the men in my life are literal trash
i stopped by work to use the bathroom and get a drink and ended up sitting next to him for over an hour without speaking or looking at each other. a regular - drunk - leaned over and said “ryan’s my friend.” and i said, brightly, good! and laughed, not unkindly. and then he looked uncomfortable and said “is it true?” and I said “is what true?” and he said “i - was he? was he… bad? i’m sorry. nevermind.”
this is a nothing moment but i wanted to note it
today i told my therapist that the smell of Pall Malls makes me horribly, involuntarily anxious and i said “i know that’s stupid”
and she said “that’s not stupid that’s a trauma response”
What happens to your past if you don’t allow yourself to feel it when it happened? If you don’t have your experiences in the moment, if you gloss them over with jokes or zoom past them, you end up with curiously dispassionate memories. Procedural and depopulated. It’s as if a neutron bomb went off and all you’re left with are hospital corridors, where you’re scanning the walls for familiar photographs.
Sometimes in the absence of emotion, your only recourse is to surround yourself with objects; assemble the relics about you. Wagner was wrong when he said, “Joy is not in things, it is in us.” One can find joy in things, but it is a particular kind of joy - the joy of corroboration… For the moment, this physical evidence will have to serve as proof that all that has happened was real, because even now I only half believe what I am telling you.
i see a hostile work environment is being created in my absence
[tw abuse or if not that than at least bodies with bruises. idk]
sometimes i think i’m crazy and a liar but then i’m reminded that i’m not. and i am really, really grateful for this blog as an archive and a living memory and a space for keeping things, even when they seem stupid or uselessly repetitive or shameful. i had deleted that picture from my computer and phone because i was embarrassed for taking it, and then for having it, and so it would not exist anymore if i hadn’t thrown it up here, for whatever reason, and then forgotten about it until now. i am glad i have it even if i still look at it and convince myself that it wasn’t that bad, those marks are small, and could have been from anything.
that aside i had a sweet night, i had never taken acid before and i was appropriately nervous because i assume the worst will happen, but it was good. the ex-kitchen manager tried to kiss me - of course he did - and when i shied away he leaned back immediately and laughed and said “aw, shit. sorry!” then we hung out for a few more hours and smoked and talked and then he drove me home.
this the same ex-kitchen manager from this incident, by the way, it came up again - because of course it did, because i will never, ever get away - and he said “i couldn’t tell you exactly what he said, because i was drunk too, you know, but it was almost scary - i don’t want to say scary, no, but,” and he stopped and frowned, “i don’t know.”
tonight i took a bunch of acid with an ex-kitchen manager from work
nothing like telling your friend that a dude is a rapist and watching their response be, literally, “then why isn’t he in jail?” and then ”still like his music though”
the hostess was chatting with one of the cooks about representations of satan in Christianity and then she glanced up at the door and said “oh, speaking of the fucking devil - hi, Ryan!”