i am inside rage attack mode something or other

during a rage attack, my veins seem to swell and pulsate, my heart races, my mind races, paranoia, fear, confusion, so disoriented such frustration what the fuck can i destroy to get this OUT OF MY SYSTEM. i used tacks to plaster my bedroom wall with an outfit my boyfriend would wear next to an outfit i would wear. i was missing him fast in an irrational sense, feeling missing piece lacking hollowness, i try to consciously stay CONSCIOUS don’t black out in a fit of rage like she (i) has not done since high school (i am now 24). i went outside to wait for his return for no reason at all and knowing in the back of my head that it was too soon. there was rain and beautiful lightning and thunder articulating roars then drifting down to whispered purrs. i relished the purity of the weather. such much mhmm delish.
now i am watching 7th heaven, another technique to get my anger out that i’ve used for a long time. i end up shouting and growling and sometimes crying and melting, it’s wonderful. gilmore girls also does that for me.
speaking of television shows, i grew up watching king of the hill. it didn’t take long for me as a young lass to judge every character. i despised bobby. at first it was a healthy anger, like those ABC shows, but it didn’t take long for me to start tripping within my cranium in a painful rageful way… i would imagine cartoon bobby getting brutally abused in various ways, i fantasized about hank instead of sighing and walking away when bobby acts like a total violet* he reaches for the closest blunt object and beats bobbys ridiculous cartoon body while bobby cries and begs for him to stop hahahahahaha wow am i going too far? change subject.

*violet* means being a pussy. i was on the phone with my incredible mother and i was making fun of my boyfriend to her calling him a pansy. she got thoughtful for a moment and then said “it’s so funny how people use the word pansy to call someone weak, a pansy is a pretty strong flower… we should say violet instead, they are definitely weak flowers.” and i was hooked. my mom is awesome, she is in her upper 60s and is far healthier than me. she lives with her mother who is nearing 90 if not already there. holy shit i love my mom.

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overstimulated lately

over a number of things, over seemingly all things maybe? things happening have had that intensity that i relish and easily get disturbed by. sometimes i am that weak leaf fallen from the tree, blowing at any hint of wind or motion, blowing far away, ripping itself to shreds.
very dramatic, i know.
but that’s what happens. i start to believe people are speaking from pre-written lines (written by them or by god?) and i don’t know how to feel about that. name any idea any person any sentence, and i will have 2 equal responses in sequence, how it is good (loved) and how it is bad (despised). but i can’t decide which is right.
does this make me a rational agnostic?
meaning that in all rational and simple situations and people and words and numbers and time, i can’t commit to believing it. which starts to make everything cease to exist, the world around me will fade to a dull blurry mass(mess), tunnel vision intervenes to protect this self (me), (maybe you too?) from all that lives outside of the box i stay in. is it that the world is out out of my control? threatening maybe? hmmm??? what is this that causes me (they, you) to implode, to be the dominant species at the top of the food chain and look down, you could be an insect from all the ground you stare at, all the people you (me?) run from.
i feel myself fragmenting, it is okay, a situation that occurs much like my panic and rage attacks. they are all very different. but not. i define fragmenting as the mental sensation of the front of your mind being a puzzle that must be kept together to work properly, and to prevent flooding from the dark back of the mind. when the pieces begin to detach, leaks occur and fill the cracks with poisonous molasses, pushing pieces far enough apart to (how can i say) think for themselves. i am quick to delusional thinking in this fragmented state, feeling like a slug, surrounded by people trying to touch me and help me, but when they reach for me with their salty skin covered bodies, my own body sizzles and breaks.
slugs and i don’t expect much from humans.

i have talked about my love for animals on here a few times now. here are a few things that make me stick up for them above humans, as a whole.

1. i have put myself around dangerous rescue and stray canines, put myself right in their space as a child, and not once have i ever been hurt by one intentionally. never bitten. i’ve definitely been snapped at, but that’s how dogs shout.

