soften shift stay

The problem is only a problem for as long as you let it take up space in your mind. Stop fuelling it and let it roll out of your mind like a tumble weed

That thoughts of someone that has never been violated. Someone that has problems that are focused around money or practical things. Problems that are not rooted in emotional pain. 

Allow the thoughts no resistance do not argue with them do not give them any energy just let them be and they will disappear and eventually they will stop appearing altogether. 

A toothache may stop hurting you with time because the root will die. I can see the sense in this. The pain you will suffer through in the meantime will be intense. Do not fool yourself in thinking that you can bypass the physical pain by shifting your way out of it completely. 

Once you have alleviated those pesky thoughts you must remain diligent! Any reminder of those negative thoughts can send you back into the deep end and you could end up at square one again. Remind yourself a zillion times a day that you are god and you are beyond all of these mortal problems. You created them, you can uncreate them, yeah? 

Except you do not dictate how others treat you. You might be able to regulate how you react (to some extent) but you did not ask to be abused, raped, stolen from or whatever is hurting you. You did not create that. 

You did not think over and over again, “I am worthy being abused, I am worthy being abused”. 

Did you perhaps think that you were not worthy of being loved? Yeah maybe. 

But that does not equate being destroyed. 

I need to talk to whomever is in charge here. I do not understand how this works. 

It is possible to make no mistakes and still lose.

Telling one’s story over and over again is a way to hold on to grief about the past or a narrative that places blame on others.

I am not dramatic, uncooperative, abusive or dumb by nature, I am just reacting & trying my best to make sense of conditions that are impossible to endure without a visceral response.

And just because I am not buying what you are trying to sell me (or at times, haphazardly shoving down my gob) does not mean I am not hungry. 

I am starving. 

I would rather not have what you are offering, is all. I think I can manage to live off of the skin cells in the air and pure spite before I take anything else from you, je vous remercie. 

Or wither into a husk and blow away with the other discarded, ignored & unloved refuse in the gutter. 

Okay… perhaps I am slightly spectaculaire, dear hearts but if I am it is for effect. You know, like theatrical recess or analytical writing (or ink blots).

I was not attracted to him the way it is described in films or well-read, easy to fit in smaller hands, paperbacks, that you loan from the library. I liked the way his voice sounded. Listening to him speak, in its hues of quick silvers and colds, and lemons, and a steady beat of uncertainty that felt familiar.  I thought he was like me.

I thought we walked the same tightrope of weirdness, navigating people’s glares down their noses of judgement and self-righteousness of how much better they were than us because they were NT and we were not.

I lavished, (FINALLY) in the gorgeous idea that there was someone I did not need to explain every single movement I made to. That they would just understand my need for order (or sometimes complete disorder) because that is just how my brain works. One sentence has perfect structure. The next makes no damn sense at all. On the surface, he glimmered this oasis of hope.

It was a well manicured act.

He was using me as rebound from a relationship he had just left a few months previous. He had erased her completely from his history and said he had not been with anyone in nearly two years.

Same as me.

He had loved this woman and made a family with her. She kicked him to the curb and kept the kid for herself (even lying about needing to have full custody of their child so he could have dual citizenship. You got had, sugar. She just wanted you gone. You do not need to give up custody for a child to have citizenship. You should have done your homework).

When he got to me, he told me he wanted a relationship. He wanted me. He talked to me for hours and hours for weeks. I was overwhelmed. I was not sure what I wanted but I liked the attention.

He was hardly the only one I got it from (it is not like I am a total hag). I was dating after all. It was the first time in my life I was actively looking for a romantic partner.

They found me, the people I was with before. Either through a friend or I randomly got stuck in their orbit.

I never chose them.

I was baited like a mouse with cheese and before I knew it, I was trapped in a cage.

I played the part as well as I could. I was a very bored, domesticated pet.

They were always proud of their conquests for awhile until they realised what they caught.

The abuse varied from person to person but each one did abuse me.

I asked my therapist if it was my fault because I was not smart enough to leave. Or because I could not connect enough to love them even though they tried to love me.

I cannot love you. Not in a way that is going to warm your heart, anyway.

I can feed off of your passions. That is what does it for me – how you engage your brain. The last one loved history. It made him desirable the way he could recite facts about dead and gone people, places & things.

The one before him adored comics and cartoons. I would talk to him for hours about different storylines and we would lose days on different planets with each other.

One of my longest standing crushes loves music and is amazingly talented. I dream of laying on the floor & listening to him play while the room floods with spirals of sights and tastes created by his body. The new universes he can transport me to without leaving the room.

