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Dead dad dream + general update of sorts
Apr. 26th, 2019 11:51 am( Dead dad dream. )
* * *
During the move I was too busy to be online; after the move I was too exhausted to be online. Now I have about ~5 hours a day of alone time to kill, given my sleep schedule and Devon's work schedule. I'm alternating between productive days of unpacking and/or library visits, and unproductive days where I just want to stare at Overwatch or YouTube and stop existing for a while. (It's funny that "reading a lot" pings as healthy while "staring at screens a lot" pings as unhealthy despite that both are escapism.) There's no particular anxiety to be escaping except an encroaching, existential dread:
I'm supposed to be okay, now! The external stressors are largely gone; all that's left with me. But I'm a mess of brain chemistry and unresolved trauma from the last two years/five years of Cancer Family and 15/34 years of living with a bad brain—so if all that's left to cope with is me, then that's still a lot. It will be hard and may not be successful, and it'll probably begin naturally now that I'm safe enough to process it.
Terrifying.
Sitting down at the computer to write can't be easily categorized as either healthy or unhealthy. It seems to hover between: it's not engaging with the world/apartment, but it's not escapism; it's engaging with myself. ...And also socially, so at some point I'll need to find a balance of "being involved with the physical world but also maybe interacting with people there," except that during and since the move I've been seeing a lot more of Devon's friend circle, including meeting partners-of-friends who had only heard of me as an alleged partner-of-Devon, so that need is mostly fulfilled and the thought of more is exhausting.
I do really like it here, though. I wish the act of finishing the entire space were less overwhelming and didn't involve furniture—I wish it were done. But place itself, and that we have it for a while, is good.
* * *
During the move I was too busy to be online; after the move I was too exhausted to be online. Now I have about ~5 hours a day of alone time to kill, given my sleep schedule and Devon's work schedule. I'm alternating between productive days of unpacking and/or library visits, and unproductive days where I just want to stare at Overwatch or YouTube and stop existing for a while. (It's funny that "reading a lot" pings as healthy while "staring at screens a lot" pings as unhealthy despite that both are escapism.) There's no particular anxiety to be escaping except an encroaching, existential dread:
I'm supposed to be okay, now! The external stressors are largely gone; all that's left with me. But I'm a mess of brain chemistry and unresolved trauma from the last two years/five years of Cancer Family and 15/34 years of living with a bad brain—so if all that's left to cope with is me, then that's still a lot. It will be hard and may not be successful, and it'll probably begin naturally now that I'm safe enough to process it.
Terrifying.
Sitting down at the computer to write can't be easily categorized as either healthy or unhealthy. It seems to hover between: it's not engaging with the world/apartment, but it's not escapism; it's engaging with myself. ...And also socially, so at some point I'll need to find a balance of "being involved with the physical world but also maybe interacting with people there," except that during and since the move I've been seeing a lot more of Devon's friend circle, including meeting partners-of-friends who had only heard of me as an alleged partner-of-Devon, so that need is mostly fulfilled and the thought of more is exhausting.
I do really like it here, though. I wish the act of finishing the entire space were less overwhelming and didn't involve furniture—I wish it were done. But place itself, and that we have it for a while, is good.
