169 Days

I don’t understand how it’s September. I really didn’t think I was gonna be here for September. Yet here I am, still kicking. I guess I’m grateful, but sometimes it feels like I’ve just forced myself to be here while I watch everything I know implode.

In a way, I feel better. I think I’ve finally hit that apathy wall. Combine that with a weird sense of superiority (it’s my inner Slytherin*) and “I told you so” and I’m in this weird space where while I still care deeply, I also don’t.

Oh, the death toll for COVID is 183,000+? We told you that was gonna happen unless y’all took it seriously and nobody took it seriously.

Oh, radical Tr*mp supporters are killing people in the streets? We told you that was gonna happen in 2016.

At least when we all die in November, I’ll die knowing I was right. So that’s something.

My mood has leveled out a bit. Some days I’m even actually happy. I try not to feel guilty about being somewhat happy, but it’s hard. Everything is awful, what right do I have to be happy?

I’m far too cruel to myself. I’m working on it.

Apparently through quarantine I’ve developed some triggers. While I’ve tried my best to respect trigger warnings and people’s triggers, I don’t think I truly ever understood what being “triggered” meant until recently. Several weeks ago I was watching Seth play Death Stranding and there was a character that started stabbing themselves to get away from whatever the bad thing is. It’s hard to describe what it did to me? It was like the most specific panic attack I’ve ever dealt with. I was immediately nauseous. It was hard to breathe. I cried? I completely detached from everything, like I was sinking inside myself. My chest ached. Physically, emotionally. It was horrible.

Since then literally any depiction of suicide, even of fictional characters or done in a comical way, has been really really rough for me. Even talking about it makes me spacey and on edge.

The only thing I’ve ever experience that was worse was weed-induced psychosis. That’s a whole ass story. But the abridged version: It was 2014. The Doctor saved me. Literally. Seth put on The Eleventh Hour and it tethered me to the real world enough (there’s no way I could have remembered that episode in so much detail) for me to be okay. I’m pretty sure that’s what started the intense attachment to Eleven/Matt Smith but 🤷🏻‍♀️.

SPEAKING OF MATT SMITH. I’ve been exploring my “art” more. I’ve always enjoyed creating, but I’ve never had anything that inspired me to really *try*. Well… I figured I might as well try and turn my hyperfixation into something worthwhile and turns out I’m actually good at it.

I could probably draw other things, but I don’t want to. 🤷🏻‍♀️

I’ve also been spending more time focusing on my photography. I’ve always been a fan of super up-close shots of nature – flowers, leaves, etc. I’ve been trying to learn Lightroom, as well as get to know my camera better, to put out better shots.

I wish I could just get paid to take photos of flowers.

I don’t know how to end this post. Other than my increasing nihilism and my creative endeavors, days are more or less the same. Stay home, play Animal Crossing. The usual COVID-19 bullshit. I’m trying to be hopeful. Trying REAL hard. But I’m scared. I’m trying to look forward but I can’t picture anything past November.

I don’t have any more confidence in anything/anyone.

Except Seth. He’s a real one. The best person I’ve ever known. ❤️

*EAT SHIT JO

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