My Hands Are Cold, The Blood Doesn't Flow

November 28th:
I like to think aloud at other people because I don't trust my own feedback.

I'm sure if you weren't troubled you'd be quite boring.

In case you are wondering, I succumbed to food last night. I wasn't hungry, but I went to Taco Bell and got some nachos. On the drive back home the world was swept with a dark and foreboding breeze. An empty street laid before me, brushed with crisp, dead leaves. Grim confetti.

The positives of today: I got the majority of my Christmas gifts wrapped. An old-ish friend has returned from abroad! (Is 3-5 years enough time to call someone an old friend?)

Some concerns: Is it possible for sexual assault to turn into consensual sex? If I go along with sex I don't really want, am I reinforcing rape culture? I was considering the last time I met a guy I thought I was able to joke well with. Someone I thought understood my run-of-the-mill self-depreciating-humor. I got drunk. (I wonder if that's a commonality among me more sordid evenings?) He was supposed to come over, several drinks in, but he was too drunk. So he got lost. And I fell asleep- somewhat disappointed, but probably better off. Except, somehow, he did end up at my apartment in the morning. I was terribly hung-over, but I let him in, thinking he would just crash. We chatted. I was nauseous. I no longer wanted sex and I said this. Several times. He started touching me, and I wriggled away, but I eventually gave in.

I think- but perhaps I am being too sensitive- that this started as sexual harassment, because the offer of sex had been rescinded. I am sure I made it clear I did not want to fuck around anymore. I was even fairly insulting about him being at my apartment, but I'm pretty insulting in general so I don't know if that really came across. But I gave up. So that's it, right? That's consent, and any earlier protest was nulled? I sort of enjoyed it. But I also tried to get away when I found an opening to do so- I'm not sure how I would qualify it. I am beginning to grow concerned by the number of times I have just given up agency over my body. I try not to think about this very often, or very deeply, but I think I've had few healthy sexual interactions. It probably doesn't help that I can be really sexually aggressive sometimes...

My second problem: Am I able to do body positive things, things like dressing in revealing clothing, while simultaneously hoping not to be objectified? I am no longer sure. I can see how one would assume I want attention, but I think, or at least I tell myself, I am trying to reinforce that I don't have to be ashamed of my own body. I'm just putting on something I thought was fun/cool/attractive as a way of embracing my own aesthetic/expressing myself. It's more something I want to see myself in than something I want to be seen in. Usually it's something I figure would only look good on a much smaller figure. That concept of objectivity, though, I worry implies that I am trying to get outside validation. So- then, I should be pleased by positive comments, right? But I'm not. I'm just concerned, and further shamed. I also don't trust it. But, maybe, as a normal person, I should just be okay with it? I should be grateful for a compliment?

I've been writing quite a bit lately. That's been nice.

I finished Bastard Executioner and started UnREAL. I am somewhat sad about Bastard Executioner- I feel like it was very spiritually similar to Game of Thrones. It has a fight for power in a perceived vacuum, marginalized people, people being sneaky, and a lot of brutal murder. And torture. I feel like Game of Thrones doesn't include a lot of torture. So, it kind of made it's own mark in that way. It was a pretty good show, it's unfortunate that the story won't continue.

(The main reason for sleep might be to cleanse the brain and prevent dementia- I learned from a podcast I was listening to as I wrote this.)

UnREAL I have also been enjoying. It's on Lifetime, which is not a network I typically indulge in, but I had read good things about it. I think. I read a lot of random things. A lot of things about TV. Sometimes I probably make things up.

Anyway, it has reinforced the conclusion that I had come to from watching You're The Worst: I will eventually be loved by a fun, brash, self-absorbed English guy who finds my depression quite charming/intriguing. That is, if I lose 120lbs. My English gentleman will put up with the crazy, but no one has time for fatness. I assume. And exaggerate. It's more like 50lbs- as the girls on these shows are not in any way chubby.

They've also shown me another universal truth: you can be crazy, but you better be really really good at your job. If you can't be really functional you have no room to be mentally deficient. In this way, I feel I am better off trying to be normal. It seems easier to be normal and mediocre at my work than to be crazy and the best at what I do.

The final thought as I am wholly unproductive at work today: as well as giving in to my vices yesterday, I indulged my superstitious behavior. I got this kind of cute wish bracelet at a "pop shop" in Houston over the holiday. I didn't think I would use it personally, but then, curled, fetal position, into a  blanket, pondering what might help to turn everything around- my unfocused eye caught sight of the simple string with it's tiny turquoise bead in the center; so unassuming it just might be the answer. All I'd have to do is tie it around my wrist, make a wish on it, and when it fell off, I was assured by the small card it was living on, that my wish would come true. I put it on, but I haven't been able to come up with a good wish. My initial desire was to find someone I could trust, but then I considered that was so vague a wish that it could end up that the person I could trust was with me all along. There's no way to tie in that I might actually trust them- not by the simple magic of a bead that is likely plastic made to look like turquoise. My next wish was someone to love. That really presented the same challenge, and, actually, probably, could be fulfilled by the kitten. Magic likes to cut corners and if it can present me with what I want in a way that will frustrate and hurt me I know it will. This is the monkey's paw all over again.

So, I'm not sure what to ask for, and I wear a wish unwished with no knowledge of what will come about when it actually falls off...

I think my particular brand of depression lies in the feeling of missing something you've never known.

November 29th:
I started reading David Sedaris this morning, and I remembered there's a think line between something really funny and really sad. A glitter of absurdity and willingness to laugh at yourself. I just need to regain control of being able to tell stories with a smirk so that other people can feel open to laughing.


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