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prying off the blinders
err, (i think) i (finally) figured out why i'm so debilitatingly fucked up. "figured out" is a bad way of describing it, because i've had inclinations for the longest time, but last night, with assistance of several marijuanas, i think i had a classic "ah ha!" moment. like i made a connection i had previously been unable to articulate. recognizing it as a potential breakthrough, i had the wherewithal to open a note keeping app and jot that shit down. here's what i came up with..
**Holy fuck, obviously. I'm miserable all the time because of how I was socialized. Socialized to be hyper cognizant of medical procedures, check ups for everything, keep an eye on this and that, avoid this. But mostly the hundreds of doctor's appointments. And why? This is where it gets uncomfortable. Because when I was born a disabled baby, my parent's felt guilt. Guilty that they created an imperfect thing (or guilty they afflicted their first born with this terrible, incurable condition. Even though they actually had no control over any of it, it was a one off fucking genetic mutation.) That's what all the doctor's appointments are about, it affected them so profoundly that they felt they needed to be EXTRA CAUTIOUS so as to avoid a future calamity, or to prevent things for getting worse for me medically? Maybe. The point is that the thing that I am is wrong. Medically not right. This is the message I am always given, not intentionally, not trying to stunt me psychologically for the rest of my life intentionally, but that's been the takeaway. But virtue of subjecting me to the countless medical things, I felt - I feel - broken and in need of fixing. Those hypodermic needle myelin sheath injections. I can still remember details. It felt strange to me as an 8-9 year old, that a nurse would come into our house and give me these off market injections, into my bare ass, in my parent's bedroom. They hurt like hell, I had to sit on pillows for days after. I was terrified, screaming. My dad had to hold me to the bed so the nurse could do the procedure. And then there was the allergic reaction I had, resulting in giant body hives, a panicked mother and having to get a shot of adrenaline. That must have had a more traumatizing effect than i realized. I usually just gloss over these memories and haven't considered the connections between shit like this and how I feel now. I feel like an idiot for not realizing this sooner, but it makes sense imo. I mean, I've had an inclination of something like this but..
My parents did what they thought was best and I know they wanted and want what's best for me, but in trying to do the best for me physically, they didn't realize what was happening to me mentally. And I didn't realize it either, obviously. **
This is huge. Also, extremely reductionary and only half or part of my story (?) (see: divorce), but um yeah. Things to talk about with Monique.
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