Technicolor Kittens

I was just thinking about coping mechanisms. I don’t have good coping mechanisms. They developed in necessity and fear and therefore lack basic things like logic. I default back to them as needed. They aren’t necessarily healthy or even remotely useful. They have just always been there.

When I was a kid, it was picturing a field full of flowers and kittens. It looks a lot like the Wizard of Oz poppy field but with fluffy, fluffy kittens. All in technicolor. I still to this day go there. I went there the night of the videos. I was screaming at myself in my head “remember the kittens in the field! You won’t feel it if you go to the field! Go!” That is how I logically disassociate.

Then there are the numbers. I recite phone numbers and birthdates and social security numbers and credit card number. Funny story on that Brian 1 took my card away at one point so I couldn’t spend money and I knew my card number and could still shop on line. But that s just an anxiety trick to make me think about something else.

Then there are the bad coping habits. The one I always go to historically is indiscriminate sex. Just anyone so I’m not alone. That’s been the hardest part of the last year. I lost all my fuck buddies. {D} and {S} and {R} were who I talked to when I was lonely. That is who I would go see. Or I would locate some online randoms whose names I didn’t even care to get and couldn’t give half a fuck about them. They were a distraction. It was a way to fill time so I didn’t have to think about the real issues.

See what pisses me the fuck off is I can logically see what I am doing and the corrosive effect on me emotionally, but I can’t figure out a better way to handle it. I’ve tried taking up hobbies and doing other things, but sex and drugs seem to be my go tos for everything. Dopamine hit I guess. But it’s more just not wanting to be alone and wanting the next day to start.

When I got my diagnosis, I had a really bad night. I didn’t want to do drugs, so I couldn’t call {R}. I knew I had to handle it without drugs so, that was a good thing on my part. Then I tried {S} and sent the most pathetic text. Something along the lines of “I just found out I’m dying as slow painful death and need somewhere to go. I’ll have sex with you or suck your dick or whatever and I promise I won’t talk about it or cry. I just can’t be alone right now.” {S} didn’t even respond to say no. He just ignored me. I thought about calling {D} but I remember this clearly the thought was “{D} wouldn’t give a fuck” He told me later he would have stayed up all night talking to me. I don’t believe that was in any way true.

I got through that night alone. I just kept telling myself the sun will rise and it will be tomorrow. Just remember the sun will rise. I’ve been desperately waiting for the sun to rise just to get through the night every night since then.

I remember the first time I had neurological symptoms around {D}. He said I was convulsing in my sleep and I said “yeah, I do that.” He was freaked out by it. He told me I needed a younger boyfriend who would be able to take care of me when I got older/sicker. I was so angry at him for saying that.

People say “you have to love yourself first” like it’s some kind of magic spell. But how do you love something that’s been patchworked together with trauma, bubble gum, and store brand duct tape? How do you sit with yourself in silence when silence is exactly where all the monsters live?

Sometimes I think if someone just hugged me long enough, I might finally stop shaking. But that kind of touch doesn’t exist for people like me. I don’t get the safe hugs or the gentle nights or the warm bodies who stay. I get the fleeting ones. The transactional ones. The ones that leave faster than they came. And the worst part? I let them. Because letting someone in feels more terrifying than being abandoned again. At least if you’re alone, no one gets to leave.

To wrap this up because I’m crying now and about to text {S} who won’t respond and I’ll cry about it because I do shit I know the outcome of hoping it will somehow have a different outcome when it is always the same. That’s the definition of insanity. Welcome to my world.