2. i grew up with a shed in the backyard that housed dark black beautiful wasps. when i was a little human, their wasp family first started building the nest, and it continued to expand every year when they would return. by the time i was 7 and 8, there were over 3 large perfectly built wasp nests right above the inside of the shed door, you couldn’t go in the shed without opening the door and them all flying about, and walking past their gigantic nest above your head, and then being willingly cornered by all of them in the darkness of the wooden shed. i adored them. i was taught by my mother to stay very calm and still around wasps (and bees and all of them) and i took that seriously. i got in the habit of going out there every week to switch out toys or clothes or something, and lingering to let them stand and walk on me, walking slowly, controlling my breathing, i would try to name all of them and talk to them in a low voice, but it was very hard to keep track of who was who. not once have i ever been stung by a wasp, bee, hornet, anything, to this day. i am perfect around people with bee allergies and wasp phobias, because i can get the insect away while keeping the human calm (as long as they let me).

3. same is true with spiders. i used to pluck them out of the backyard and the woods and bring them into my room because i was mortified of any infestation (flies, ants, etc) so i used spiders to guard me. and it worked. at one point two out of the 3 bedrooms of our little house had ant infestations. my bedroom was the one that did not, but i certainly had a lot of cobwebs. my brother (3.5yrs older than me, still my twin tho) would throw ants and other insect-prey into the spiderwebs inside our porch, around the house. the ones in the porch became so fat and spoiled, they would stay in the same web for days and days. out of all the arachnids i have held in my life, from a young age on, not once have i been hurt by them. so many people act as though every single spider is a brown recluse or black widow or whatever the fuck they’re all talking about. i’ve never cared what type of spider it is, if someone is trying to kill it inside or anywhere, i always grab them. and bite my own teeth to keep from killing such ignorant and pathetic humans. they’re fucking tiny creatures, spiders and bees and whatever else, usually they don’t even acknowledge that humans are living things, much less threats to them. up until the human starts yelping and screaming and flailing around to “get the thing away” from them. fucking hell human, you’re all so fucking insecure.
what was i doing with this list again?
fuck.

please don’t tell me what time it is

i have done a lot, in a small amount of time. as usual. these frenzied fevers of mania are disorienting. i think i may have cleaned, many things- or just one thing really really well? i think i have enjoyed my conversations with random neighbors as i walk my dog around- but then again, what if i appeared so crazed and strange that they felt compelled to humor me, glued in front of me wondering if my rabid eyes were serious? i will never know the interpretations any living creature has of me, not truly. especially since there are so many sides to me. of course, certain people prefer certain sides. i make many friends with ADD/ADHD but once my mania wanes and i am weary and weak, they drift away, bored. i don’t blame them. the friends i make that are more depressive and anxious can’t stand the sound of my voice the moment i am up up and away. 
i want to understand people because i (like many other angsty child-adults) have never really felt like one of them. for three years in high school, i had the most gorgeous purple-pink-blonde fluffy hair, like a troll doll but much shorter. i would go to public places like wal-mart or libraries with my vivid mane, and children would walk up to me, asking if my hair was real, odd things like that. i would always tell them it was not, so that they would try to rip it off my head. parents would not be pleased to notice their innocent baby talking to the lone purple-haired black-eyeliner-wearing lolita. i felt the most physically right then, with brightly colored hair that i fluffed to make like fur, the pounds of make-up i would pile on my gaunt face every morning after getting sufficiently high. when i look at old pictures of me then, i feel a rush of excitement, thinking of all the people that told me i would regret my lifestyle choices one day, i will hate myself for that shit, blah blah blah. they were wrong, i needed that. i was a wild child, and it was because i had to be, i couldn’t seem to really stop myself.
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i am cruel

sometimes my emotions leave me, my sensitivity to feeling becomes momentarily obsolete, and i feel so detached and entertained by the human characters around me and the different gauges of effects my human character can have on theirs. i poke and prod at people in methodical childish ways, like the little boy torturing ants with a magnifying glass. torturing ants, i cannot do. but these humans? these body shells gallivanting about this portion of space as though it was made with specifically them in mind? indeed, i can have my little fun with them. what is the difference, people often wonder, why is it so hard for me to not scoop up slugs with leaves (avoid the salt of human flesh) and get them to safety after a downpour, and yet so easy for me to fantasize about wicked wonderful delights occurring against humans? my own kind? because i know their evil. i feel their evil grating against my skin, leaving itchy infected trails of filth across my body. how can an animal betray me? an animal has never hurt my feelings, lied to me, or led me on. there are so many humans, it is such a mess. until medieval torture comes back into punitive fashion, i will not be satisfied.

