re-remembering the happenings..

[writing-therapy from the inner-things, typed up yesterday or this-today in some early earlier hours]

There’s always so many swirls upon swirls upon swirls all forming their own versions, thinking, telling, all the time, underneath. mumbling music in amongst the fizz. and solitary on-my-own-ness makes it more and more and more. stored-up stories, journeys, thinklings and thoughtlings. i am alive like a dead yoghurt. i am alive like a dead yoghurt that smiles. (i’m partially disgusted by ‘dead yoghurt’, but the sugarclowns like it so i’ll let the dead yoghurt remain)

there’s been so much to process and i don’t know where to start, but sometimes the only way to start is to start, even when that’s not at the start. processing delay is often a thing, but i’m determined not to let important things drift – it’s important for me to process what i have been through. It Is Important for me to Process what i have Been Through. that’s the only way to find resolve. there is no opportunity for resolve if i must everytime-always live in the non-acknowledgement, the shiny-smily PretendThingsNeverHappened. and the purpose of this writelings-typelings isn’t to detail-describe everyrary happening – not here, here isn’t quite the space – but it’s to document the importance of the process: the process to process.

there are reasons why a being in a body reaches overwhelm-overload-overburst. there is more to feeling like your screaming head is falling off – ACTUALLY feeling like your screaming head is falling off, not just as a phrase, as an immersive feeling – there is more to feeling like your screaming head is falling off, than your head being a screaming falling-off head. i refuse to be the pathological core, the one that always needs the cure – although, quite right, if the cure is basic human needs. and i voice that from a privileged view, i am aware, over-awared, but cannot ignore that if a person’s persony needs are not met then they begin to fall apart. and i have never asked for much, at least i don’t think so, but complications make me wonder that i do. a person must feel safe – secure – to be safe: secure. and attachment styles meet brain-files pouring out past happenings, dream happenings, and circumstances get warped when all the other systems fall out of place due to inability to align once things get stranged. it should be obvious that basic nutrition is needed by the brain – basic nutrition, hydration, ventilation. but when functioning falls, so do the circles. dropped-out juggling, poppadoms to the crackled floor.

i think an issue with people not understanding triggers, or panic attacks, or the ocean of anxiety, is that when they have not experienced it they can’t justify or reason with it in a way that is practical or fair. and that brings me some relief, in a way, when people don’t understand, because it means that they don’t have to go through it. but understanding or not, there is a great importance in the processing and resolve. it’s not just, get up forget up and go again – no. it’s only going to build up and up and up from a later starting point than last time. meltdown after meltdown after meltdown. i dislike the word meltdown. because it’s not what it feels like to me – it’s not like i am melting down. it’s more eruption. it’s more heat up than melt down. but i understand the word associations and apply it. the in-the-distance-volcano sizzles and the distant marshmallows peacefully melt down into gloop.

My anxiety-overwhelm often looks like anger. and it does bring anger, frustration-flavoured anger, but mostly it’s the Fear. that’s difficult to communicate. even at this point i’ve got to of over-communicate, it’s difficult to communicate what feels like the most basic – basic is the wrong word here but i can’t see an alternative – needs. it’s difficult for people to get it, when people are different to you and don’t have, might never have, those linked up things – for people to choose to want to understand, even from an ‘i am interested in’ hobby-vibe view. maybe similar to, when i don’t understand watching a rugby match, but ‘understand’ that others do. or when i don’t understand certain life-rules, or job-rules, or relationship-rules, but ‘understand’ why others do. conflicting being-needs is important, too; some people need to dissociate to survive, whereas others need to process and resolve. some people need both things at different times. different things at same-time times. it’s tough for everyone, i know it’s tough, regardless of complex individualised scenario. but i can’t help wondering why one person in a collective must be the pushed-to-the-edge terrorscreaming head’s-going-to-fall-off ill-with-stress person, whilst everything else moves around. and recurring recurring re-occuring. that’s got to be a signifier of something. and that something goes beyond centering-me pathology – the pathology arrives as a consequence, and then i’m the one who gets to be The Ill.

[image description: digital scribble of a panic-erupting me on the floor in a silver and purple-ish cry-puddle, angry cloud hovering, with a flying-running panicking-me above, lots of scribble swirl emotiony mark-things around the page on a purple and red and grey-ish misty background.]

this scribble-picture got drawn today, but it was actually scribble-processing a thing from a few weeks ago. i had to look at the computer-calendar to find out how long it had been. it wasn’t an isolated incident, it’s from a chain of eruptiony things, but i refuse to just put it down to ‘autistic meltdown’, ‘ocd-trigger overwhelm’, ‘panic attack’, etc – even if it does involve all of those things and more, which it does and was. it wasn’t Only that – it wasn’t just a Reaction Because I Am Like This. it’s more than just the sensory, the anxiety, the misalign. and i crave align. and i appreciate align so much when it appears, SO much, and it does appear, in the most magical of magical ways. but it’s at the expense of all the rest of things, of course. secretly. quietly loudly, inder-body-murmuring like a constant demon-hoover.