But when this fades the conversations remain lovely but my ability to find interest in the person wanes.

Which is why I tend to stay detached.

I do not want to be the one to hurt anyone either.

That is what made he & I magnets to each other. Our inability to commit – his because of his past hurt & my teflon coating.

Yet I still managed to get mangled.

Mercury retrograde begins today. Watch your Capricorn and Aquarius placements, yeah?

Capricorn on House X

Someone who is completely trusted at work. Respectable, irreproachable in her work and moral qualities, scrupulous, and praiseworthy.

House XI – the eleventh house – is the area of search for social and intellectual security.

Capricorn on House XI

Stable friendships with composed, wise people, from whose experience of life benefits and enriches her own life.

House XII – the twelfth house – is the area of education and of emotion. This is where we meet our karma, deal with endings, and sometimes where we bury things.

Aquarius on House XII

Friends can be complicated, perhaps bringing predicaments to the life.

(She rejects traditional roles in partnership or she is attracted to (or attracts) unconventional people as partners. May fear entrapment, but it can take half a lifetime to realize this is coming from within, not from others. Her independence doesn't match well for traditional marriage. If she does marry, she needs many freedoms.

Will do best in unconventional or nontraditional set-ups. Likely to attract unusual, erratic people, particularly in close relationships.)

I have 49 unread messages, 115 unread emails, 14 unheard voice mails, a stack of unopened post 2cm thick that is collecting dust on my kitchen counter top, a basket of unfolded clean clothes sitting on my black and white gingham chair plus a bag of nearly overdue library books (9, I think). 

I am pacing back and forth in my kitchen with the worst anxiety I have ever had. It started well up in my chest around an hour before noon and since then it has collect gales of speed only noticeable on a seismograph (or, you know, looking at the way I am spinning my rubix cube). 

It is that moment that you realise that someone else could possible remove you from this existence. Their rage, their hatred for you could boil over and they could stop you from living. They could ensure that you make no more memories, never answer the door for a delivery again or laugh at a stupid joke made by a friend. 

It happens every single day all around the world in every country. A person takes the life of another out of anger. 

And sometime in the future, I could be one of those people. A small headline, maybe, “woman found in dumpster” or “woman ran down by car”.

And then that would be it. Everyone would know who it was, of course. It would be no secret. I would be one more statistic. 

Some 47,000 women and girls worldwide were killed by their intimate partners or other family members in 2020. This means that, on average, a woman or girl is killed by someone in her own family every 11 minutes. 

You feel happiness in intervals like tiny nibbles of chocolate, closing your eyes and savouring each luscious morsel until it is gone & the next piece is in your grasp. You have the anticipation of it as you open the wrapper just as you watch the events unfold that will add to your joy. So divine in its conception & coveted. A lot of us ration out our pleasure like chocolate. Anguish, however, seems to be in no short supply. We load ourselves up with it like a third helping from the thanksgiving table. We know when it is time to walk away from people and situations that no longer serve us yet we linger for days, months… sometimes years over the expiration date thinking something will change. If there is abuse, we think the abuser will see our value and stop abusing us not understanding that abuse is not personal. We do not get abused because they do not see how amazing we are. They abuse because they are abusers. We stay because our value is attached to, “if they cease harming me, that means care & I am worthy of their love” not understanding that without knowing that we have always been worthy of our own love we will be stuck in this cycle forever. And the abuser? They cannot communicate their pain so they gaslight, ghost, manipulate, physically abuse, etc. This is their story, not ours. We choose to superimpose ourselves into their pain because we think we can help like we are their parents/therapists when we are supposed to be their friends/lovers/whatever. We never find time to make this about US. We hyperfocus on someone/something else. You can never be happy if you continuously wrap yourself up in people/situations that can only take from you. They might adore you. You might have spent years together. But if you cannot close your eyes and let your skin warm, and your lips tug up at the corners when you think of them (rather your shoulders raise up and your eyes pinch up tightly), you may want to reconsider your intentions.

Once I had dreams about sitting in a small house by the sea with old cast iron pots and pans and unmatched mugs from thrift shops neatly scrubbed and lined up on a shelf in a freshly painted pantry. The place was not much, but the view was everything. We woke up to the screaming of sea birds and the light breathing of the waves every day. Some mornings the sky and the ocean had no beginning or end when you sat on the sand running your fingers in the coarse grains.

