chaos

on

I want to escape from my thoughts into reading,

but I’m also already stressing out about the fact that I only brought 4 books with me to last me 2 weeks, none of them of the same series, and I’ve already almost finished one of them on the day 0 (on the plane).

And this is not a country where I could just go online and get the books I want delivered next day. They don’t even have Amazon here…

I also, apparently, choose stressing out and suffering without the books I want, to just buing them on my kindle. I just can’t make myself do it, even though I could just buy all the books of the series I want to continue reading right now, and it would be like 3 times cheaper than waiting before I return to Japan and order paper copies. This is so irrational I kind of want to smack myself, but feel like it still wouldn’t help.

on

I can’t really be surprised by all the hate, when everyday I see the ‘majority’ of people being excited about and loving things filled with meaningless violence, gore, and hurt… (I’m not saying games/books/movies make people violent, I’m simply saying that perhaps when most of your acquaintances saying they are ‘in love with them’, it’s sort of a big fat warning sign… when you see them not question themselves why they enjoy watching violent and abusive things done to other beings.) But damn, sometimes it’s just hard to want to live in this world when you get your head out of the sand and look around once in a while. Personally, I had to learn 5 languages and travel to the other side of the globe, just to be able to see ‘more’ at all times, to see as many good sides as I can too. But damn. It’s hard. All this nasty stuff about humanity… is all too hard to unsee.

on

I have only 2 days left until my vacation.

And I thought I was fine. I thought I had a scheldule, a plan of things to not forget to do before I leave. I had an image of how to get through this week.

Now I have only 2 days left and out of nowhere I’m having humans-related groundless anxiety attacks multiple times a day, and don’t know how to survive these 2 days without going mad.

And I’m forgetting all the things I had to remember to do, and only grit my teeth praying for the time to pasd quicker and release me.

on

People keep telling me how they would never have guessed there’s something ‘not right’ with me, because to them I seem spirited, cheerful, laughing a lot…
What I can’t really explain to them that laughing is my coping mechanism numero uno. That I was brought up in an environment where showing weakness meant pain and humiliation, and that I am known for walking around normally and smiling, with an injured knee and an intestinal obstruction at the same time (after I was laying down on the floor in bathroom 5 mins ago). That my ‘problems’ and chronic stress don’t mean that I am going act all weird when talking to people. In fact, as for many females with ASD, it means exactly the opposite. It means that my body will use every ounce of energy I can squeeze out of myself to appear as normal as I can, and that I likely will talk to them with no memorable for them problems, but then when I leave, or come home, I will feel like my mind is full of acid and will try to hurl it out, even though it is not in my stomach. I will obsessively and uncontrollably replay every second of every conversation in my head over and over, thinking of all things I shouldn’t have said, should’ve said but didn’t, could’ve said differently… and stressing out about every word. Until I can’t sleep. Until I crawl up the walls and want to dig my eyes out. And how I can’t control it, how the only way I can survive it right now is to hide it so deep inside I won’t be able to act on any of my impulses, which means stopping moving at all. And how it prevents me from doing anything else I should or want to be doing, because I have to spend hours sitting in one place waiting for a storm to pass more than half of days I had to go outside. 

on

One of my worst ‘diggin’ your own grave’ writing habits is the one where when I need to write something now, I write it in a hundred different places and then just forget about it. 
I remember reading Joan Didion saying that she was the type to carry a notebook for these purposes, while her husband carried writing cards. 
I have a notebook. I have a notebook for writing and then I have a schedule book where I also end up writing ‘writing things’ when the other one is not right under my hand. And then there’s a notebook that was supposed to be only for work things. And then I also write on the backs of old work documents, napkins and random scraps of papers. 
What’s worse, is that even if I have a computer under my hands, I can’t be logical and consistent about it, and write in a various places in Scrivener, Ommwriter, typwrittr, something else… and then save it on a dozen of tiny documents I forget exist. And it’s not like I’m doing it on purpose. I’m a child of chaos and when I need to write something I have no time to think about it. And afterwords I either deflate or need to run to do something else.

Why am I complaining about this now? That’s because the worst part about this is when I vaguely remember writing some scene… and have absolutely no friggin idea where did I actually write… And I need it.