I can’t really deal with people in the morning. I’ve had to train my roommates to leave me alone while exercising. I get very pissed off if I’m interrupted. I cherish the time alone and have had to fight for it.

When I was suicidally depressed, I couldn’t get out of bed. I just laid there all day. I didn’t leave the house. I only left the bed to eat and shit. That was my life from thirteen to twenty five years old. I was sick and unable to function. Exercising gave me structure. It gave me a reason to stay out of bed. I forced myself over time to only lay in bed while sleeping or sick. It took a lot of painful slow work.

When you allow yourself to get that far in depression everything becomes difficult. Everything. I would try to change and fail. It took a long time and it still isn’t over. I don’t spend my life in bed anymore, but I’m certainly not free my issues. I don’t expect to ever be. All I want is to life my life as well as I can. To strive to be better. Saner. Less limited. That is all anyone can do.

Yesterday also sucked because I had a meltdown. I was overwhelmed by anxiety and was very upset. Stress about a lot of things has been weighing on me. All of it will be resolved within the next few months but the uncertainty is killing me.

I just really hate those days that I’m too fucked up to work. I feel lazy and gross despite knowing that I’m not to blame. Thankfully, those days are few now. My depression used to rule every second of every day, but now it just comes and stays for a while. Keeping busy seems to help. Having a job and something other than myself to dwell on helps, but not all the time. I’ve learned to just accept those horrible days where my mind turns against me. There’s nothing that can be done and they do end. I’m not laying in bed wishing for death anymore and I’m grateful for that.

That retirement is a joke. To save up a huge amount of money and wait to do things when you are older is a waste. Do things now. You can, if make them a priority and save up. A life spent working nonstop is a pointless miserable life. It’s a life I do not want.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my childhood recently. One of the things that sticks out to me is how much my mom worked. She spent 50-60 hours a week, every week working at a job she hated. A cog in a big machine. She was not necessary. Needed. She had nothing but contempt for those that worked less or couldn’t work. When I was sick and not able to work anymore, she was disgusted by me. I was one of those gross government leeches.
She was a miserable sad person. I knew work wasn’t completely to blaim, but it did take a lot out of her. I didn’t want to live like her and I don’t.

My mom fucking hates me. I was born because she was too lazy to get an abortion. I was born so she could keep her boyfriend with her. The one that she fought with nonstop. The one who beat her to the floor on many endless horrible days.

If you asked her, she would tell you of her endless love for me. She loved doing that, telling everyone that would listen how much she cared. She wasn’t too big on actually doing anything to show it. I spent my childhood sick and alone. I lived in tiny apartments and was told constantly to be silent. That I didn’t matter. What wanted didn’t matter. That my life was worthless and useless. I was shaken and smacked. Isolated and neglected and abused.

She’s called me a liar for pointing out anything bad that happened in my life. She would never do those things. I think sometimes she honestly doesn’t remember. The drugs did fuck her up pretty bad. I think more often she chooses not to. What kind of monster puts their hands over a coughing sick childs face? What kind of asshole shakes them and screams at them to shut up and just die?

She chooses not to see me, which is probably best for both of us. I’ve seen her a handful times in the past five years. The last time was a miserable Xmas where she told me she’s going to kill herself if her boyfriend dies. I had seen her in three years and I had to hear this shit. She had no interest in hearing about my life. She doesn’t actually believe I run a makeup company. I’m too fucked up for that.

Nothing really soothes this kind of hurt. Time makes a bit of a difference. I’m not the complete waste of flesh I was when I moved out. I was utterly broken and I had to put myself together. I’ve learned to take care of myself. To value myself. But memories haunted me and still do.

So no, I’m not celebrating mothers day.

I suck at taking photos of myself.
I suck at applying makeup too. Oh well. Maybe I’ll inprove if I keep trying.
I’m wearing Harpy and Dagon by detrivore cosmetics on my eyes. Cheap black eyeliner from hot topic. Missha Perfect Cover BB Cream on my skin. Covered by a layer of an unnamed foundation I made.

I’m waiting on supplies to arrive so I can make large batches of the the new multipurpose powders. Vaguely anxious that no one will like or want them. I like them so I assume some others will too.

My skin has been quite bitchy this year. Little tiny zits keep appearing and annoying the hell of of me. I can’t decide if my skin is too dry or oily. It may be oily because it is dry. I don’t know.

I’ve been reading the Wayfarer Redemption series by Sara Douglass. I like it. It’s not great but it’s good. I missed reading fantasy and it’s good to have something new to enjoy. I never could write good fantasy, but I do enjoy reading it. I can only really write porn, erotica, horror, and absurdism fiction. I am very bothered by how little writing I do in my day to day. I’ve never really submitted more than a few stories. I’m not very good at writing but I think my stories are worth reading.

I’m waiting for the plumber to come and it annoys the fuck out of me.

Yesterday I cut and pried off the frags on my large pukani rock. I want to dry that rock out too. It’s a large centerpiece rock that weighs about five pounds and is about a foot wide. My starry blenny disagreed. He hid inside the rock and there was nothing I could do to dislodge him. Quite annoyed with him. I have him and the rock sitting in a ten gallon now. I’ll have to net him somehow.

Most of the coral I removed from the pukani rock I was able to take off without destroying them. All of it was zoanthids. Now my main twenty gallon looks like a frag tank. I hope I don’t lose too many of them during the move.

I know the smartest and sanest thing to do would just be to completely start over. Just sell or give away all of the livestock, but I just can’t do it. I’m too attached. I’m willing to take the risk of killing all of it because I have to. I’ve want a reef tank since I was a very small child. Now I have them it’s hard to give any part of it up. Zoas are pretty hardy though and I think they will survive.

My birthday is today and that’s ok. I turned thirty. I remember I was eighteen I didn’t think I’d live this long. I celebrated over the weekend with my friends and had a lot of fun. Drank absinthe and sake. Ate expensive cheeses. Ran outside to stare at the supermoon and was impressed by its glow.

Lots of anxiety, insecurity, and stress but I don’t much feel its weight right now. I have stuff to look forward to. Stuff to do. A cross country move. Shopping for a car. Thinking about a tiny little store. About photos. About music. About books. Movies. So much to do.

I need to get some more boxes to fit everything in.