contemplations (ponderations?)

august 30th, 2022

back already! two entries in a row on my site is a bit strange for me, i know, maybe in my personal journal i have no qualms about writing even multiple entries for one day, but on here i generally like to be a bit more aloof! i know i have a choice not to, but im longing for the impuslive catharsis of it all.

i think about a comment i got months ago, in regards to one of the first journals published on one of the first iterations of redstring. in, what i now consider a terrible lapse in judgement, i shared some personal feelings of inadequecy regarding my interpersonal relationships--much of which were confirmed months later, quite the emotional explosion if im honest, not that ill ever share those details--and i recieved a now deleted (by me) comment from someone who told me they understood. that they hoped id feel better one day.

to that person, if theyre still tuned in, im sorry, but i hate you for it. i dont know you and i hate you and the way you reached out to offer your understanding and well wishes. though, since i dont know you, i dont actually hate you. its impossible to genuinely hate someone you dont even know--at least, it is for me. obviously, as unsaid as it seems in my previous words, thank you. im sure if you gave that understanding to anyone else they mightve felt positive about it. i dont know how to explain why i hate it.

especially as of recently ive found myself adverse to any digital comments i could get about me as a person, the idea of understanding feels fake. i dont know if my new-ish-found hatred of this has to do with how insincere a comment on a website seems to me, how impersonal it is that anyone else can see it, or more personal bleedings of mine. i dont care to distinguish, well knowing its a mix of both. this isnt to say i hate any comment ive ever recieved, compliments on my website, on my art, theyre all very loved. im glad everyone enjoys those aspects, its the only reason i keep the avenue of my "c-box" open on the home page--but how i wish i could post these entries without the ability for "public" feedback. i know, the irony of how i post these publicly, but hate the idea of comments on it. its an issue that never escapes me.

thats the thing, really, i like having these be online, it feels more rewarding knowing my words arent just for myself. the impersonal transactions of "understanding" ruin it though. this hasnt been my first time revealing it, though. i mentioned it briefly at the end of my birthday entry (now closed off, until i possibly create the archive i mentioned on the front page, though i doubt ill follow through). it makes me uncomfortable, the way people socially online send well wishes and "love" to strangers they dont know. it makes me uncomfortable how people do the same with their hatred. modern digital sociology is so foreign to me.

while i am a social creature--we all are, by nature--to be social is beyond me. more and more i find myself lost because of this. i know, partially, that this is cause for my agoraphobia. the idea of being with people, having to speak to them when i cant curate myself so perfectly strikes me with too much fear. all that and other factors make me incredibly nervous to leave the house. even when its not "me" leaving, i find myself having post mortem anxiety over it all.

one, later two, of the alters i share time with went to the supermarket last week. nothing bad happened--other than the trigger for the second joining--they enjoyed perusing aisles with my mother, one even remembered to buy an overly sweetened dunkin donuts coffee (some cake flavor, if i recall) to keep in the fridge so i could add it to my coffee over the week (thank you, thank you, thank you). neither are all that impaired by the outside world either. and even though, as far as i have heard, things were wonderful, i feel sick. i feel like i am strung up by the checking counter for everyone to see. faint memories of the self checkout and the way "we" had casually chatted with the man at the till next to us about the garlic sale feel invasive. it feels like every single muffled, incoherent word "we" spoke is a knife wound. dissociative barriers are to thank for the minorly comforting haziness, at least.

i hope one day i can leave myself.

maybe ill take a nap, wake up in a few hours, and regret this entry. but, for the moment, i know i'll be enjoying the momentary mental cleanse ill get from posting it.