u/Jaded_Expert_6740

Our lives were intertwined, and to me it might as well be that they are. I live in half an illusion.

I wonder whether you wanted me to do unto you as you had done unto me- that famous gold rule.
I wonder whether you wanted me to treat you the way you treated me, but I am the silent meek type. I am not so forward as you.
I know I left my tab unpaid, it is the only tab I have ever left with such a due.
I am reminded of how It became, miraculously, no longer a question of what I really owed you and what you really owed me and more a question of what you wanted.
In the future the promise will not be insidious. In the future I will try my best to get back to you.

In the meantime I will wrestle with God, and you will wrestle with your self.
They are not so different things in truth.

A voice came into my head 4:52 PM to comment on something I was thinking, I was thinking that sometimes I’ve gotten flashes in my mind of the future. They commented “no that’s just because you’re good at predicting”. So perhaps i was not receiving precognitive information but rather my own predictions of the future. Before that I noticed a thought insertion about the time I visited our tiler to pay him back for the tiling he did in one of the houses.

That last part was mostly just for me. I like to try to record every instance of these voices.

There is a destructive capacity in me. I want others to be just as destroyed as I was when tragedy hits.
Like in the death of someone dear, I don’t want them to move on and find purpose because I didn’t, I want them to be stuck as well. This is what we call the “shadow” in Jungian psychology.
Just because I have this stray desire doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it. In fact I won’t no matter how powerfully it might manifest itself in me. It means I’m going to hold it tenderly and recognize it. By doing this I can honor it. After I’ve honored its place and story in my life I can move past it. That doesn’t mean the feeling or urge will never reoccur- it will, it just means that it will be up to me whether I allow it to affect others.

I work with two orphanages based out of Uganda, only one of the orphanages has been registered with the government, the other one is informal and being “run” by one homeless 19 year old out of an abandoned house.
Seeing all these videos of the little children makes me wish so badly I could be there with them to take care of them and be a mother to them.
If I were to do that in any permanent lasting sense I would have to learn the local language which would be a new journey but they can also speak English so it wouldn’t be that hard.
I would be trilingual if I were to live with them. Haha.
I don’t know anything about living in Uganda so I’m not going to try but I may go and visit them someday.

My siblings have a harsh sense of humor. It does not abide well with my sensitivities.

It’s probably something they inherited or learned from our father. My father will regularly laugh at others’ expense and in my opinion does not do a good job of hiding it. It’s something that is understandable but unjustified, and a way to make oneself totally undesirable to the finer things in life.
To finer loves for example, to finer feelings. There is a reason why my dad and my mom are a good pair and it’s not because of any soft or genteel thing about them. (yes I did just use “genteel” in a sentence). In vedic astrology we would say that my disposition towards others and this kind of “sensitivity” is the symptom of an exalted or well placed venus. But that’s besides the point.
My father and mother are not very empathetic - though my mother is towards us her children. They are more on the slightly selfish side of things and definitely not the types to worry excessively about what others might think like I do. They are also less self-aware… or concerned about how they come off to others. My dad I think moreso than my mom, though it’s a tight competition.
It is true however that my mother will engage in small donations, as will my dad, when prompted to. If we’re in a grocery store and we’re checking out and the little message board says that we could donate 1$ to the Eye Fund or something they will more likely donate. They also tip servers, but in my opinion not enough.

I had a dream about being on a ship today. It was a cruise ship. Hopefully we get to go on a cruise soon. The last time we went was over a decade ago.

I am becoming so heretical to whatever faith I have the more I am becoming involved with it. I had an argument with my mother this morning about attending the church that I’ve been going to these past few weeks. She doesn’t know I’ve been attending it regularly this past month and attending meetings outside Sunday church service. I have friends there which is rare for me, I do not normally befriend others at the churches I go to. She keeps telling me that if I don’t get baptized they’re going to cry. Well maybe I will get baptized then, I don’t mind. I am already in a relationship with God, this baptism will be more symbolic of my willingness to make them believe the truth than anything else. I am truly a conformist in the nicest way… while I design vaguely occult tapestries and use my tarot cards to determine whether I should get baptized or not… It is extremely heretical. I don’t mind.

I am like the second rainbow in Alexander’s Band. I am not the first. I am the one that comes after, reflecting the first light, and mirroring it to the best of my ability.

“The raindrops cannot send the necessary light to our eyes to see color; therefore, the sky appears dark because little illumination is reaching our retinas.”

“you are a copy” says a voice.
“you are a shadow”

My mom picked me up from the house I’m dogsitting at and she asked me after a little while of my silence if I was ok. She said I was pensive.
I’m normally “pensive” or “in my thoughts”. She just doesn’t notice, or if she does she jokes about it being because I’m thinking about the “immortality of the fly”.
Which to me does not seem very funny at all.
It is true however in the sense of a sort of “small mindedness”. “You are not small minded” says a voice.
It is in the sense that my mind is not often on things that are outside of myself.

Well, I guess God is not outside of me either (or anyone or anything else for that matter), so it would be true in that sense as well.
My world is ever so interesting to me.

It may be that she noticed because of my extended absence. I have been dogsitting for a week. I have rarely been home.
I find typically when I go away for a while people somehow realize how much they miss me.

Anyways, it’s late. Goodnight.

My brother and my mother are arguing about him having to stay for the entire duration of my mom’s graduation.