[image description: digital scribble-picture of me in the bag-filled blue car surrounded by arrowy things pointing in different directions and question marks. and then me standing staring at a map with scribbly question marks and emotiony-marks, with arrows on the floor facing different ways. and then me with my rucksack on facing some closed double doors with lines coming out of them – like something knows i just have to go through the doors but i’m just standing there stuck. there’s a plant in a pot outside it, scribbling things on the floor and a question mark near my head. yellow wooly scribbles in the background.]

i went on an adventure. i didn’t want to say that, but it happened. and maybe i ‘shouldn’t’ have been going on an adventure, but i need to shut up all the morally chattering, i am doing my best, put the internet-judgy horror-posters in another planetland where i will not attend. the first picture-scribble is a remembering from the night before the adventure, the second one is a remembering of the day of it, a few moments where i got stuck trying to navigate confusing outer-world (and then unstuck). i went a 40 minute drive away for a couple of days, despite all of the intense not-wanting-to-leave-the-house-or-spend-money guilt, because i truly felt it was going to be that or the hospital. i was privileged enough to get the choice, and whilst feeling full of sad-ish guiltyness for that too, i chose to go away, for a couple of days of respite. and it was respite, i went to be with some outdoor water and watch some dragonfly-things and be with the leaves – but it was also post-‘meltdown’ recovery, so it also just meant a lot of time in another bed. and not just recovery from one ‘meltdown’; it was the whole fiery angry-marshmallow chain, from weeks back months back years back, unprocessed layery layery layery layers squashed down into each other like a puff pastry dough-sheet, rolled and flattened. and before the moral-wars begin, i need to say that i had not been anywhere, at all, for a long while. stopped going to the shop. couldn’t go outside because of the panic. my panic, and what panic does to my body physically, and the time it takes to physically heal from those things versus the work i want to need to do. ended up in a room for days and days everytime there was a happening and a recovering. being away helps me to Be. i can’t be here, but i can Be again. i wish others in similar scenarios were able to get away, even just for an hour of a day. i was lucky. am lucky. overlucked by the lucky. and if you’re feeling body-claustrophobic and need to get away but can’t, i can’t get you away, but you can type to me – or type to someone – or type to you. if you can. there might be tiny escapes amongst the typing.

also – i didn’t want to talk about the covidy-things /effects of covidy-things AT ALL but there are important things i need to mention about that. maybe for the next post or another post or something – more delayed processing. or maybe just in my head, or to someone, or not at all. the mask-wearing thing, the mixed-up rules, the shouty-shoutyness about the rules, the judgyness, the FEAR, the harm-causing triggers. there’s so much, and how to navigate that when you are on your solitary own? i need people to help me navigate, i can’t only rely on the version of sense i’ve formed in my mind and that’s not only lonely but also impractical. there’s also the re-remembering how to Person. when it was difficult before. when it’s even worse now because of the AddedThings. re-remembering all of the anxiety things. re-remembering what it’s like to not know how to exit car parks and getting stuck in them for ages. and then re-remembering how to navigate it. re-remembering what it’s like to not be able to go through a door and being anxiousy about it – and then re-remembering how to do it and that it’s fine. re-remembering what it’s like to not know where you’re going when people give you confusing directions and refuse to explain better or guide you – and re-remembering how to navigate. literally navigate, as well as navigating the fear and the feelings of worthlessness/incapeability/incopeability – re-remembering the hows of the happenings, and the after-happenings, so that we can make happenings happen again.
I went to a couple of other nice things after that adventure – this time a planned adventure. there were anxiousy panics on those things too, which is sad because of the way anxiety paints over exciting things. but I am optimistic for being able to go to many more nice things, to paint excitement over anxiety in return this time next time. it’s addictive, even for an indoorgoblin. (and yes, i knowiknowiknow *screams at moral voices*, all of the Things, but i go somewhere then have a big gap in the middle of being in a room before i go somewhere again, and do all of the things i need to do in between for safety and avoidance of harming others, not that i needed to tell you that but i definitely feel like i did need to, because, brain-things.)
oh i also went back to the shop again…….. i still can’t really, just, my mind is, WOAH! you mean to tell me that all this time, people have been going to the shop and getting WHATEVER THEY WANT IN THE WORLD TO EAT AND DRINK? (the people who have access to shops and coins for food that is) and then just… eating and drinking those things?! – the shop, though: there is just so much stuff, it’s so overwhelming – but i was overwhelmed in a not bad way, just in a, i can’t believe there is so much stuff and people are just picking up WHATEVER they want for dinner that day what is this alien word way – WHATEVER they wanted?!?! just pick it up and buy it?! and then actually cook it and eat it. i’m still not over it, it might take me a few times. i bought ice lollies again – Finally!! i want to try to go to the shop once a week again, or once every couple of weeks, or at least out for a drive.

i also have things i want to unjumble about the self-test things, in relation to disordered eating. i know i’m not the only one to feel they need to take multiple tests in case the other one lied, along with all of the general paranoia about that kind of stuff – but there’s something specific about how much fun i find arranging all the test-things, it’s like playing – and, another specific thing about how wrongly-fun it is due to unhelpfully-connected disordered eating reminders. it’s like past disordered eating related patterns prepped me for enjoying doing the self-tests when the self-tests are horrible, which shouldn’t make any sense at all – but non-wordily, it does. learning to live without support and learning to become the support is… . it’s such a Thing, and i don’t always recommend, but the things that have come out of it are amusing upon afterwards-observation. (i want everyone to have the support they need, though, rather than being struggling-scrambled-soup just for the prize of winning some innerland sugarclowns in the name of ‘self-coping’. some things really don’t need to be as difficult as they are – things are difficult enough already!)

