05.03.2020
18:09
18:12
there are two framed quotes on the wall. ones i would probably find inspirational when i was 15 and still knew how to feel things instead of just write about them. the walls are white and the the furniture is all pastel with splashes of vibrant color and I can't tell if this feels more like a therapist's office or an IKEA showroom. in some ways it looks like what i wish my mind palace looked like. if i was smart enough to think like that. if i wasn't slowly realising that for me the solution is more about finding comfort amid the chaos instead.
18:15
i'm writing this because i'm early and i don't want to think about what i'm going to say to her. about how i probably haven't lied to her yet but it feels like it. about how sometimes i think i cannot trust my brain. about how i used sexual trauma as a content warning once but i still haven't talked to her about it. about how maybe all of my struggles are made-up. or petty. about how she'll see me as either a victim or a monster. or just ordinary. i don't know which one i would hate the most. fuck.
18:23
there are cars outside. and i can't not think of the rest of the world. of the part i play in it. and maybe that's why i don't like talking to her about my trauma, if it is trauma indeed. because there are more important things to worry about. but then why am i here. in this white white room. why can i only think about putting my seatbelt on when it's the best thing i can do to help someone else. why do i not care if im alive except for that nobody would talk to my best friend about gender as much. and nobody would tell the news to my family. and someone would have to volunteer their time in my place. but what about me. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck.
18:27
-cgi.
there's a waiting room
and so, i wait.
and so, i wait.
18:12
there are two framed quotes on the wall. ones i would probably find inspirational when i was 15 and still knew how to feel things instead of just write about them. the walls are white and the the furniture is all pastel with splashes of vibrant color and I can't tell if this feels more like a therapist's office or an IKEA showroom. in some ways it looks like what i wish my mind palace looked like. if i was smart enough to think like that. if i wasn't slowly realising that for me the solution is more about finding comfort amid the chaos instead.
18:15
i'm writing this because i'm early and i don't want to think about what i'm going to say to her. about how i probably haven't lied to her yet but it feels like it. about how sometimes i think i cannot trust my brain. about how i used sexual trauma as a content warning once but i still haven't talked to her about it. about how maybe all of my struggles are made-up. or petty. about how she'll see me as either a victim or a monster. or just ordinary. i don't know which one i would hate the most. fuck.
18:23
there are cars outside. and i can't not think of the rest of the world. of the part i play in it. and maybe that's why i don't like talking to her about my trauma, if it is trauma indeed. because there are more important things to worry about. but then why am i here. in this white white room. why can i only think about putting my seatbelt on when it's the best thing i can do to help someone else. why do i not care if im alive except for that nobody would talk to my best friend about gender as much. and nobody would tell the news to my family. and someone would have to volunteer their time in my place. but what about me. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck.
18:27
...maybe i'll just talk to her about crushing on a professor even though i have a terrible attention span. how that feels relatable and small enough to tackle and proof of my queerness. but also about how it feels wrong somehow. like i only like to think of my queerness as neatly packaged and pristine white and squeaky clean. like i could pack it all in a suitcase and have nothing spill over or rattle. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. i hate myself. fuck. fuck. fuck.
-cgi.
Comments
Post a Comment