humans

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when I miss dead people very much, I steal them and write them into my book
though secretly, so that hardly anyone but me can tell who they are
and yet, I then have them. And they live in my world.

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there are days when I’m amazed by the modern technology and the ways in which it helps human lives
and I like having my phone that helps me find any information I need wherever I am and many other useful functions
and I love how technology allows me to reach anywhere in the world, and learn
there are even days when I wish for some even more amazing things in our life (like a faster way to travel to the other side of the world)

and yet, most of the time I kinda wish I could still live in a world with no smartphones, computer games (says one working with game development and publishing) and many other things that feel like they distract us from things that should matter more

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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. 

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Opened utube window that was not logged into my account for once and showed me the ‘common’ front page.
And the first thing I saw was the ‘Let’s fry MacBook as tempura’ video with over a million views…
Why, human beings, why…

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I’m not a person with much attachment to the word of living myself.
And I know the sight and the smell of the abyss that can make you end your own life very suddenly,
without actually waiting for you to make such a decision. 
So I know, when it comes to it, the truth is there is no reasoning or rationale involved in the matter.
Sometimes it’s just a matter of a second that went wrong.

And yet it’s also like a hard slap to the face.
And stings like a bitch.
Seeing someone who you somehow thought to be so much stronger than you in this,
lose to the same thing they were helping (by their existence) you fight for more than half of your life.

A piece of soul was torn out. The world is shifting to find new balance. The view is changing.

I’ve been thinking about many things, even if I did not mean to be thinking.
About words that are so familiar, too familiar, they stir the terror of ‘do we really have no chance to fight this, if it took even him’ somewhere deep inside, which I try to promptly block off.
About families. Because the thought of those left behind paralyses me. And the understanding that even that might be not enough, makes me ask ‘is there anything that really is?’
About loneliness. Because we laugh when we ask for help, and those who listen laugh back, nod, and turn away. Because, the way we live now, even the closest people are distant, we all leave in our personal bubbles. And people recognise the cries for help only in retrospect, and fairy godmothers/fathers who’ll see what’s really going on in time hardly ever exist anywhere outside fiction. 
I’ve experienced it myself, even closest people promptly dismissing my signals for help to my face, and I saw that it was not because they did not care, but because they were too afraid to believe it’s true. Perhaps I acted in a similar way to someone else? We all want to believe the person next to us is okay, especially since then we wouldn’t need to stop something we are doing and invest ourselves in someone else.

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I might be guilty of stalking instagrams of people whose moments make me warm and fluffy when I’m feeling shitty days.
And by stalking I mean going years back and actually saving staff to my phone.

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I’m thinking about nature vs. intelligence in human beings
whether the ‘nature’ part in each human is a part of, connected to, the planet and life on it as a whole
and how humanity does receive signals from it, how to regulate and keep the balance,
but the intelligence and those parts of human minds that stand further from nature block those signals,
which leads to destruction of… pretty much everything. Individual humans and the world.

sunday thoughts… I guess?

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It would be a lie to imply that I do not feel envy
towards people so easily touching and being touched.
So easily welcoming each other
and being comfortable in each other’s light.
It would be a lie to say I do not wish 
I could try being a part of it too.
Yet, to say that I believe myself able,
would be an even bigger untruth.

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Please let me know if you have ant questions.

(No bee or spider questions, please)

Kind retards,
K

…. normal day at work.

Which reminds me, I also dreamt of killing roaches with freezing spray. 
It sucked.

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I don’t change my bags to match my shoes.
I don’t change them to match my outfit or weather.
I even rarely change them to match the occasion… unless it’s a very special one.

What I do match them to is the size of the book I need to carry.

… which really only matters enough to mention because my shoulders and neck are a mess, and I always wish I could carry a smaller and lighter bag, 
but can’t actually make myself carry a smaller book.

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You either care enough to do something about it. 
Or you don’t and you go on with with your own life. 
And, objectively speaking, there is always something you can do. 
If you get up and change your focus from yourself on to something else. 
And there are plenty of people who actually do. 
Who leave what they know and go out there to do anything they can to help.
With their own hands.
Lets not pretend that we care just as much as they do, 
when in fact our ‘caring’ doesn’t outweigh the desire to stick to our own comfort. 
I can cry watching the news, 
but I’m not going to lie to myself to make myself feel better, 
if all I’m going to do is look away and carry on.