i am an obsessive person

i have been watching the same movies and tv shows for more than half of my life. i can’t listen to music hardly, because it represents the past, all the same songs, all the strangest genres, i can’t listen to one without running into a portal and crumbling or exploding. i obsess over everything, attribute it to emotions to moments and then torture myself with how much everything just surrounds me. 

my being at home all the time now in between semesters of college has caused me to begin obsessing over my neighbors. any of them. all of them. it started with the upstairs chinese family, which i still make sure to greet when they return home every evening and check periodically to listen for crying. they have done well lately, from what i have heard, which means jack shit. 

did i mention i loved the movie harriet the spy as a kid? my brother, father, grandmother, everyone hated it but me. i understood that girl and her voyeurism, it excited me.

so a couple of days ago, i think to check the sex offender registry because i for some reason hadn’t yet, and i have been living in this condo since january. i have done this for a long time, and enjoy looking at the offenders i find, engrave their faces into my brain as much as possible. this time, i actually find someone close. a man that i have spoken to before on multiple occasions, pet his airedale terrier puppy- i was floored. i didn’t know what to do with my excitement which i would equate to finding out a former backstreet boy was my neighbor. i know this is weird, but i have wanted to be able to confront a registered sex offender and talk to them. i go to college for psychology, and one main field i want to explore is pedophilia. the small town i am from, there are few sex offenders that follow any of the guidelines of being registered, like updating addresses and not living near children, going to any therapy, being visited by any authority figure whatsoever. i wanted to meet someone who is actually abiding by the program, someone who targeted children, someone willing to talk to me. i was hoping i found the man, and waited to build up the nerve to go ring his doorbell. i had already realized he had no vehicle, and always walked his dog on against the hill, away from all the other apartments, away from any possible encounters with children. 
when i rang his doorbell, he saw me and i told him through his closed door that i wanted to ask him about something. he let me inside, and i told him as he tried unsuccessfully to hold his pup back (which i didn’t mind at all, i got down on the floor to make it easier) that i had seen his face on the internet, on the sex offender registry. he didn’t flinch, and his warm smile remained as he said that lot of people have, and that he wasn’t surprised. i told him that i didn’t want to judge him, but instead i wanted to talk to him, to express gratitude towards him for actually doing something good about it. he openly spoke about how he had been attending therapy and meetings and everything possible since he had to register, he listened to me talk about why i was so interested and what my feelings were about it. one thing that i liked, in retrospect, was that at no point in time did he try to talk about what he did to get arrested, or any other things he had done of the sort. in my opinion, that lack of need to rehash war stories is a very good sign. things got awkward though, with the rambunctious huge puppy who decided at one point that he needed to mount me and hump, badly. in my mind, i thought it was hysterical, here i am in a sex offender’s home to talk to him about his life and his dog is getting it on my leg, on my hip, etc. he lives with his elderly mother who suffers from alzheimers, and when he first let me in he was holding what looked like yogurt and a spoon and looked anxious. a bit after the dog got horny, i could hear a bell dinging, and he said it was her bell. another neighbor of mine who also loves his dog, had told me a while ago that he had an airedale before that had died, and that he lived with his disabled mother who he cared for. it’s so mind-boggling, this man that is now doing all the right things, has such a huge mistake in his past. he told me he only has 2 more years of being registered left, and that made me think about how many people run out of time on the registry and have not changed at all. 
i’ve gone through many stages and phases in my life that caused me to have different opinions on pedophiles and sex offenders and whatnot. i used to believe that if you even slip and rape or molest once, that you should be executed, there is no hope at all. i still believe that, somewhere inside me, and it will never go away. but then there are men like my neighbor, who actually seemed to benefit from getting caught and took advantage of all the help that conviction offered to him. it is such a complex thing, this ability that some have to look at children the way they should be looking at adults, to be able to be actually attracted in such a way to a minor. i used to date this stupid faggot that would say things to me like ‘you’re a huge percentage more likely to abuse a kid than i am, cuz of how you were abused! most victims become abusers!’ (btw: this is the faggot that had knocked me up, and was saying this shit over the phone during my pregnancy. this is not the guy i am raising my daughter with.) i hate that stereotype with a passion. there are many rapists and child molesters that come from typical mundane home lives. take dahmer, for a great example. but dahmer actually was a sociopath. my neighbor does not give me that feeling. my grandfather was a fucking sociopath, who systematically abused all 6 of his children and his wife, in personalized ways. my grandfather himself came from a typical life and family, and was not abused to anyone’s knowledge. how is my neighbor capable of something that sociopaths do? is he a sociopath and he is just fooling me well, which is exactly what they are known for? i don’t really mind, i know my life is not in danger around him, so i will talk to him again. he told me to come back after memorial day since his family is doing something for the holiday together that he is planning and working on. 

