Posts

How Much More?

When someone uses you, why do you let them? When someone shows you constantly that they don't give a shit about you, why do you accept this? When the people who love you most point out that this person is not treating you the way you deserve to be treated, why don't you believe them? Why?  I have cried, and raged. A lot. I can't believe how much I have cried over this person, that you keep defending. I have begged you to see reason. Your friends have begged you to see reason. I have received nothing by gaslighting. Why?  This person has given me four nightmares, and is constantly my invasive thoughts. I have sat here, not quietly, and begged for this absolutely disgusting nightmare to stop. And it keeps going. Why? In a critical hour when you 'needed' this person the most, they gave you utter disregard. Will I still be gaslit after that incident? Probably.  Why?

Autistic Complaint

I might make this a blog about autism. Since finding out who I really am, I've been equal parts relieved and pissed off. I was/am thrilled to know why I am the way I am. To have a word to explain me. On the other hand, I'm fucking burnt out, and some days I'd give anything to be a normie. My major headache is being understood. I wish I could just shed the shit that upsets me, but I can't. I have to analyze everything to death and make it personal and make it upset me. Think I'm annoying here? Try being inside my head.  More often than not, I'm exasperated with why I'm so misunderstood. Not in the stupid emo woe is me way, but in the why are my words always taken the exact wrong way? Everything I say to everyone gets misconstrued, or it's assumed I'm being mean. But why? I'm only ever intentionally mean when I talk about abusive family members or insurrectionist pieces of shit. Otherwise, mean is not me. But even just regular things I say apparent

Alien?

I wish I were human. I try so hard to be. I don't understand emotions; mine are ALWAYS wrong. 'Wrong.' I desperately don't understand what you people want from me. "Feel your feelings!" But when I do, I'm called weak, or it's assumed I'm melting down, or someone gets PISSED. If I keep my emotions buried deep, where I prefer them, where I can pretend they don't exist, I'm weird, or closed off, etc. Honestly, tell me what to feel, and I'll fake it. I will. It's just easier. I hate being me; I hate that my brain never shuts off; I hate that my anxiety is a medieval prison/torture chamber where I am worried- ice cold, panicked, worried- at LITERALLY all times, even when I sleep. I'm always tired. I'm autistic, I'm neurodivergent, and being near normies makes me exhausted. And hey, I'm masking 99% of the time anyway, so if you need me to fake the 'correct' emotion, I will. Whatever it takes to get through the day.

Combat Boots

I've never grown out of my black combat boot phase.  I loved them when I was 11 and buying my first pair at KMart, and the cashier laughed at them.  I loved them when I was in high school, and Daria appeared in the TV lexicon, my cartoon twin sister in clothes, face, and demeanor.  I loved them when I wore my sturdiest pair for nine days while exploring San Francisco.  I love them now as I wear an old pair, comfy and formed to my feet.  I don't know how or why I ever started to like these shoes in the first place. Is it that they're unfeminine? Manly? Gender norms about clothes (and really, any gender norm, FFS) are so stupid and outdated, so maybe it's been a matter of subconscious protest? Is it that basic black goes with everything and is also my favorite color? Perhaps it's the comfort factor or unique rebel style. But maybe it's that being a woman, a clumsy and unfeminine one, is a battle. Who's to say? I love my big black combat boots. I think I always

NYD

I don't know if I'll continue with this blog. I don't care for blogging as a platform, and anywhere you want to submit writing says any work that's 'good' shouldn't be given away for free.  I started this blog when I started pitching my novel since I 'had' to have a social media presence. It was the same with my Twitter account. Neither brings me joy, and I feel like both are pretty pointless. So, that's where I'm at. I'm not going to say, at least for now, that I'm done with both. I've learned enough never to say never, but it'll be a while before I get back to either, if ever.  I've also soured on writing. The publication process is excruciating, and I have, for now, nothing left in me to write. I have a trilogy of novels started that I'd like to get back to, so if I can muster up any enthusiasm for that, that's where I'd like to spend my writing time.   Happy 2024

Published!

My #debutnovel is out today!! It's available from #Amazon in #Kindle and #paperback.  When You Lose Control https://a.co/d/6n9VNMR 1,028 days from start to publication. Lots of tears. Soo many tears. Lots of support from a few people. Endless editing. What a relief. If you check out #mybook, please enjoy it, and I'll return to my blog in 2024.  Have a lovely rest of the year. Melissa 

Postponed

This blog will take a brief hiatus for the holiday.