We had our own piece of heaven right there. We did not see each other much during the day. We had some work still, our hobbies and habits. We liked our time apart. It reminded me of when the children were small and we would go off on separate trips to gather stones. We would later empty our pockets and admire our haul and talk about where we found each glorious rock. We would pick up each one and clamour on its beauty.

I never had dreams about undying love or knights on horses saving the princess or boxes with priceless jewels.

I dreamt of the taste of home and stability. Wrinkled faces and balding heads, laughter oh we had monstrous fun.

One night I felt him strangling me with an electrical cord. It was bright orange and he wore a white safety helmet with goggles.

I tried to shake him off of me but he was sitting on me and was so much stronger.

I thought I would die and I thought of that house by the sea and I closed my eyes so when I would have my last breath, I would return there. Safe, happy and drinking tea in a cup that says, “Are you kitten me right now?”

I woke up to a message saying that he had a child with someone else while he was with me. That he was a known racist that manipulated women of colour for his benefit. That he used me because he thought I was an easy target because I was not white and I had autism.

He was in love with someone else but was with me because she did not want him. I was second fiddle. He strung me along just so he did not have to be alone.

He lied to me about every facet of his life.

His web was full of lazy, messy holes that an army of contractions could march through. He thought he was smarter than me, so I would never notice.

Being an LG synesthete, I notice things others may not.

The way people say things have a taste, no not exactly… a sensation that over time I can recognise as them. When something in them changes, their sensation changes slightly too.

Like when you tweak a recipe just a bit.

He unravelled and because I did not react right away, he thought he triumphed.

I gathered his words in a basket and scattered them on the floor at my feet. I sorted them out by size and smell and navigated which belonged to me (my present) did not belong to me (his past).

I realised this was not personal. He was covering up something he did not want me to know.

Still, the pain was growing in intensity. His cruelty was unabating. I was watching him fall into the abyss and he was dragging me with him. I did not know how to function without waiting for him to tell me what was up, how to behave (by explaining what he did not like about me) and the helplessness was all-consuming.

I did not even like him.

I got stuck in a situation with him that I knew hurt him. I walked away early on because he was not what I wanted. He displayed very irrational and scary traits that worried me. I did not want to be another person that abandoned him.

So I stayed. I forced myself to see the good in him.

Even if I had to make it up.

I liked him for about a month.

It took two years for me to break free of him. And even now, his presence is lingering still.

Therapy has explained to me that this is not an abnormal autistic trait. It does not make me feel any better, though.

I know enough about myself to understand that I am worth more than what this human could ever give me. But even if he could conjure up the world, I would not want it from him.

If I am honest, I tolerated him because he was sad and I felt bad. I wanted to be his friend. I know what it is like to be down and want someone to understand. I wanted to hold him and tell him that it would be okay.

I told him I wanted to be friends. Many times I explained this but he ignored me. He needed a wet hole to shove himself in, I suppose. He was not very good at living long without that. I was just another woman for him to leave his semen in on and about.

Knowing he has harmed other women does not make me feel better. It makes me feel ill knowing there will be others after me. He will make more children that he will not take responsibility for. He will ruin more lives.

And what price does he pay?

Maybe some child support. Maybe someone will stand up to him and put his name on the internet and call him out on his horribleness.

But otherwise, he can live his life like he does not sexually assault drunk women, use woc, bully women into having abortions because he refuses to use a condom… oh just making this list is making me want to vomit!

How can humans treat other humans like this?


I am sitting here and crying. Not a few tears but full-on bawling. Like I am having a hard time seeing the screen as I type. I am choking and my shoulders are heaving, I am breathing like a plastic bag has been put over my head. I am positive I am dying.

The moisture is draining out of my eyes, my nose and maybe my mouth, I cannot tell, I am moaning like I am possessed by a banshee. My chest is inflating like I am trying to blow up a balloon after smoking a carton of cigarettes. I am sitting on my hands, rocking back and forth hoping I can take flight and leave from here and disappear.

Or at least make myself quite small so no one will ever see the likes of me again.

It hurts like nothing I have ever felt before, the stabbing, the knowing, the slamming of the piano keys and low, humming and gentle taunting love songs you remember dancing to when you thought, foolishly before you knew about the lies, the betrayals, or how you were never with the person you thought you were.

You cannot close your eyes because all you can see is the hope and depth that you felt when they held you when their body was close to yours. The liquid that stings your nostrils is not great enough in quantity to drown you but enough to remind you of fluid leaving his body that hit your chin, cheek & nose and you both found this to be amusing later. Now you feel gross and cannot get yourself clean enough.

Nothing was special everything was to fill a void and you were always going to be second best to him.