i don’t care about your culture, you can’t abuse your kids.

my upstairs neighbors have been haunting me, filling me with such rage. i heard their little girl crying in a way that made my fur stand on end, a chinese man yelling at her deeper inside their home. every night since, and this happened over the weekend, i have been outside, listening, waiting for an excuse to slam my small but solid body through their door and take that little girl away. i fantasize about how i could destroy them, in these odd video-game-esque ways, epic ways where i am a hero immune to law- but i know i am not. when i saw her next after the couple of nights crying and me shouting her name towards their open window, to which they’d quieten down momentarily, she appeared completely different that i had seen her before. she was looking down, no sound, no eyes, her grandfather gripped her and looked through me and another neighbor (a young woman also into this with me) as we spoke and asked them about her. they don’t want to understand. this fucking grandfather who never lets his wife or very pregnant daughter in law sit in the front seat of his cars. this grandfather and grandmother, live with their son and his wife, and their (almost) 2 daughters. they are all clinging to a culture in which this disgusting old man who spits everywhere and picks his wedgies outside, is their master. he may have control over all of them, but this little girl knows more english than all of them combined, is clever and smart and has a lot of chutzpah. i finally got a moment alone with her today, asked her how she was doing. in-between innocent remarks and questions about school and animals, i asked about her grandfather, i asked her about crying late at night saying i do too. she promptly deflated upon each question about such things, so we kept the pace up and talked about the clouds and the rain. i told her when i heard her grandfather yelling for her i said ‘just so you know, i will be out here just in case something bad happens, and i will listen as hard as i can cuz i feel scared for you’. she was very solemn, and her grandfather came flying down the steps to see what she was doing, i smiled nicely at him, said enough english to make his eyes go blank, and smiled at the little girl and said bye to her as they went to his huge fucking hummer. i have fallen in love with this girl, in the same way i have before. there is an underground family of us abused kids, and no matter how old you get you are still a member and you still spot your brothers and sisters within the waste of humanity. this morning, prior to having that conversation with her, i had already called CPS after debating it for days. i stayed anonymous, giving an alias and my real phone number though (oh well), i told the woman everything i knew, and made sure to say i had not exactly seen anything. i do not want to ruin this family at all. but i don’t want to stand around thinking it’s ‘not my place’ to make that call. this may be your culture, but it is hurting an innocent american girl that does not need to go through that shit at all. she has so much potential, so much light inside of her, but i can see the woman she is destined to become if she stays in this traditional cult-type family. she will be an empty shell, a whisper of a woman, no voice, no independence, no life away from a male guardian. if i could really live in my fantasy land, i would just adopt her, love her, raise her as my own daughter. i have a 2yr old little girl myself, and there’s enough love to go around in my family. why can’t it be so wonderful? how we imagined it as children, ‘when i get older, i’ll stop all the monsters! i’ll save all the animals all the kids everywhere!’ i did what i thought was the best choice, by calling CPS. i dealt with them myself when i gave birth to my daughter (she and i were positive for THC so they had to watch us for 3 months) and it went very well, i felt like they did an incredible job and it surprised me. the small piece of shit town i am originally from has no true CPS, they do not give a shit as long as your kids are in school and not limping or otherwise impaired from the abuse. i want to know that i am doing everything i can do. and just because i called does not mean i will stop listening for her at night. i told her i would.

