this is just a list of the music i've been into lately.
thursday (that's just sort of been what i'm all about lately. the thing about thusday is that they make the exact type of music that really, really needed to reach me right now), doechii, slayyyter, the paradox (all black pop punk band. their tiny desk concert rules), circa survive, LS dunes, megan thee stallion, sade, slipknot, JT, leathermouth, the used, odetta (she has one of my favorite singing voices of all time), jimi hendrix, cortisa star, misfits. and mcr, which is sort of a constant. i'm seeing them in two weeks. isn't that fucked or what?

ARIPIPRAZOLE, who also goes by the name abilify, is an atypical antipsychotic used to treat people who have some sort of really specific thing going on. i'm starting it tomorrow, and i'm not entirely opposed to this, or opposed to it at all.
even though i would have liked to think i was doing a pretty okay job of handling it, all things considered.

i might be some body with whom material reality does not fully connect. it boils down further to the fact that there is hardly a "self" for me to feel repulsed by, and yet i manage to do that anyway. somewhere, in space, sometimes in time, there is a vague outline of some thing resembling my "self" that has memories, ideals, and an existence that is supposed to be mine. nothing it has ever thought or felt or been has ever been objective.

somewhere, sometimes, there is some sort of thing with vague memories, that is experiencing a constant barrage of thoughts, processes, emotions, and many more things at once. in all dimensions, all overlaps. sometimes i worry i could have been the type of person that gets easily recruited into a cult, or still am that. i also worry about the fact that i don't know the first thing about html. all of this at once coincides with the aripiprazole thing. i have been really curious about psychopharmacology lately, and i am sad that i don't have anybody to talk about it with.

mostly, i am disgusted by my desire for material reality to be okay with anything that i am, or could be, or will be. i'm not somebody or thing that always knows what or if i am. i don't know why they thought it would be a good idea to give me something that increases my brain activity. i revile every single thing about health or psychiatry as an institution, which makes me a massive hypocrite.
i don't like the idea of these meds treating the symptoms that they are intended to treat, because that would imply that said symptoms were present to begin with. see what happens. it will be the change i have lived in terror of and have sacrificed myself for, or it won't be that

violence has been done unto me.

nothing crazy, i don't think, just the standard stuff. growing up, you have this inconvenient habit of being a total fuckup (and also, yknow, a kid) so your parents hit you when you fuck up, or sometimes because they sort of just felt like it. that happens for a while, and then doesn't anymore once you start acting good and threatening to hit back. so you're a little scared of them, but you hardly notice, because no matter where you are, you are anticipating violence, anyway.
i'm taking this class called the sociology of violence this semester. the professor is exactly who i want to be one day. short (even from my perspective) Black lady with short hair, it's in this really cool looking curly mowhawk style. she's crazy smart and knows it, and i know it too, because she talks like a book that i would absolutely love to read. she's rapid-fire-funny, clever, quick.
today was the first day of that class, and something about the way she phrased things just made it click. now, it couldn't be more obvious. of course violence has been done unto me. you don't really turn out like this without something like that having happened. i mean, you can, i'm sure. but the thing is, i don't flinch. instead, i freeze. and my parents are nice people who do things like get me groceries when they visit me or i visit them. if your parents are buying you groceries, you aren't somebody who's known violence. they even buy the nice eggs.

and obviously, that isn't how anything works, but it would be nice if it was. i don't have a conclusion or anything. i only have three professors to disappoint this semester.

i worked on the site a bit today. mostly just in a pattern-seeking control-freak-y way, though, so not all that productive. laptop in front of me while i type this, banh mi to my left, mlp on my phone to my right

the episode: fall weather friends. those horses are dykes. whatever is going on between appledash is going to find me one day. i'm not at all like either of them, though. i think i'm more like if pinkie pie was fluttershy. it's funny cause both of those characters are constantly treated horribly by those around them in the show, but are some of the fandom's most beloved. i relate to this insofar that i think you have to be sort of a social outcast to be friends wtih me? can't tell if i want that to be the common thread or not.

