I treated myself to an indulgently long shower after coming home from school, it's the sort of thing I never take the time to do.
Sitting down on the pale pink tiles and listening to the pitter patter of the water, I assess my body.
While squeezing my face towards my fleshy thighs I spy my privates. They are obscured by thick reddish hair. The carpet does match the rug. Since I am sitting on the drain, the water starts to pool. I am guilty of enjoying this view. That squishy area spied between soft, I dare say, feminine, legs and the slight curve of my stomach that overlaps the triangular wedge below. I want to stroke myself but don't.
Sometimes it's being naked and leisurely showering that always ignites lust in me. I do like my body, even if degrade myself in a true Aussie fashion, I like my body.
I know the pain of wishing to be unrealistically skinny. Somehow I was dumb enough as a 16 year old to diet so well, my hair thinned and my period stopped. I did not purge, I simply refused to eat anything other than poached eggs and lettuce for maybe a month and lazed about the house. It was simply because I was this foolish (un-diagnosed autistic) maiden who didn't understand a dedication to dieting can go too far. It was pure malnourishment.
Oh, the anguish I caused my mom. My mum. My mum and mom, because I am an American born but Australian raised. I will never get over my poor passed away mum.
This 'anorexic' ordeal made me acquire stretch marks on my thighs as I returned to a normal weight. I am not ashamed of these tiny silvery strips because it is my history, like all scars.
I feel bad for people who are unhappy with their weight, because it is just a fact that some people will never have the genetic makeup to obtain skinniness. I accepted I have a sturdy body and can be as deliciously fit as possible. Who doesn't like em a bit thicc. My happy body isn't someone else's body. There's something about just sitting in the shower, and having to accept your form for all its simple sensualities. The water accumulates and forms a little personal swimming pool. I want to sit here longer, but my dad will get mad at me since it uses rainwater.
You know, putting on large baggy t-shirts and pajamas at the end of the day doesn't evoke the most erotic feelings. The feeling never hits when it needs to. Zzz.
The water in the shower begins to rise like a little tropical oasis. I wish I could live in it without going pruny. I had an excruciating day, I can't control my frustration and discomfort. Somehow angst and frustration will attack me throughout the day. Part of it due to the fact I didn't exercise or shower, a massive component in me getting upset. These irritations are triggered by sudden thoughts that penetrate my brain over and over...
'Do you have an autism diagnosis yet?'
So innocuous, but this question is very triggering for me. I wanted one last year but was hit by psychosis and had to bail. It was scheduled for mere days after I was barely out of hospital! No way! At that time I thought that meant autism was a lie for me. I realise now it isn't. I put it aside for awhile while I learnt to heal from psychosis. It was also a nightmare embarrassing myself with all the comparisons I made between autism, gay and even trans at the time.
I'll attempt to retell another anecdote so new readers can understand how weird my mania was. I posted non-stop nonsense to Instagram and Facebook that was around the themes of 'autistic and gay' one of them being...
This was paired with me sharing a clip of the extra stage boss battle against Yukai Yakumo as seen above. She is a character in the bullet hell game series Touhou Project, she appears in Perfect Cherry Blossom. She is a character I do think is mystically beautiful and is one of my favourites from Touhou, in a platonic girl crush sort of way.
The manic mind makes connections, amazing crazy connections. It's the origin of all conspiracy theories. It isn't too far fetched to think Touhou is a very autistic friendly game, as an old FB friend had pointed out. Everyone unaware I was borderline psychotic and needed help.
The pleasant goofy mania was swiftly replaced by blackout-psychotic-terror.
As I said in a recent post, there was such pathetic sadness from me relating to Derpy Hooves and imagining that maybe 'lesbianism hit me late'. What I want to convey is, there was such darkness about imagining 'true sexuality' hitting me late. I think nothing is worse than to imagine you have been 'unawakened' in such a fundamental way, something everyone else has. I remember crying as if something had been stolen from me.
All my fantasies stemmed from just missing my mom. I thought Griffith's fluffy Jesus like atmosphere predicted my mums death since they both vaguely ended up with similar hair. Same with Koishi Komeiji, the subconscious free spirited grey-haired love. The deepest love possible I was feeling when manic.
No. My love wasn't a sexual love. My poor broken brain.
I do not want to evoke the idea that I have submerged gay fantasies. People told me 'no shame!'. To put it more bluntly, sorry I'm 'super straight' and don't want more Freudian horror making me think my deepest desires were lies. They aren't. I prefer dicks and cute moody brunettes (that maybe will let me dominate them, even though I haven't lived out that fantasy, in reality). Always have.