and about driving
driving has been so much fear and joy!!!!! so much. the first time, when i went off on the first adventure after the terror-screaming head-falling-off thing, it was like the needing to get away and anxieties of the thing escalating more, overtook the other fears. i shout when i drive, i Shout. i’m silent and quiet for days and days and days (apart from when i overtalk in emails), but then i get in a car alone and it all bursts out of me in an uncontrollable chatter. i had forgotten that, as i hadn’t been driving anywhere for a couple of years, but it used to happen all the time. me-to-me motorway chats and being confused of the stuff that the inner-things decide to exclaim. the first adventure-drive was really really scary. the second adventure was on an early-morning train which i LOVED SO MUCH – i recommend getting the early morning train, the carriage is empty, the sun rising, just – something got restored, i wanted to get on the same train back and then another one back again, it was such a good time!!! even thinking about it now is just, such sparkly joy. i know i ended up having a few peopley panics in the bits in between getting on the train there and getting on the train back, but i would do it again, i will do it again, and now that i’m re-remembering the remembering thing that i described earlier, i know better how to be in a body amongst people and manage TheThings.
the third adventure was in the car, and it was different from the first in that i just felt so… there isn’t a matching word, or words. being able to get in a car and drive for an hour is just…. . when anxiety is there it can be horrible but when it’s a feeling of being able to independent-escape, all of the things begin aligning. I had Polly’s album resonating through the journey there and back, and there was something about the sensory-feel this time that was regulating. and the familiarity of doing that same journey i did years ago whilst carrying all the magic that happened in between. like magnets meeting magnets. it means everything to have had something to guide me towards that journey, to push me out of the house. so so so so much. and also, one joyful thing that day was getting a bit lost wandering around with a battery-dead phone, but still being able to find my car again even when i didn’t consciously remember the way. everything looks different when the sky changes, and when you’re facing the other way. in London there are maps everywhere, but in other places there aren’t. i love remembering finding my way to places, finding my way back to places. and this time it was without a map. it wasn’t far and it doesn’t sound like much, but i felt like i was wandering a video-game (which is what things feel like anyway, but i’ve been in a room for a very long time not going anywhere so had forgotten). i’ve been so anxious for so long, that i appreciate so much these moments of ‘this should be an anxious thing, but it is slow and interesting and let’s see what the universe is offering us here’ magic. they are gifts i don’t deserve, but that i will appreciate with all of my essence and return.

so that’s kind of that. i’ve been working hard to person, trying hard to body, doing the things, trying to manifest further things, creativey self-therapying, alongside the struggle-roll stumbling. yes there has been various glimpses of on-my-own Joy, which brings the hopeful-hopeful hope of more of that, somewhere…. *+*+
but i CANNOT forget the processing, i must not forget the processing. i will not forget the processing.
when i had the urge to output (which is constant-upon-constant these days) and that picture fell out (above), and then the second one (the below the above), i was surprised to see those particular weeks-ago moments on a page, to be faced with them without knowing i was thinking about them. i felt better than i had in a few days, so didn’t know why these things were coming out onto the scribble-page now when they couldn’t before. and that’s processing delay. i could continue to fly with only the joy-bits and ignore all the other-things, in the hope of manifesting more joy and better capability-copability – but those things are there, burying, and the buried things recurr, like resurfacing sand-things launching into the mindskies as whirlpool holograms, roaring with the fizz. and they need me. because how else can they transform?
(‘Be alive, with Us, the Dead Yoghurt!’ exclaims a sugarclown, closing the film lid behind them, but then peering back out of the uncurling corner to ensure that we notice. we notice. i make sure that they know that i notice. they think they’re hilarious. and i value them. i give a purposeful glimpse towards the yoghurt-pot. and a purposeful thanks towards the yoghurt-pot that holds. because for all of the innerland-screaming, yelling over underland trembling, without them i would be unspillable-alone.)

stay patient,
if you can. keep being what you can.
the things have to be the things, for now.
just for now.
and then they won’t have to be the things.


it’s both parts of the hourglass at the same time.

it’s both parts of the hourglass at the same time.
trickling lightdust darkdust timedust moving half past,
barely touching, but touching.
the connections are electric!
they highlight up the dark.
and when the glimmer disappears,
i… cannot reach.
lights out.
but it’s both parts of the hourglass at the same time.
touching, but barely touching.
where the light goes, i go with it
immersed, attached, i bring it,
but the dark it leaves:
i am it
gloom much bigger than the glimmer…

still, i hold on to the shimmer,
dormant stars of sleeping glitter
and as loneliness intensifies,
i remember.


barely, but touching.

my mind’s too soup to look at it properly

write, because how else to untangle yourself out of all of this porridge

i just want even just a few hours of brain-peace. tired of tired of tired of doing The Self Managing thing. to be able to discuss and collaborate and not be stuck amongst the swirling mountain-wind choirs for every tiny-movement-happening whilst i try to gather the selves in a way that is holdable. in a way that the porridge is pick-upable. she cuts the porridge, holds it like a cake. serves it to the sun, arm outreached, above head, above mind, sugar-oats glistening like a roundified lake. all of the pieces… together one. perfect product, wobble-edged and squashable.
i’m inside out, i feel inside out – but half-edged. diagonal-jagged buttercrumb sliding, squealing, drip down formulate, congealate, seperate, puddle-expand expand expand engulf and disappear.

