Existential Crises Whirlpool

This’ll be my last post tonight, before
I lay my head to sleep, so in
my dreams, my good
thoughts I hope
to keep

β­πŸŒŸπŸŒ πŸŒπŸŒ”πŸŒͺπŸŒ©πŸŒ›πŸŒšπŸŒžβ˜€β˜„

Β½ Fiction πŸ’™ The World is Not This Cruel

This is a dog-eat-dog world, and we are the ones trying to stop everyone from eating dogs. That’s how Mom raised me to believe, like vigilante-fucking-warriors. My aunt, on the other hand, told me this game was dirty, deceitful, but fun, then turned into a pterodactyl and flew away.

I met a tyrannosaurus who thought the same, and I lived with him for two years. I also lived with a paladin for eight, and when I was spinning out of orbit, I spent several nights in the bedroom of a Los Angeles playwright who wanted to play video games professionally.


Once Upon a Time πŸ’— Good Mother

I used to ask my aunts if they thought my mother was a good mother. I had a keen eye for human flaw, and it wasn’t so much that I wanted to catch my mother red-handed, as I wanted to understand why things didn’t add up for me internally.

I felt ignored, because I wasn’t getting the attachment I’d received as a baby, and whenever I voiced my feelings, I was told it was in my head, I imagined things,β€”I had it all wrong. I just wanted to collect counter-evidence, to prove my reality was also true.

The sad thing is, we still behave this way. My mother still makes grand sacrifices I never would’ve asked her to make, then screams I’m ungrateful, takes away things she once gifted for security. She accuses me of false memories. She calls for weeks and weeks, dreading over the impending visit to Fresnoβ€”she’s worried because I invited my aunt too, and she expects my aunt to make a sceneβ€”then when my aunt calls in the middle of the night, and in my half-asleep stupor, I shriek at the brightness of her cellphone, and tell her to stop talking to my aunt, after all of that, my mom explodes, says “goodbye” instead of “I love you,” leaves in a taxi, and I’ve no idea if she’ll attend my wedding, when or where I’ll hear from her again, if she’ll be alive or dead when I next see her wild hair;

And all I can do it let the words pour out of me, hoping within them, there’s some kind of balm, cure, healing, until that next time comes.

Watching Right Now πŸŒ„ Neutron Stars

Sometimes, when I’m overwhelmed, if I think about something really big, it helps me understand that my “huge” concerns are small, chunkable, and conquerable things.

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