Saturday, April 13, 2019

quiet not angry

So… A very, very, very long time ago, back in the early 2000s the first boy I ever loved sent me a song called Rabbiteen by a band called Jack Off Jill not long after we'd broken up (it was an internet relationship, we lived 2000 miles apart, we were teenagers; it could never go anywhere).

Dear Ben. He got me, long before I got myself. There's a rage to Jack of Jill, a rage that I've known for most of my life, but for the longest time I could never acknowledge, let alone put in words.

Mercifully most of my early life has started to fade — at this point most of the things that happened before a couple years into university are hazy — a mercy. A blessing. I don't have to remember the specific details of awful things that happened to me before 2004. However, I can't pinpoint exactly when I got this first track of Jack Off Jill. I feel like it was around or before 2003, back when I was still in high school.

Regardless, as I got further on into my life I ended up getting every Jack Off Jill track I could find, and everything by Scarling, which is Jessicka's follow up band.

There's a sadness and rage at the universe and life in JOJ and Scarling's music that I can't help but relate to. Anger at the people who enable those that abuse us. Anger at being trapped in places you don't belong, where people don't understand.

Having access to JOJ and Scarling made it feel less weird and "wrong" to be female and full of rage. I'll never be the "patron saint of self injury" physically speaking, but good lord, can I ever rip myself to shreds psychologically.

"That's great, why are you rambling about this?" you may be asking.

Because Tuesday, in the midst of having a shitty day, something I never expected happened.

Jessicka tweeted at me.

She sent me a #randomhearts heart emoji.

It was any itty bitty teeny tiny thing for her to do. I'm guessing she found me to send a tweet to because she runs the Scarling twitter account and I was tweeting about using JOJ and Scarling to get though the shit feels I was having about going to a city haunted by my ex.

I honestly still can't believe that the woman who sang and wrote a whole bunch of songs that have helped me keep going for the better part of the last two decades interacted with me on twitter. In totally she sent me all of about 10 words. But those ten words bolstered me. Boosted me. Gave me a chance to process and live through some feels.

It meant I went back and listened to some tracks I haven't listened to in a while, like "Black Horse Riding Star" which has

"Break my heart and fuck you"

as part of its lyrics.

I was driving home and stuck in traffic. I screamed and cried along to the song. A bit more anger and rage trickled out of me.

There's so much anger in me. So much rage. It seethes and flows and bubbles, like liquid metal. It's incandescent.

It's hard having a molten core of liquid rage. Trying to find ways to slowly, gently calm all of the white hot metal feelings. To do my best to not hurt the folks strong, brave, or stupid enough to be around me. To find people capable of helping me syphon off bits of that rage, and turn it into things that are either at best productive, or at the least harmless.

It's lonely. But at least these days I'm strong enough to reject the people who don't accept me for being angry. I don't have to accept needing to change to fit a social idea, and I don't have to be someone other than myself to have friends, to be loved.

I'm still in shock that I got to interact with one of my heroes, who laid the groundwork for me to feel ok about being me.

Saturday, April 6, 2019


Post content warning: This post is a braindump of my anxieties and worries around a failed interpersonal relationship that involved alienation, lovebombing, and gaslighting, as well as jobs that involved similar patterns and the impacts of being caught in feedback loops of that sort of behavior for the better part of the past six years. Honestly it's probably best to just skip over this post, it's sad and depressing.

Saturday, March 30, 2019

timed delays

I wrote a post, but… I don't want to post it until late in the week, at which point I can preface it with "oh my brain, look how silly it is" hopefully.

Friday, March 22, 2019


I started writing a post, but the subject matter made me so angry I couldn't keep my train of thought while writing.

I've written and deleted 3 different posts.

I did some research. It makes me want to throw up.

In other news I made a goose out of post it notes today, and it made me smile.

…I guess I'll try writing another post Sunday, and see if I can come up with something that doesn't make me want to cry and scream.

Saturday, March 16, 2019

Hypomanic tiefling goth girl

Note: this post contains frank and straightforward discussions of mental health issues. This isn't a request for sympathy. This isn't a request for help. This is me getting things off my chest, and being open about the significant impact a recent diagnosis has had on a lifelong condition.

Not a manic pixie dream girl. Not the girl next door. Not normal.

Nature and nurture both contributed. (But diving into that isn't where we're going today.)

The last few years have been a mess/whirlwind/nightmare/time of growth/catastrophe, depending on my current frame of mind, and how I look at them.

I hunkered down, closed in on myself, survived a bunch of tumultuous life changes that still have me pretty shook, if I'm being completely honest.

Since my last post here I've had two major medical diagnoses. I've been to the ER three times. I intentionally severed relationships that, back when I wrote that last post, I thought would last the rest of my life.

Some parts of it I'm not ready to talk about yet, like the severed relationships. I only cut those ties back in July, and those wounds still hurt. Sometimes, when I'm sad and weak and down, I question if I did the right thing in cutting those folks out.

…but this isn't what this post is about so…

Let's pick apart this post's title working from the end: "hypomanic tiefling goth girl"