do i silently ask for too much? do i crave too much? is it overnough? they watch the thought glide by, like a passing paraglider in upward drift.

i am evernoughed, yet neverenough, they tell me, but my mind’s too soup to look at it properly.

i have a seemingly constant fear of people falling. i have a seemingly constant fear of being the cause of people falling. and i’m sorry that you fell. and i’m sorry that you have to fall, and that you’ll fall again. and the fear of falling feels like falling.
why must that mean so many things? unjumblings in parallel, resurfacing the whirlpools as if i asked them to be looked at. summoned uninvited. welcomed, but i’ll face the wall.

i adjusted the cinnamon routine and am worried about the changes in the universe. reclaiming the cinnamon routine may confuse things even more, and create even more possibly-not-good changes. therefore, i’ve sneakily adapted by cinnamonning doubly elsewhere, to maintain the cinnamonspheres, yet to embrace the possibility of significant positive release. change is possibility. possibility holds possibilities. not all possibilities are wanted possibles. unwanted possibles hold unseen possibles. unseen possibles hold unknown possibles. unknown possibles hold tiny sparkling porridges. she licks the tiny sparkling porridge, like a ladybird on a leaf. she yawns; she rolls; she stretches… and flies to unseen planet seas of poss i bi li teacups on telephone-string, teacups on telephone-string swirling and curling unfurling and yearning and yearning and yearning and yawning and curling-up-into-a-ball-of- BEURGHGGHGGGHHHHHHHH the butterball melts and burns like hot on concrete, spiky like the sunseeds on a greedy-licker tongue.

“not greedy, just curious”, confirms a hopeful voice but my mind is too soup and the curiosity burned the greedy bat, my mind’s too soup, too soup to look at it properly, my mind’s still soup to look at it properly, must i continue to reinforce until their communications tread water like loitering mind-dolphins instead of inside-outing within an already inside-outed too-soup-to-look-at-it-properly beurghh-creature?

exploding exploding exploding

i see fallen bodies and i am sorry. and i will upside-down us all through horizontal-land travellers buzzing through the air.
this is terrifying. i don’t know if you know that this is terrifying. the wordifying, i-ifying, the saying re-looking. there it is, straight ahead, immersed, dark-abyss hurtling. but i notice the terror from too-soup-to-look-at it. i have been here before. this is pre-bleak pre-grief. and i am sorry for the fallen bodies that i have saw – i am sorry for the fallen bodies i fought and fell and-

disturbance-interruption from the giant-tiny noises. cold radiator creaking in the warming of the sun, like irony-filled empathy smiles from world to world. brainland echoes the smiling, and the buzz-glow spreads like softened icing on gentle bread. feel the essence. pause the ____-ness. Be the ____. the ___ ___ _______ ___. *+*.+. *.+*+. *.+. *+.+.+..+*+*+*+.





February noteling-notethings, from the February ghost-things things-that-i-wrote-things:

i used a pan yesterday for the first time since the pan incident. actually, i used a pot instead, pretending that it’s a pan, but i used the pot for the function of the pan, and just let it have its safety walls. there’s not even much point in explaining what the pan incident was, other than describing it as: Overboil. Overload. Overwhelm. and it was everything to do with me, and nothing to do with the pan or its contents. Too much goes on around here, in here. constant overlap, layers-upon-layers-upon-layers of under-communication, like icy-frozen sheets of solidified meltyness. unacknowledgable, seen-through. i can’t keep up with my own mind as it is, so how can i expect another mind to want to try.
you never know what’s going on for a person, okay? internet-judge as much as you want. you never really know what’s going on for a person. so many internetty-demands these days. expectations of presentations of communications and i would like to be free in the places i am free to be free-me. i don’t write to be looked at. it’s a happening, that happens, i realise.. but you’re invited, and i mean that kindly.

*zoom back to the February here-now this-now* [which is now the not-now, by the time i press the internet-button – and the update from the future is that i have successfully used the pan twice since then…. The pan: actual pan… but it’s still past-land Feb[ruary] whilst the below words crawl out of the shadowswirls that dance from my fingertips, alphabet ballerinas frozen into photographed moment…..]

every week is just… … . ….
and it’s lonely, and lonelier, and lonely.
i was less lonely when i was in a small room on my own for months, than whatever this is.
i’ve experienced optimum interaction, so i know it exists. glimpses of it, like glowing butter. i know it’s magic. i know it’s brightening. i Know it’s possible. i know it’s worth melting into the slippery buttery sea, just to feel the feels to Be, as starry as the quietening that lurks like soft-smile blanket above joined presence.. loneliness wasn’t a choice of mine, even when on-my-own was.
maybe it’s an option. maybe it’s the option. and maybe that’s okay.
maybe it is, and what ‘is’ is okay.
but.. the glowing butter……. *+*+*+*+*+*
they draw chalk-circles from social gaze, and then avoid the edges. i must enter to participate, i must participate to be anything other than other, anything other than self-excluded object. i observe the they-drawn peramiters, the closed-moon perimeters, and become gravel-sand upon dusty knee. it is summer, and the sky is warm – it opens, invites
, smiles, welcomes… and i float upwards, hover, absorb, become light. transcendable. be-able. where are the other otherlings, i wonder, as i drift back down to gravel-ground.

a thing from LAST APRIL

oh – STRANGE – I just found this draft-post from last year (April, I think). maybe i posted it already? maybe i should check? surely i’d remember…… nope, very-questionable memory at the moment – ok fine i’m checking…

it’s not there, as i only caught up up to March before my legs became dolphins in the bath, etc. why am i such a time-machine, always?!?!!! WELCOME TO THE TIME MACHINE!!!! April2020. but don’t actually go back there, because it’s probably not very nice for most people.

