Meandering Through.

I need to stop looking for hope in other places and give it to myself. Same with love. Same with meals. Ha. Maybe even clothes. I’ve always wanted to make my own clothes. I got a C- in sewing, so maybe not.

I’m having strange thoughts again. Furthering of psychosis. Maybe this is early schizophrenia. It all has to start somewhere, eh? It’s in the family… oh well. Don’t wait for the milk to spill it. Put it back in the damn fridge. Or back in the damn cow. A bit harder, but manageable. Mmmmmmmm decaf Americano. Oh yes, strange thoughts. That there are demons after me. People, who are demons. Some of them people in my life. No one is a demon out to get me. No one. Except the CIA. But that’s everyone.

Medications are helping. That’s all they can do, they don’t cure anything. Remember that. No cures. Just coping. Grief, we were discussing baggage in group, and it came up that grief never is resolved, we only learn to cope; so it is with all things. Resolution can only come in death, it seems, and only for the dead one. I am not keen on that dying business, but the self-harm business is still of interest. I work hard to not cut open my skin, that I do. I am having perhaps the best quiche of my life. And I’ve had quiche in France. Potato and Rosemary. Mmmm.

I want to sleep. I fear I am falling in love, with someone I don’t even know all that well. Alas, such things cultivate themselves without much fiddling from us. I’m not in control of many of the aspects of my own womanhood, my own life. Edmonton. Jasper. Vancouver. Trains across the country, with one of my favourite people. Yes. Finally, a trip with a friend spanning more than across the city. Biking with Anita and Jeremy. Ha. It was only 8 km but it tested our friendship- well, more them than me, but their friendship was tested every weekend or so. I was a trooper. I have been called a trooper many times. I am tough, I suppose.

I want to move. I need new surroundings. My interior is shifting so fast, the exterior needs to catch up. I want tattoos. Not right away, within the next four years. After school is finished. I am worried about September, about being too ill to work. But, how much of what we worry about actually happens? Very little, if anything at all. Rare. It is rare. I want a Mac. A second hand Mac. No more coltan, please. A second hand. I need to help myself more than ever. To take responsibility for myself, for my thoughts, actions, emotions. We are all heroes, victims, abusers. No one is left out of that trinity, though some occupy more space in one than another. Each is bound with another, as nothing lives in solitude.

I did some good thrift shopping today. I am working my way out of insanity through jewellary making as well. Time to go home. To be at peace, a little. Or at least go the park. And then, sleep.

I am a lotus flower bound to the marsh, thinking myself a bird, wondering why these wings won’t go up, up, up high.

About Undecided Pseudonym

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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