my foundations

i can hear rain falling at a steady pace outside. i have been waiting for this all day. i still hold on to the peculiar religious-type beliefs i imagined and borrowed from others, morals and religious figures mainly based on classic animated disney movies which i always watched and still cling to today. my favorite has always been lion king, which came out when i was 5 and needed it the most. i watched it constantly, to the point where i would wake from bad dreams throughout the night, and lull myself back to sleep by playing the lion king in my head, over and over. still when i watch it, i have to bite my tongue to keep myself from saying all the words along with the characters. people tend to underestimate these classic disney movies, but lion king alone teaches you about loyalty, faith, how to cope with death, how important every creature is in the world, etc. the first talk that mufasa has with simba when he is still a young cub and he says ‘when we die, our bodies become the grass. the antelope eat the grass. and so we have the great circle of life.’ (idk if that’s the real quote) but either way, it was able to teach so many deep and important things without being religious. i was overwhelmingly lucky to be raised in a small town in the south, and not have any belief system forced upon me. whenever my friends parents were saying to them “have faith! believe in god!” i was hearing “have imagination! believe in yourself! believe in anything!” and it was wonderful. i have watched my friends grow to resent the beliefs they were taught from an early age, and as i have grown i have only clung tighter to my odd system. so tired of trying to explain it to people or give it some label that isn’t right, i merely say “i follow the prophet walt disney” and leave it at that.

my small town was one in the commonwealth of virginia (i have since moved to a different state, thank mufasa), in the southwest where there are gorgeous mountains, dirt roads, dead ends, no malls, and the only language spoken is engrish with a harsh appalachian accent. my father hails from new jersey, and had the accent to match when i was growing up, speaking low and fast, leaning on his R’s and curving his vowels- i adored it. we would visit the north sometimes, and i would have my yankee family repeat words for me over and over, wanting to make sure i spoke his english and not the crap i heard around town. my mother on the other hand, has maintained the perfect southern drawl that i have ever heard. she greets people by saying “hidee!” cheerfully, she pronounces the word temperature like this: tem-per-a-tyoor including every consonant, and i love it. her southern drawl is significantly different from the dirty messy nonsense of my little town. but still, i wanted my dad’s accent, because it was the farthest away from this hick-speak, because it represented masculinity and strength and humor.