[ages-ago writing from last year begins here; CONTENT WARNING: The Worldly Thing.]
HellooooOoooOOOooooooooo I am here again.

I know, I know, I am a month or more behind on this type-things-on-the-internet game – but that’s nothing out of the norminary for me. but still – sorry. for DisorganisedMe. there was a lot, of spaghetti-tumbling reasons upon reasons, as usual.

A couple of months ago, I decided I wanted to write-research-write about isolation&autism… but now I suddenly don’t want to do that because TheWordlyTHING has changed the entire context of it all, and even the word seems to have different meaning now. It was because I was speculating on the ways I naturally isolate myself due to autistic functioning, and the personal need for that, but then the way I struggle with coming out of isolation when I need and crave non-isolation because of different areas of autisticness, which results in what then I associated with the then-true meaning of ISOLATION, as opposed to solitary-ness. When I typed to someone that I was feeling unwell and isolated, it meant an EntirelyDifferentThing back then, and it’s not really a coincidence because I’m used to premonition-like things.

After a few of weeks of being in bed due to various burnout/brain-switch related SuperGloom ill things going on, I was delighted to wake up one day in a different kind of brainspace (i.e. not in SuperGloom). Waking up out of SuperGloom is a relief, but it usually means there’s still a lot of things to fix. There I was, ready to embrace TheOutsideWorld again – and then I found out I was supposed to ‘begin’ embracing TheInsideWorld again. I’m lucky, that SuperGloom was so bleak that anything was easier. and most anxieties were not new anxieties, as it’s stuff I’d been panicking about for quite some time. I’d already been going through the whole ‘I caused the illness’ fake-guilt, before I even ‘knew’ [or before it was confirmed outside of my ‘is-it-anxiety-or-is-it-magic’ knowing] that it was something that was going to be swarming this country too. I was already immersed in many unknowns, which I was dealing with, in a PACK-UP-AND-RELOCATE scenario, so not being able to sort any of this out felt like packing for my death. Not in a morbid way, just in a evaporatey way – I didn’t know where I was going or what I was going to do so I was just like… *shrugs shoulders, waving hands in air*

Comparing me now to me a month ago, I’ve made massive progress, which means I’m mentally much better than I was. I’m lucky that I accidentally transitioned into the Thing, meaning it wasn’t such a shock. I’m used to my MyNormal levels of anxiety, confusion, what-is-going-on-ness, etc, so all of that is sort of reassuring in comparison to a month ago when I was immersed in Bleak. I’m also used to being in this room on my own for days, I’ve had plenty practice at that. It’s weird to observe my internal reactions when suddenly people become concerned when I’m mentally fine, compared to the abyss-ness of underwater-Bleak. It’s sort of… confusion, an inability to compute, and wondering if it’s some sort of trick. (though actually… that probably happens with many things!).

I cannot bear most of the social-internet these days. I still use it, because how else am I supposed to distract this me-filled brain – but constantly have to remove myself /distract myself from it, in the usual game-battles of ‘engage’, ‘no, disengage’, ‘try to engage’, ‘fail to engage’, ‘crave to engage’, ‘YOU ARE NOT DESIGNED TO ENGAGE, LEAVE IT ALONE’. I find it sickly and alienating. and it’s made me realise a personal lack of empathy that I did not recognise within me before. Over the last some-years, I’ve been through the whole over-empathy thing – stating that I am over-empathetic, over-sensitive, etc – but I found a flaw. There are so many experiences that I just do Not emotionally understand. and I find it very difficult to relate, or empathise with those things. A lot of those things are ‘norms’ for perhaps the majority of society – normotypical society. and whilst I can wonder and give allowances/thought for some of those things… I must internally admit that I can’t empathise with a lot of those things. so the whole lack of empathy lot of empathy thing… I’m reconsidering it. I am often emotiony-absorby. but those emotions don’t always relate to scenario-based empathising. That’s something I must do through conscious cognition, creating the matching scenarios, deciding on the best fit between my world and theirs, and feeling guessed manufactured (but real-feeling, and often intense,) empathy. but a part of me still concludes with ‘…yeah I have no idea.’

I think dissociation plays a big part in it. *dissociates and jumps topics in my brain 10 times… like space-hurdles.*

[by the way these are subconscious semi-conscious whatever-conscious unjumblings, this is writingtherapy writingrambling, grambling, scrambling, this isn’t ‘academically-formed’ theorising, i am not theorising here, this writing space is me being soup spilling over, live-writing is a part of my aliveness and i need to do that sometimes, even if it might be smarter to Think More About Thoughts And Formally Write Them ‘PROPERLY’ – I can (try to) do that too, but this is not that, so if i’ve accidentally written ‘incorrect’ thoughtlings about empathy through my wordspillings, then……. *shrugs* if you want to know-learn about empathising and autistic empathy look up things like ‘double empathy problem’ discussed by Dr. Damian Milton. however, here in this rambly-typingness i am just expressing a moment of being like ‘whoooooooshhhhhhhh i thought i was very empathetic extreme now i suddenly realise i am not always that and am sometimes VERY Not-that, BEURGHGHH WHAT DOES THIS MEAN IN RELATION TO MY EMPATHY-Y EXISTENCE’. continue.]

