Free Flying
Lots of prep work today. Part of it with food and things but mostly trying to make tomorrow not be a time I’d great stress and seperateness. Did okay, but never got below about 7 on the twitch and distract and panic scale.
Did get lots of chores done though. And I helped you cry even though you thought you didn’t want to and then that it wouldn’t happen. But we got there, and I think it was worth the effort and discomfort. What you want isn’t to avoid pain, it’s just to have enough control that you can stop it when you need to.
Had lots of robot thinks, and spent a couple hours coding tonight after Shanda was asleep. Got maybe 1/3 of a new framework stubbed in. I’m starting with the servo but I’ve got the edge of a whole new plan to make config and debug a lot eaiser on a global basis.
Talked to @Yana about parts of their work, and about what wiring from them might look like, particularly in the form of an artist’s statement. They still aren’t quite up for a prompt but they are listening when I suggest ideas, which is a good start.
I had some thinks on where the physical bits of my sexual abuse worked. I’ve got a plausible story in my head now, about at least part of it. I can imagine it as part of the escalating violence that eventually became Mother’s suicide/murder experiments. I think it’s also part of what taught me to be able to dissociate when I needed to silently or without moving do a thing that would otherwise make me twitch or scream. I’ll see about making it a story this coming week.
I poked my therapist about survival dependency. We have not yet come to a new understanding, but it went better than I expected. We at least got to skip past some of the codependency discussion that was a barrier in the past. I noticed one of the places I build resentment is reassurances that dismiss my historical responsibility as some sort of misunderstanding. It would have been great to live a life where I was not responsible for parenting as a 10-year-old, but I didn’t live that life and I’m not reassured by knowing that you think living mine was wrong.
I had to flee from the Kids to escape Mother. At the time I couldn’t think of them. I always hoped that someday they would also flee and we could meet again on the outside. But they never made it out. I didn’t know how to make my way work for them, and I couldn’t find another way that I could actually make go. Eventually I gave up. They’re still stuck today, in at least part of what I fled, and I still don’t feel safe enough to offer them any real help. I’m still ashamed to have run away, and doubly so to have gotten used to it.
ZiB
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Sent from a phone.
