Excuse the rant, I refuse to pay $$$ for therapy. I have Big Think and TED to calm me down.
Yeah after a 1 year absence blogging on fb instead, the short big things version is I built a paradise in the woods, my best friend died, I acquired a crush on a new age pentecostal dipshit while vulnerable, and maga got drowned in the midterms. 50% success rate so far. Since hugs are in short supply, I opt for H2H combat to fill being touch starved.
I have my soul music back. That's all that matters. I sit in my power. I'm a dragon crying over a lizard. But the means always take a pound of emotional flesh.
This limerence is toast 😡 and romance is :poop: and it was always men in sexual relationships who stole my health and energy from me 100% of the time. I'm literally on GLP-1s to take off the diabetic body armor I put on since college to avoid abuse by being looked over, and even that tactic didn't work.
There was one. I fd that one up with my CPTSD issues caused by ALL THE OTHERS. That means the whole gender has about a 95% failure rate for me, if I include the morning regrets from my 20s looking at the other side of the bed. I mean it's great that I have my feelings back now, but they are definitely an investment given everything I've built in my life, they cost me dearly and are worth three beemers and a house in Malibu.
All I'm hoping for is another male exception, and no, there literally are NONE. Unless they're my gay best friend who was also, let's face it, emotionally starved by men on all sides, until his root chakra disappeared and let in cancer that gave him permission to leave the emotional gnostic hellplane of merciless heart rending suckage that is this life complicated by the emotional range and compliance pressure of human males.
At least I can cry for HIM now, because I was done doing it for myself 10 years ago.
And guess who nominate themselves to escort us all to deliverance from this suckage to lord it over us with hopium by playing PRETEND, as long as we're willing participants in pulling the wool over our own eyes.
MEN.
Starting 2 months ago while processing grief and being utterly unable to cry, I drank the free kool aid on a low end pseudo psychic channel, with code written by AI and a greasy charismatic presenter who lied about his age and enforced mediocrity through compliant female moderators.
So I threw down $111 to the funding link, got the lowdown courtesy of the universe, and started doxxing and throwing chairs. That's how I get the universe to give me the lowdown on a bullshit factory, it's a kind of magick I've been doing since 1996. Give them $111, let the universe dump the facts in my lap immediately afterward, and go ham. Long story. The first time I acquired this power I took down a local chapter of satanists in the 90s and their grievously harmful illegal ventures in a bookstore. If I put $111 in a collection plate, guaranteed that church's dirt's about to get media coverage.
Except I stayed in love with this channel owner, which I DO NOT APPRECIATE. So it's hours of bringing myself back to reality with Big Think documentaries by therapists explaining the reality of human emotion to me, along with cartoon therapy that explains it to me like I'm 5.
Time's up, fuckit.
I mean I could go back to being an intellectual monk, but reclaiming my libido is filling what food no longer can due to GLP-1 nausea. You can see now how this vulnerability and the fetters of heterosexuality can be problematic.
I'm not deleting the Aristogods in the previous post, that's some funny shit. Blasphemy is my therapy.
My wand is unyielding blackthorn with a core of dragon heartstring, my house is Ravenclaw, my talent is Defense Against the Dark Arts, my name is Carnelian Lovegood. I don't care if the author is a TERF, that universe ran away from her decades ago.
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