I don’t know what it’s like to miss the interactions people are missing right now, because I wasn’t having them before. but I miss going out to the gym, so I translate my missing the gym to other people missing hugging people. (There’s this punchbag at the gym, and one time I stood near it and it leaned on me – and I was SO comforted – it was like I finally felt like I understood what people liked/missed about comforting hugs – living/Being alone removes you from that understanding-sphere maybe, but leaning on the punchbag was like, OK YES I GET IT, I REMEMBER, THIS IS THE THING! kind of makes you miss humans if humans are gonna replicate that. That was a few months ago. I’m kind of sad for all the machines, but I feel like there’s some sort of ghost-party going on in there, it creeps me out when I think about it too much so I’ll stop).

I miss cooking, so that’s something I understand. but internet-everyone seems to be doing loads of that, more than before, so, that’s just another one of the alienating things. Do I miss cooking enough to just, cook? I thought with all this that maybe I did – I had a whole4-maybe-5 minutes of, ‘dyu know what, I should just make some pancakes and be done with this thing’ – but it turned out, Nope, fear’s still real.

why am i so behind.
oh gosh i now have a horrible thing where i am imagining me behind me and also am kind of like the me behind me that is watching me sat typing. and so i keep having to turn around to look at the me behind me to disappear the me behind me but every time i spin around they appear again and then i see me typing again. why must this be a thing.

okay that”s enough, i feel sick, finding this past-draft-post *** DRAFT-from-the-PAST *** made me feel a bit boaty, i”m going back to do the thing i was doing before!

sometimes, my legs become dolphins

[writingtherapy from the things]

sometimes, my legs become dolphins in the bath
each big leg, one big-leg dolphin
and not just, me imagining that my legs are dolphins (although, then that too, as an additional external layer, upon observation of what is being experienced)
but the remembering, the travelling, the… guidance…
immersive, yet naturally existent moment-feelings, when my legs become dolphins in the bath
all two of them, all all of them
yet i don’t know what it’s like to be a dolphin at all
even if i happened to relate to any part of dolphinness, i would still be relating from an i-am-not-a-dolphin This
and from and as non-dolphin-That
outside of dolphin, as un-dolphin.
(unless you’re zooming out of dolphins, in which case dolphins aren’t dolphins either, even when they are).
i don’t know what it’s like to be a dolphin at all..
but big-legs each know what it’s like to be a dolphin, each, when they are each dolphin in the bath.
does each big leg know what it’s like to be the other dolphin? does each other dolphin know what it’s like to be the other big leg?
does each dolphin know what it’s like to be the other dolphin?
can each of them know what it’s like the be their ownself dolphin?
without the other otherself sameself dolphin?
symbiosis is a requirement
symbiosis is an existent
we require symbiosis, we require other, we require self
and we collect, and become a separate,
that requires symbiosis, requires other, requires self
and we group, and become a grouped seperate,
grouped seperate of grouped seperates,
which requires symbiosis, which requires other, which requires self:
which requires non-us dissonance, othered, non,
and on and on and on and on…..
i do not know what it is like to be a dolphin
but my legs do, when they imagine they are
and each leg does not know what is like to be the other dolphin
but without the other dolphin they do not know what it is, a dolphin,
and each dolphin does not know what it is like to be what it is, a dolphin
and each dolphin does not know what it is like to be what it is, a dolphin
and each dolphin does not know what it is like to be what it is, a dolphin
and each dolphin does not know what it is like to be
what it is, a dolphin
what a dolphin is?

I keep losing and finding cups of water around the everywhere. i don’t remember filling them up, and then i don’t remember putting them down, but then it’s like they either all disappear or all appear at once, multiplying, ctrl+v repeat. and whenever i drink a cup of water my brain makes my arm turn into a cartoon popeye arm with a can of spinach, until i put the cup down, and then it reverts back into its body-arm self. 1 2 3 4 5 4 3 2 1, says the fingernail tapping. brrrrmmm, brr. brrrrmmm, brr. brrrrrmm, brr. saving the world. magical-thinking ego needs kicking like a crumpet. how good would that be, to kick a giant crumpet off the edge of the universe. giant kick. leg goes flying. inner-leg dolphins released into spacelands, pouring millions of tiny dolphin inners out into new planet-forming realms. crumpet still whole, like a punchable moon, disc-spin floating with overkicked knowing. strong. do you like marmite?
who am i asking here
i thought i was talking to a chatbot and nobody replied
.. oh.
also, i don’t actually care, so not sure why i emotion-focused on the oh-moment, for a moment, i maybe-think it was something in the bodymask’s way of saying ‘i would like marmite, feed me marmite’. it’s not going to happen, marmite is far away.

