shit, I tend to become a little computer goblin and stay home. Ugh, I have to go hang out with people? BUT I WORK IN THE MORNING. WHINE.

The stars have to align for me to do social things. No prior commitments, no work in the morning, no time constraints, etc. And, yeah, I do spontaneous shit all the time in contrast to what you may think. But I am still weighing the consequences like some sort of neurotic turd.

Truly, this is living.

MOD are you out there?

2022-08-12 - 10:51 p.m.

Why does grief wax and wane now? Is it the fact that two months have passed and my mind wanders into dark alleys as if looking for a fight?

I don't fuckin' know. So so so much of the things I learned I loved were shared with my best friend. Books, shows, movies, games, anime, drawing, writing stories, creating characters... All of those things are steeped in memories with her. If I watch a new show, I'll think, "I bet she would have liked this." If I doodle in my notebook while on break at work, I'll think, "This reminds me of the vampires we used to draw." On and on, everything circles back to her. And I get so deflated, so angry, so blindsided with guilt because I can't reach out to her and ask, "Have you watched The Sandman yet? What have you been up to?"

That chance is gone.


Burn the panties I guess - 2022-11-17
Sweet Sangria - 2022-10-16
Flowery Language and the Fools Who Fart It - 2022-10-06
MOD are you out there? - 2022-08-12
Bongo bongo bongo - 2022-08-02

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