Author of the novel WHEN YOU LOSE CONTROL

Because of course she is.  I thought, for like five minutes, She was gone for good. She should be gone since she said your life didn't matter. Remember?  She actually said that.  But she's back.  Because of course she is.  The obsession with her, The memory, Mean more than my ache.  Her presence is always here. It's down the hill, Where we eat, And in the living room. Her vile things are my telltale heart  She taints everything.  Everyone close to you fucking hates her. Everyone points out that she's a user. A selfish pile of 'human' garbage.  But here she is! "I just said, 'Hi.'" No, you just invited her back in, But the welcome mat was never gone. Because she's never left.  She's the shadows, the tears.  She's my ghost, my problem.  She's the organs buried not in floor boards but sitting in a box. It drives me crazy. Fucking crazy. Can't you have some self respect? Can't you see how much she hurts me? Do you care? She&

 "I don't know what it is like to not have deep emotions. Even when I feel nothing, I feel it completely." -Sylvia Plath It's the nauseously repeated story of I can't keep up because I'm autistic. It's the shock at the accusal that I care about shit that doesn't matter. It's the putting on a fake smile because not showing my best side at all times leads to fights. Dismissals. It's the probably stupid at this juncture in my life shock (should  all that be hyphenated?) of trying so hard and putting in so much effort that no one appreciates. What did I expect? I put my heart and soul into a job, and it's either ignored or exploited, or I'm told point-blank that it doesn't matter. And people get mad that I feel bad for doing something for naught. Why am I the bad guy here? I love the Twilight Zone, but I didn't want to live in the fucking thing!  It's what feels like a noose, the constant constant of being misunderstood. I expla

Gaslit at her convenience Because it's her She's everywhere, everyday Her slimy sludge has stuck But why her? And never the others before her? The others were important at a time, no? It's her. Always.  At my inconvenience No amount of begging or tears  Has made the cockroach go I'm dismissed Told it's in my head or not that bad Crushed with utter invalidation  An evil that's said twice it doesn't value your life Twice. Once was bad enough to imagine But I've watched it happen Twice. So I cry and feel like trash Try to rinse Repeat. 

Almost nothing pisses me off more than tardiness. It is so rude. It tells others that you have no respect for their time. It tells others that your time is more valuable than theirs. It is such dickish behavior. And fine, sometimes shit comes up where you're going to be late due to circumstances out of your control. So fucking text, call, email, messenger pigeon, etc the person(s) you're going to be late meeting. That is the least, most basic, politeness 101, thing you can do. Don't be an asshole. 

The cockroach that won't die. It was stupid to believe she was gone. None of her abhorrent behavior has been the proverbial straw, so why would her worst, most selfish, and evil behavior be?  She is the dog shit on the bottom of the shoe that won't go away no matter how many times you wash it. The evil dictator wannabe who still has followers despite racism and too many despicable traits to list. It's like when people keep chain-smoking despite cancer, insisting it's not the cigarette. It fucking is. It's offensively ridiculous to say otherwise. And that's what it is with her. And how it'll always be.  I'm stuck with her. She taints and poisons everything. Fucking everything, and here she remains. No amount of her inhuman and villainous behavior will knock her off her pathetic throne. The choice has been made and it's her. Again. Always. 

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?

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

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.

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

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