the spaghetti is over. i need to make the spaghetti not be over, again. unover the spaghetti. it’s been a while. potion-routines are necessities, if i am to fuel the this-existence body-creature thing. being in a bodymask is such responsibility. host to so many. to be in it while as it while for it while not-it yet it, is task, such task. such necessary task.

ohhhhhh how WONDERFUL, the ‘i hate u’ brainthings have arrived, like scrunched up balls of paper hurling themselves at tired bits of innerland wall. the goblin picks them up and reads every single one. absorbs it. fills their goblinself with it. and then neatly pastes it on the wall, using clear-drying sugarglue. and the wall smiles. ‘i hate u’ ‘i know :)’. this continues for a while until the cake-wall is ready to horizontal. and then it rolls into itself, rolls away with themself, leaving us with the sugarghosts of Was. acceptance involves all flavours. all-listening cannot ignore. it might multiply the kickers, and the throwers and the beurghghghg-ers, but… how else? the other option is to leave.. and the universe-things have already decided that i’m not quite ready for that, quite yet.

i feel resonance through my presence, more so recently – more frequently – physical buzz-waves like ‘whooshhhh’, where you feel like you’re being enveloped in universey death-seed energies, in a good way. (death in its positive form. dead-energies are so alive to me. i need more words for the splitting of the different ways i sense the word ‘dead’/’death’). i don’t know what it means, each time it happens, but i accept it, while it does, and intend not to meaning-make in those moments. try to listen – but, not even that. i try to with it be, if being wasn’t an action and was a *+*+. (remove the action of try, it’s not accurate.. each be word becomes do word when thing becomes word-word..) i allow it to sparkle-fizz over my creaturing bodymask. i allow it to over-absorb, to travel through, to travel through. easily pathologised as an obviously-provable vitamin deficiency or ‘maybe being a bit cold’, but it’s not like that – fizz-knowing is more evidence than any evidence anyone could write – fizz-knowing is more *+*+-ing than any explainers – and not knowing co-exists perfectly with all knowing. i don’t know what it means, but i absolutely feel-know what it is. explainers deviate-divert the is. “my boats are open, my boats are free…..” that’s what i feel while I non-wordily sing through energy-shapes in those magnetism-sparklefizz whoooshhh moments. within a human bodymask AS a human bodymask, it often feels the opposite – panic-boats in tight ropes, ravelling, squabbling, push-pull struggling.. but when the universe-things arrive: “my boats are open, my boats are free…..”, in non-wordy shape-song. not even a choice, just a happening.

each misplacement is, from somewhere, intentional

[writingtherapy, from the innerghostling-ghosthings of inner-ghost me]

the escape button has escaped
and I have not, yet

the jumblings unjumbling yet words are like meltymarshmallow pillowstuffing that carry so many shadowbiscuits, and each shadowbiscuit is a shadowbasket filled with personalised perceived meaning – the ‘that’s-what-you-mean’ meaning, the ‘oh, i get it’ meaning, the meaning-that-means-things meaning, the relateable relate-shapes magnet-meaning – but the words remain vibe, remain inner in a mind that won’t arrive at those places of meaning-belongingness… because there are always questions upon questions, and spiral-spin thoughtwebs and further-farther clarifyings and broadenings, meanderings, and a jelly-soup-potion on the floor is not a fixed shape, unless the fixed shape is a morphy shape, forever morphy, forever unshaped. but, how to escape?? to be returned is to arrive, perhaps. how to skip that? departure to departure seems impossible.

the ovals are a spirolellogram, loop-hovering like candypastel ribbons, like the falsified calm that only exists in moments of present-time reassuring, before the reassured. it’s action, not result. unreachable ribbons: existing, disappearing, ‘here we are bye’ – the unlickable ghostspoon, unhoneyed from sugary responsibility. and how to reach that? not from this, but AS that? the sugarglooms fly parallel.

the directions to space take me back but they don’t erase. because going back might unappear the shapes, temporarily, but they always come back. they have to come back. because they were the happening, they were the happened. unhappening the happened DOES NOT ERASE. it repeats, recurrs, replies, with original context. time-travel is no saviour: it’s already. time-travel is no future; it’s past-here. i see it all now, i see it all, through the ever-zooming globelands. the backwards scar, the prequel-star, the multiple existencies – and yet we expect this shape to be the constant, the actual, the square-cube square. and here they are again, the spirolellograms, this time extra wispy, smug and almost… taunting… if a spirolellogram could. there is a difference between reaction-projection and whole-actual perception… and the sugarclowns enlighten that divide, with fancy-mess and glow-mo sprinkles. and in that glimmer-glimpse of hinted joy arrives the feeling-meanings, the meaning-feelings, the ‘oh i get it’ mindview seeings…

unshared trifle: lonely, cold, desserted.
what use is the translation to a sugarghost inhabitant? unescapable presence, unescapable stage... and so I move, and so I wait, and move and wait, in half-full knowing that each misplacement is, from somewhere, intentional.

there’s too much to backtrack

(writing-therapy from the innerthings of me)

you know that thing when someone speaks so well about something that it resonates through the unimultiverse and your entire bodymask-being, and you think you’re going to throw up all the stars because every time you’ve tried to voice it it’s been an absolute strugglefluster leaving you SQUASHED and TRAPPED and unable-in-the-present-circumstances due to misunderstandings and power unbalancednesses and carried-over soup on soup on soup on soup, on jellysoup, on jelly on jellysoup, on jelly, and all of this horrible tangle throat-monster brain-metal BEURGHNESS where the hoover of the sky forgets you, forgotten toastcrumb, forgets to whoooshkkksssrrkkkshhshhshrrkrkk you up out gone so you remain beurghing to what feels like eternity… but then someone speaks SO WELL about something that it resonates through the unimultiverse and through your entire toastcrumb bodymask-being, and you think you’re going to throw up all the stars into beautiful beautiful beautyland because every time you’ve tried to voice it it’s been an absolute strugglefluster? ?? ????: That.