It’s going to take place in the most beautiful place on campus- a room dedicated entirely to stained glass, stained glass depicting the entire course of human history from the creation of the universe to now. Reductively of course… the entirety of human history is a bit much to portray accurately in one room, even two-storied. As we’re driving now I look outside and I see the beautiful snow capped mountains framed in the foreground by the green mountains nearest to me, their hills gilded by the sunlight now obscured behind a cumulonimbus cloud. The background frames it with another cotton candy cloud of the same type. My imagination of it might be a painting it more colorful than its reality, but it’s a beautiful sight to behold. These mountains closest to me, resembling more massive hills than “mountains” hold the river close to them. They carry streaks of green part of the way up, but the rest of the way are covered in brown. Pine trees are abundant here, and serve as a little army of green serving vigil to the local wildlife activity. I realize suddenly that I don’t think I’ve ever seen birds around here even though I’ve heard reports of eagles. A little down the road though I guess I have.

There was an interaction between me and my cousins, the ones with the controlling father.

I remember their home as being full of discontent and disagreement when I stayed there. There was this bad energy around the house and I think it revolved around their father, but it could’ve been both of their parents. There was this sarcastic, biting, critical undertone to everything. I was never really at the brunt of it because I was quiet, but that didn’t mean I didn’t suffer the victim at times.

I just remember the interaction with them recently, when they were visiting a religious university near me. They seemed to be willing to be long suffering and patient with me which was a welcome change from the last time I’d seen them. I’m grateful that they noticed my graciousness I guess, from the last time. I was quiet and did not bother them like my brother did, and like our cousin’s daughter did, we were playing a game then and it was not a game I was familiar with, so I needed them to explain multiple times. I tend to magnify things that I don’t understand- if the rest of the instructions make sense to me but one part does not I might as well have not understood them at all. It is kind of autistic of me I think, and I’m not using that term derogatorily. I’m fond of autistic people actually, moreso than other neurotypical people. I love the specificities of their hyper fixations and their intelligence (or perhaps it is perceived intelligence). Not that they can’t be intelligent, but hyperspecific capacities to perform at a high levels do not necessarily translate across the board, even if it always leads me to believe so.

To expand on an earlier point- it is true that I don’t really struggle with patience- at least not compared to my father, who has ADHD and struggles with impulsiveness. I wonder if something in the meat he eats aggravates the ADHD. Probably not.

At times it has felt that I have an infinite amount of patience, at other times it has not. It is true that I will get impatient- or get tired of waiting for something… but that does not mean I will actually act out. That’s the key I think, is not acting out.

People as ever, everywhere are obsessed with love, finding “the one”, having lost “the one”, needing to regain “the one” etc. etc. I see it all over my feed, and yet it’s such an unfamiliar sensation to me. Love has always been terrifying, because I might get hurt. But… also not, not in quite the way you might think that is. Love has seemed to me like someone beckoning danger, not something alluring with a shadow close behind, but something outwardly and immediately horrifying. Romantic love anyways has been paired with an image for me of immediate danger. Platonic love not so much, but the potential of it becoming something “more” has, again, been terrifying.

There was someone in my life who managed to cross that bridge- not by walking or stepping lightly like any normal person but by of all things floating across it. Perhaps that was because the bridge was in grave disrepair, and was left to dangle across a great chasm.

Whatever was left of that bridge however burned when it happened and it’s been years since I spoke to him.

When it happened I’d blocked him out of my mind, I literally could not dwell on my memories of him. I’d started the process of generalizing everything that had happened, turning it all into one big blur. I was forgetting and I knew it. It’s something a traumatized mind can do, is block out memories of others. I only recently in the past year started remembering him, kind of out of this feeling that it wouldn’t be too bad. I was so confident.

It started becoming annoying and a little uncontrollable, I had to make my peace and then re-make my peace with thinking of him many times. He became a staple of my long drives.

I don’t really mind it as much as I could, I’m used to loving from afar.

I innocently believed that he wouldn’t be able to do anything with the information I’d given him about myself- and I was gravely mistaken.

I think I’ll talk about him another time.

This entry is a combination of an older one I never got to post with something I wrote yesterday.

I think about my brother, who will truly be the most affected person after I leave, if I do, when I do. Not to worry though, it will probably be in decades from now after my parents pass.

I’m not a stranger to the fantasy of death, it’s been years now and I’ve forgotten what life was like when it was not underlined by this overarching idea of misery. To me death is a beautiful lady with a skull mask, fractured in her appearance. Her face moves in two halves as if behind fractured glass, one that magnifies one half at about 25% more, the other at 0%. This image of death as appearing fractured indicates something illusionary about her in my mind’s eye. She is female because I have a sense of familiarity with women, whereas if she were male it would indicate some sort of distance or fear.

this is because I’ve had a troubled history with the idea of men, whereas I am more confident and comfortable with women.

I don’t know why but “women” reminds me of an instance when I was in a bridal boutique in about 7th grade. I still remember the general layout of the store. I was supposed to pick a dress for this event I don’t remember what it was called but me and everyone in my class were supposed to attend. It was in that boutique that I actually managed to find a dress I very much liked (I was and still am very particular about the color and decor of my “fancy” clothing). It was this deep violet purple that had a matching violet short jacket over the top of it and a jewel at the waistband. I would wear it today if I could.

I think the trick was the simplicity of it, if the dresses in there had been more elaborate I would’ve taken ages to decide or not have decided at all. The jewel was perfect- the little intricate framing of it also perfect, the color of the dress was perfect, so was the lace on the shoulder jacket. I am a sucker for lace. Anything that involves tiny intricacies, a lot of time and care and artistic direction to produce impresses me quickly. Maybe the memory came up to remind me that not all life has been bad, some things have seemed tailor made for me, but those moments are rare.