i think that in an ideal world, whatever finds me in the future will be more like rarijack, but we take turns alternating between who's who. those two have my favorite dynamic out of the mane six, i think. rarity; bold, conceptual, extravagant. applejack; headstrong, grounded, practical. it's perfect. the city horse and the country horse are perfect foils okay?

season five's 'made in manehattan' is these two perfected. twilight's insistance on pissing me tf off at every possible juncture does make me skip through the first two-ish minutes though. despite that, this episode is still one of my most beloved from the series. a message about the importance of community and the arts, and two of my favorite characters against the backdrop of a vibrant horse metropolis. you just can't get better than that. okay, i guess you can, yeah. i would take a real person's life for these two to have gotten to sing a duet together in g4. but i digress.
throughout this peak fiction of an episode, they just work really well together okay? applejack keeps rarity grounded in reality when her whims and worries spiral too far, which they tend to do. rarity reassures applejack when her need for stability and consistency hinders her ability to adapt. it's a give and take, constantly.

for two characters who, on the surface, couldn't be more different, they mirror each other in a lot of significant ways. both have this confidence about them that, even though it expresses itself differently, allows them to be unapolagetically themselves. self assured, steadfast, and both some of the most hardworking ponies in the show. and also! some of the most kindhearted and genuine. guh. they're so important to me. i can't keep watching mlp while stoned, because this is what happens

i'm bout to show america a real 9/11 i'll tell you what

i need to clean my apartment if i want to be able to continue living. it's driving me to actual, actual insanity. in the classical sense, even. it's just too much; too much clutter, too many things to do. trapped in here with me, and nowhere for it to go. except for the trash and food pantries and thrift stores and my younger cousins and maybe i'll try to sell some of it, too. so, too many places for it to go, too. it's just too much.

it's been months in the making, if not years.
if it's not necessary, it does not belong here. if it doesn't spark joy, it doesn't belong here. and then i will purge the miasma, and i will start to feel like i can be okay at imitating what a person is supposed to act like. i'm malfunctioning because there's too much clutter.
i want it all gone. if i don't use it, if i don't need it, it goes. it must. my clothes, which require something corporeal, must go. my things, which are supposed to be anchoring me to this material plane, are faulty in doing so, and they must go, too.

i have crash landed into somebody else's life, mind, and body. i am trying to make peace with their life and mine being different, and i am doing what i can to join the pieces together.

don't think i slept last night. i recall it being kind of the worst one in recent memory, though. i came up with a new ten-syllable phrase (a ten-syllable phrase is probably my fav thing in the world) that describes what was going on.

no help on the way, you must save yourself.

and yeah, that pretty much sums it up. just my usual sleepless night; the whining, the stirring, the pacing, the tossing myself from surface to surface. the convulsions too, of course. i will be needing that gabapentin sooner rather than later. if i think about anything else my human corpse needs to do this week, i will, no joke, throw up. so today's gonna be hour-by-hour. get through one, then the next. don't turn back, just keep moving

today, for the first time since i was about sixteen, i will be going to see a therapist who is supposesd to know what to do with me. like everything else that could benefit me, i am dreading it, but now is not the time to dwell on that. i tell myself that, if nothing else, it will be something to do.

and i guess it's october now. secret of the day;

with senses dulled and surroundings obscured. suck in my stomach and it stings. i feel grateful for every girl on the planet.

i think it's okay that i'm wired like this. i think i've been taught that the only way to atone for being like this is to despise it. i think i've allowed myself to get to the point where believing that doesn't feel absurd anymore. there have been countless women in my life who've helped me find my way back. are helping me. girls of the past, present, and future. i myself am half girl on my mother's side, and 1/8th on my father's. i owe everything that's ever been to all that ever will be, and vise versa. i will be forever grateful to my mom.