Of course, this was all a manic delusion. In my evil pulsing purple psychotic cage, I had imagined that my female body wasn't ever made for penetration. I felt my body shapeshift...and.....
Ok well it wasn't all that dark. It fluctuated every few hours from the darkest darks to the most ecstatic holy highs. I made Berserk 'nightcore' while in the ward and only really shared it with friends. It's more than a bit blasphemous to speed up the most poignantly melancholic anime OST tracks of all time.
I made this junk while purely insane, so batshit out of it. You may not be able to tell that this was created during my dark nightcore of the soul.Uploaded from my separate shitpost account.
I have accepted that nobody wants to hear about the glistening fantastical vision I had, not until I become a world class writer! Both Touhou and Berserk were the products of whittling down all art across humanity up until now. They passed down knowledge of human enslavement because most people live in a spiritual dulled 'matrix'. There were higher and lower planes of existence to reach. Contained within fine art are the codes to guide us towards enlightenment, because I was becoming a flowery smelling, skinny, prancing noodly too-hoo. All others could join in due time.
Also forces...that is all folks.
My lore is worth writing a book about anyways. I think I have time. Nobody can steal this from me. If you do steal, I have proof it's all on my blog dingus. Also, people should read from sufferers, not posers that think this is a sci-fi idea.
Oh, my world was so eternally vibrant. Oh, I will never express it coherently and thus such a spiritual experience will sink into the sands of time. Locked up secrets trapped behind wordless mumbling mute mouths of the less fortunate. Ironically given my diagnosis, my dads girlfriend has siblings who suffer from schizophrenia. I don't want them to find my blog but, she cries a lot. As expected. Psychosis robs people of their precious brains and therefore robs people of their soul.
I'm not gonna hold back from sharing a picture, one of few, I took when in the ward. My self confidence was through the roof before the mania began to fade. Behind me a man makes milo morosely by sloppily stirring a spoon. The milo. Drug addicts and bipolars alike flocked to heaped masses of choccy-sugar in milk, in order to fight withdrawals and boredom.
Personally I can't stand anyone who doesn't know deep loneliness, sadness, rage and other emotions not easily defined in English. It is a walking-in-the-night-staring-at-the-moon-after-losing-everything-Guts-knows-this sort of loneliness, aka. something most stupid humans cannot and refuse to try to understand.
Apparently high-functioning autistics feel a profound loneliness because they (not we, because I don't count officially dur) are aware they struggle with friendships but long for connection. Like my (Aspergers in denial) dad says, 'Vela, sorry to break it to you, but most people just aren't very smart.'
The only reason I'm rethinking being autistic is I want to just feel ok for my sensitivity and outbursts. I know I don't need NDIS. My maturity has been slowly realising that some people genuinely don't mean to be rude, whether they are on spectrum like me or not. I think empathy can be learnt. It's hard, but putting aside your pride is the first step. Well if people do give ya crap, fuck em.
Yet when I have to stop and sit with my naked form for a bit, that warm eroticism is rekindled down there. Something reminding me to feel outside of my mind for a while. I don't mull over the zits dotting my back caused by bipolar meds. I just feel a happiness that I have this body that feels things. It is nice, white, pink, freckled, strong and youngish.
All those years ago, my mum was devastated I could be upset with my body. She blamed herself. I idealistically and foolishly thought I should be skinny 'like an anime girl' and genuinely pursued dieting simply with that motive. My mom from then on out, made sure I was eating. Told me I was beautiful the way I was. I gradually began to realise I did like myself.
I know I fucking wasn't born with it. I was born simply with a predisposition.
Grief and trauma did this. The brain is so sensitive and it could happen to many people if they were exposed to similar horror. After exposure to evil, these memories get shoved into the far corners of our mind. Blacker than this blogs background. It took a few months for this to kick in within me. It is both Freudian and Jungian. The psychotic mind is concerned with ultimate primal instincts joyfully seeking masturbation and violence. It comes from the subconscious.
I am not going to stop talking about it anytime soon. This has inspired me for life, that is a statement that got my therapist scribbling. I am not ashamed. This disorder is the mark loss has left on me. It is a symbol that I am a highly sensitive person and somehow so in tune with suffering and emotions that my brain fried.
If nobody wants to hire me for that well, they can come crawling back when I'm a famous writer and game dev and make products around extreme mental health. Real mental health. To really give victims the respect they deserve. Until then guess I better stay strong and make a difference in whatever way I can.
I want to do things doctors will never do, like listen to nightcore. Goodnight.