my dad had a job offering in this small town, and moved from jersey to this black hole. i was 3 when we moved there, and from a couple of weeks after we moved there up until i was almost 9 years old, my fast-talking overly friendly neighbor had been spending a lot of time with me. it was from his rancid and meth-infested trailer that my brain broke and gave me other skins i could wear (imagine bugs bunny the first time you saw him unzip the back of his fur) who knew i could even perform such grand tricks of metamorphosis. it took me a couple of years to even be aware of this shit. i would come home after seeing this male and sometimes his friends, and have no idea what in the world i was doing walking home from that side of the street. i spent most of my free time outside playing with all the dogs that lived down my street and especially the stray dogs that ran through the woods and neighboring farms, eating mice and trash. these dogs were everything to me, i would follow them everywhere until they began following me back, i knew every house by the dog that lived in it. i believed i really could speak dog. regardless, i knew i couldn’t speak human very well at all. when i would get home, i wouldn’t remember, and i did not care. until i got a little bit older, it got in the way of my relationship with my dad who i adore. i was so afraid of being alone with him that i couldn’t even go to the gas station up the street for some chocolate with him. here are a few important things i must mention about my dad: he was an alcoholic, but i never saw him drunk until i was an adult & he briefly relapsed, he now has about 3yrs sober from that. he was a bodybuilder, but i never saw him become violent or even overly aggressive at all. he has a bad habit of only seeing the good, and being too naive to see the bad. especially when it comes to people. because he was nice towards my neighbor and never suspected anything bad from him, i always sort of assumed he knew what was going on and was okay with it. i also was afraid of being alone with him (and any other adult male) because i thought i would ‘make a monster out of them’. my dad may smell the sticky mess on me, and become one of Them, one of the guys at the trailer, and it will be my fault. i truly believed, and still have trouble not believing, the concept that every guy has that same monster within him, and girls like me are just asking for it. right before my 4th grade year, he moved away, and suddenly like everyone in my family puts it ‘she just woke up!’ oh yeah, and i could not shut up. the moment i was free, i wasn’t held down anymore, i became so confident, so outgoing, i made a bunch of friends, starting having silly boyfriends, i loved it all. but one day after school when i was 11, i woke up in my small closet sucking my thumb, covered in tears and blood from scratching my neck raw. i ripped my thumb out of my mouth, and i was fucking pissed. in that moment i realized i was not a virgin, i was a slut doll, i was a walking lie, i was somebody else. i shattered all over again. the flashbacks continued hardcore throughout middle school. one night i stayed up and i was walking by a park at the bottom of a mountain where a friend of mine lived, and managed to walk directly into a moving car, and got hit. the doctors prescribed me my first narcotic, and i did not hesitate to take a little extra the moment i could. i was so excited, i found something that can just take it away, take my pain inside and outside away, and leave me hardly here. it’s not as crazy to lose yourself to drugs, as opposed to how i had been living. sleeping in my 4×3 closet, cutting myself, not eating, crying all the time. i viewed all of my self torture as pathetic, but this drug thing seemed so much easier, so much more socially acceptable.

manic monday

sometimes i don’t know who i am. i look at people around me, i see them for the animals they truly are, and i reach into them grasping for threads to gnaw on. it’s not exactly that i want to know people, i want to taste them, know their fears, know where they’re ticklish- i want to inhale their scent like a dog, feel them in a primitive and non-lingual fashion. but then the human part approaches, in any contact, of speaking, of smiling and being welcoming without being fictional. i can’t handle this part, i lower my tail, hide.
sometimes i think i am a dog. when i was three i named myself rex, drew pictures of rex with crayons as a massive black furry mutt with teeth. i could go away from the human world so easily, back then, when i lived on a dead end, and all my friends had fur. inside my home, i would willingly lose myself, gratefully sliding into the abyss, as i allowed rex to wake from his slumber. rex is powerful, strong, muscular, intense and various growls and barks, he is smart and silent. rex jumped in rachel’s soul once outside in the woods. he found her small and crumpled, crying little girl, wiping herself with leaves and dirt. from afar rex looked like a giant wolf, as he grew closer he became smaller and smaller and rachel was afraid she lost him, so she lifted her dirty face to the tree filled sky and howled as loudly as she could. he knew she needed him, there was no more time to waste. she swallowed rex and rose, filled with sudden strength and determination.
i think maybe rex’s trick is turning all sadness, all loneliness, into rage and resentment, and an everlasting desire to prove dominance- over and over and over again.
sometimes i don’t know who i am. i go to shrinks all of my life that say nothing, but diagnose freely. i am a rapid cycling bipolar (big shock i know) with severe anxiety and panic disorder (both). they give me lithium now, and a few other things, that i take as prescribed. what these shrinks don’t know, is that these voices in my head, these black-outs and whatnot, are controlled by a system of characters that have lived inside of my skull since i was a little girl, since i was made a man in the filth of a small appalachian town. my characters are my freedom, they are what i have always considered my imagination. but they never went away like all my imaginary friends and dogs and dragons did. they never had faces, never played with me. these voices protected me. is it so wrong that i have not told my shrinks this? i am genuinely afraid of losing them. i can’t imagine being that alone, having such a quiet brain, being so lost.