There’s too much to backtrack. There’s always too much to backtrack. The cassette-tape intestines become a fruit-winder, melted in the dashboard of a hot car. I haven’t been in a hot car recently. I’ve been in a cold car. I was in a cold car the last time I left the house, to sit in the car, which was maybe a month ago, or a few weeks. and then the melted winder intestines get folded over and frozen and – solid-gooey-solid – so much, SO MUCH, but just… stuck. but a few weeks was a few weeks long ago. what happens to the intestines when you’re not even in the car? do you have control? or just, not the option of the loss of it made possibled, and, not the option of the gain of it made possibled… and if control or the sense of it is not a controllable thing then what are the brain-gamers supposed to do all day, all night, all dayallnight, if i declare their tangenty-purposes placebo or imagined or non-trustworthy, non-truthworthy, what are the tiny raisin brain-gamers supposed to do with their tiny little ghost-nudges, what are the raisins, what are the brain-raisins, what are the tiny brain-raisin braisin-gamerss supposed to suppose to do, if i declare a ghost-nudge echo of a possibility of unpossibling the control?

and i’ve been so…. … so, …. … I CAN SEE IT I CAN FEEL IT, I CANNOT TELL IT so do i know what it is or do i just not….. YES, I know what it is, because translation doesn’t equal knowledge (apart from when it adds or motivates the surfacing of further untranslateds). and non-translation doesn’t remove experience (it’s alive and moving, talking, not all-the-time hiding). it (whether ‘it’ happens or doesn’t happen, which is a valid happen) shares and develops and opens up all sorts of possibilities and awares and re-awares and outers the inners and re-inners the outers and – – and – – but… . . . *observes the normified un-norms, uniformed un-norms, normed in their non-normified unified non-normalities* so longing to magnet, so longing to magnet – but – no, it’s not like that. no, no – it is not like that. it’s really not like that. and it’s painful to not feel like all the other ‘it’s like that!’s, amongst the ‘it’s-not-like-that’ manydimensional-BEURGH.

nothing is still, always moving. nothing is still not still, always moving, especially when still.

the butterscotch-buttergods smile, like toffee-shortbread, sickening, thickening, gloopy-tumbling, like – … goodness, that makes SUCH a good sound. just sitting here listening, to the toffee-shortbread gloop-tumbling, – SUCH a good sound! again. just listening, to the toffee-shortbread gloop-tumbling, – SUCH A GOOD SOUND!!!!! the toffee-shortbread gloop tumbling, – i want to show you and now i am sad. how do you share so easily. just eat a biscuit and dip your head in glue.

you know that thing when someone speaks so well about something that it resonates through the unimultiverse and your entire bodymask-being, and you think you’re going to throw up all the sugarstars, and it’ll be horrendeous but it won’t be horrendous because all of the stars are so fucking beautiful…

‘It’s only the ever-rolling tide… Roll in, roll out. Bury.’

[a writey thing from many months ago]

Rejection is refreshing an inbox seeking rejection, expecting rejection, preparing for the essence of rejection, yet being unable to resist, unable to steer the self away from the drowning magnets of the all-absorbing glutinous gushing stubborn streams of all of the emotions that come from rejection. and is that punishment, for all past-times of not consenting to fulfil another’s ego-inspired wants and desires? is it punishment for lacking the strength to stand up for my variably-expressed non-wants and non-desires? is that deservedness for the balance of my planetary luck? is that earnedness for every time i have wrongfully resented my own existence, inflicting negative vibe-consequences upon others? probably. and yet it’s a constant. this is dealing with the dealings and getting up, like a piece of sand rolling to new seas. I turn to myself, with an icing-glaze of cake-warmed affection. (because someone has to show it. and I’m too tired to run away, from the me that is running away from the me that has run away from me.) Get up, you soggy piece of battered sand. get up, you… you… sand-creature 🙂 It’s only the ever-rolling tide, you should be used to it by now. but it’s okay that you’re not. We’re together, now. Everything… well, okay, not everything, but… things are going to be okay. Roll in, roll out. Bury. 

and emerge, like the sparkles on the wave-rooves, smiling at the sun.

March-2020 (a blog-beginning from months-ago March)

blog-attempt from months-ago March, from the unfinished unposted re-visitable realms:

‘I’m strong and fragile at the same time which is weird. I guess it’s like a teacup. It can hold gently poured boiling hot water. But if you chuck it at a rock it’s going to break. and the urge to chuck it at a rock gets stronger every day. but maybe I get stronger every day too, even when I don’t know it.’

HELLO from the depths of BedLand

[……………………..that was as far as i got with that blog, either due to overwhelmy panic extreme/medium/lite, or just being chaos-distracted and UnableToManageThings]