Stylo-S

this is just poetry, my body is made in a way that allows me to percieve beauty. i am sorry that you can't see how i see. i am sorry that you feel disapointed in me for not seeing what you see. i don't choose beauty, whatever happens, however i'm feeling, it will be there, it will choose me. so yeah, we are not the same, and i'm glad i'm able to feel and percieve beauty where you're not able to. i am disapointed in you, but i understand. i understand that the world became such an ugly place for you, but you shouldn't want me to see it the same way. do not bring people down with you. you were once the sun shining on me, i'm aware that that sun has long set. i'll need a new source of light, and hopefully i'll find it in me.

i'm figuring out how much i have been gaslit since I was a child. And that's partly responsible for my relationship with reality. It's simple, but I've been constantly told that what I remembered never happened, what I felt never made sense. Given that I had very vivid dreams, my memories and my reality just merged with those, nothing was real as it ought to become a story with me as its sole narrator. And what an unreliable narrator I am, that is what I believe, but why do I doubt myself so much? I'm thinking right now, that the way I percieve the past, anything I remember or once felt, has very much to do with how I've been gaslit. Meaning, I don't percieve it. Making me an unstable entity in time, and when thinking about the old times (aka <16yrs old), can't help but feeling sucked by an insatiable void inside me, the surface of my body being the only thing keeping me there. Yo maybe not facing my memories, as they don't exist, is what is keeping me from processing those.

Anonyme du 5 décembre 2020 Oh hey hi ! ça fait longtemps, je te retrouve car une fois de plus je ne trouve personne pour m’écouter. Et ce que je ressens, en ce moment, est tellement confus, qu’il me faudra du temps pour trouver les mots pour l’exprimer. Toi-même tu sais, que ce temps c’est le temps de l’écriture. Bien difficile pour moi de parler en comparaison, et puis là, je n’ai pas d’interlocuteur physique, personne pour m’interrompe ou mal me comprendre, pire encore pour me conseiller ou me réconforter. Car, évidemment, ce n’est pas ce que je recherche, ce que je cherche ce sont les mots. Une fois ceux-ci trouvés, je pourrais me détacher, de ces sentiments, ces émotions, qui me font mal, me frustrent.

[..choses perso...]

Enfin, je me sens seule, bizarre venant de ma part, mais mon lien avec le monde extérieur s’amenuise, et j’ai peur d’être oubliée, effacée ou remplacer par une image de moi du passé.

I hate the part of my disorder, where i suddenly have to hate everyone and isolate myself. I don't even hate myself, it is not a projected hate. But just disapointment and misplaced resentement. I've tried hard not to feel this way anymore, to detach myself from others, to not take anything from their behaviour personnaly. I am deteched and I am not selfcentered to this point, it's just that people are shit, they are, they have shitty lives, making them shitty people. What about me then? Am i shit with a shitty life? For sure I might feel shitty sometimes, and get frustrated with my life, but I try. I don't think I am any different from others, it is just that I can't help but percieve me in a different way than how I percieve others. I know I was being very judgemental, it is the resentment talking. Love is just as easy as Hate, maybe easier, but I don't know which one hurts more. Anyway, that is what I'm feeling right now, and I'm trying to stop controlling them, that only makes me dishonest. Just wanna punch them in the face (just? lol), am visualizing it right now, it is not enough.

je n'entends que des disques rayés encore et toujours la même chanson et si j'ouvrais ma bouche? en sortiras-t il quelque chose de nouveau où serais je moi aussi un disque rayé? peut être est il mieux de l'être que d'être un disque qui ne joue pas.

jules broke my heart i find it utterly heartbreaking to know that I and many maybe most of us live their lives like this not being able to fully express oneself, being layered in performance, not being able to identify who we truly are, nor to bring it back to the surface of existence without evn percieving that others struggle the same way, and show what needs to be shown in order to be judged the way we want to be. tht image we construct for ourselves, without really graspin that it didnt come from us, and project for all to be seen. that is loneliness performance is a prison to me, nd im always waving between believing that it is all there is to social life and yearning to strip down from it. but when I do, there is often nothing left, not evn my body.

all i want for all and me, is to stop feeling restricted by the means of communication in order to express ourselves. communication and expression are 2 different things. one of those is not meant to be recieved or understood, sure it can, but it's not its purpose.

also the whole reality/fantasy thingie was so chef's kiss, like i probably will write an essay abt it, its not like i dont have the material.

im beggin u to stop existing, please, so i can exist. seems like only one of us can, in my reality, and i'd rather it'd be me. even though ur existence is far more meaningful than mine. suxs lol. ive tried really hard to be only for me but in the process i completely disappeared, couldnt hold onto my self, as it wasn't there, never was. i guess im still percieved as egoistic and selfcentered, which i wish to be, but i literally, only exist for others, in their reality. cause in mine, there is only you, and in yours im barely there. fun.

I want to thank everyone that I have engaged with today, and I did. All the conversations I had, the thoughts I read and heard, they fed me and I for once feel satiated. I'm so inspired, I'm sharing it so I can have a record of that. Cause today I got a vision, not a clear one, but one that I'm willing to commit to. And I will.

All is making sense, things are falling into places, I am still feeling a bit overwhelmed. But I know I can manage it.

I'm a bit hungry though, go make brownies.

Paranoïa

I'm paranoïd even in my dreams. It's either the paranoïa or me being an impostor, yes we stan. At least, I do. People really be pouring themselves into me, is that because i could be an empath or because I'm just not taking enough place in me. I don't know how much i can hold. Sometimes it seems like I am bottomless, until I throw up. I'd say every two years, that is how long I can be others, i guess. Can't wait for the cycle to end, so noone but me will be pouring themselves into me.

I'm not just myself, when I could be anyone.

I collect personalities, I collect points of view, I collect experiences and stories. They are now mine. They are now me.