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Gambit-isms

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 so i will start out with: yes, i'm watching X-Men '97. no, i am not okay. they are evil, evil people. now that's out of the way, i am 6 months into my depressive spiral. 6 months into relying on music to keep me sane. yes, it's still majority Stray Kids. i have been able to add some Ateez into the regular mix. and i have been able to have small bits of non-k-pop listening. i'm not as bad as i was before, but i'm no where near where i was before november. i am starting therapy next week, so hopefully the light at the end of the tunnel isn't a train. before getting into the brute of this post, some background. i tend to give things physical aspects in my head to make it easier to deal with. majority of the time, it's brain weasels. Dentist is the head. he's named after Hermey the elf from the claymation Rudolf. and of course everyone needs an Intern. other than those two, the main weasel is Monster. he's the ADHD weasel. really, he's a squirre
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Scars

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 weeeeee. we're going into month 3 of music processing because childhood abuse. i have gotten better at telling people. i'm up to 4 who know some of the gorier details. still not up for going back to therapy. something about breaking the abuse test gets to me. it's easier to laugh about it. crying's too hard. too painful. all because the abuser wouldn't let me cry. that's right, kids. i was punished for crying. it's a sign of weakness. it's pointless. you have no reason to cry. i'll give you a reason to cry. so i became numb. i shut down. i forced myself to not cry. which means now it's physically painful for me to cry. every time i feel like crying, my first reaction is to stop it at all costs. all thanks to the asshole who raised me. who molded me. who made me his toy. his plaything.  but i have music to help. i can find my emotions in there. i can feel what i can't do. i can feel the words. feel the notes. feel the emotion. my brain can
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why should i be thankful

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  growing up, Thanksgiving was a huge holiday. one of my mom's love languages was feeding people. she was an amazing cook. one of my grandma's love languages was also feeding people. we had good food on holidays. i have a lot of happy memories from my childhood surrounding today. then why am i so blah today? i'm remembering no-so-happy repressed memories. i'm questioning how happy my childhood actually was. i'm holding on by a string. why should i be thankful? the abuser texted me earlier. i deleted it. i can't even call him "father" and he's completely lost the rights of "dad". he abused me and my sister and who knows else. he doesn't deserve to be apart of my life. so on this day so rooted in family, why should i be thankful when family was my abuser? i do have things i'm thankful for. i have lights at the end of the tunnel, and they're not trains. i'm thankful for having a patient partner who is supportive and loving. h
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oh look, i'm at it again

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  i guess i can't run from everything. i also end up coming back to some. my life is fucked up. memories that i suppressed are coming back because i'm no longer in survival mode. my childhood wasn't good. it wasn't all bad. i do have cherished memories. but some of the memories i thought were good aren't. some of the periods i pushed to the back of my mind and locked behind layers and layers of concrete and steal. survival mode sucks balls. i went to therapy. it helped. but i'm really bad at therapy. i was trained to be a people pleaser. i was trained to figure out what people wanted and give it to them. my own wants and needs be damned. i'm working on that.  there was always one constant in my life. one thing that helped more than anything else. one thing that helped me process the chaos in my head. writing. i have so many journals. online and offline. i'm not posting here again to gain popularity. i don't care about getting famous for my trauma. i
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