I can’t cope right now, I need to get this out of my system or something.
It’s probably really stupid, and trivial, but I’m so overwhelmed with emotion right now. I gotta write this or I’ll end up punching a hole in the wall or my own face, or something.
Living back at my parents house means all my stuff is packed up in boxes and bags. I have my pc, I have my clothes, and my makeup. That’s it. My models, my artwork, my life basically is all packed up. The stuff that’s been packed away has been taken to a storage shed my dad rents. I don’t trust it. I don’t trust that my dad and brother have put my stuff away carefully (and this is totally understandable because they give no shits about anything that doesn’t belong to them, and they have literally done this before with mine AND my moms stuff). I don’t trust that the shed is watertight. I don’t trust it.
I’m having strong visions, like hallucinations, of my stuff being destroyed. It’s not just my imagination, its so fucking strong. Seeing my life slowly decay is torture. Yeah OK it may just be stuff, but its MY stuff. It’s MY identity. It’s not stuff that I’ve just picked up from being influenced by anyone else. It’s actually all my TRUE SELF. Something that Borderlines don’t often truly have. My books, my teddies, some of my clothes. I can see them growing mold and turning green, getting damp and falling apart. I’m having visions of the Mandalorian helmet I made being crushed beneath something my dad just threw on top of it. I’m seeing the plastic boxes crushing under the weight of other boxes, and all my star wars models being destroyed. I’m seeing rats and mice getting in there and eating my stuff, and then shitting it back out all over itself.
Its not just stuff. It’s my stuff. It’s stuff I’ve carefully kept, and selected. It’s artwork I’ve spent time and effort on. I’m physically in pain from this overwhelming emotion of what I consider to be my happiness (yes I am materialistic as fuck, get over it), being taken away from me.
I can’t sleep. I’ve had to come downstairs to the living room, to write this, so my hysterical crying doesn’t wake up my family, especially my niece who I’m having to share a room with. They’re only kids, they don’t need to see their auntie rocking back and forth, snotty nosed, scratching at her skin in some failed attempt to calm down. My muscles are tense, and I can’t relax, it hurts. I was literally laid in the fetal position for a good 20 minutes trying to calm myself down, whispering to myself to make it stop. Making threats to slit someones throat open if my stuff does get ruined. Eyes open or closed I’m seeing these things, unable to picture anything else. I’m shaking, my pulse is racing. It’s not real, but it is. I don’t know what else I can write. This is just a distraction, and its wearing off.
I can’t do anything. All I can do is sit here and cry, knowing my stuff is going to be wrecked. I say that as a fact because it’s happened before. This isn’t a person abandoning me, this is everything I’ve worked for leaving me. Everything I’ve carefully selected to be a part of my life leaving me. Everything that brings a smile to my face when I look at it, touch it, smell it, make it… leaving me. This is a feeling of abandonment far worse than any person has ever made me feel.