January 23, 2017|
Whenever someone comes into the house, I feel scared and anxious, like they will come and get me.
It takes being removed from the familiar to recognize the effect trauma has on us. I am seeing trauma in myself, the way my body reacts in panic to a door opening. And I don't understand why.
I feel like the amount of horrible violent events has increased in the past years. Being jumped and maced by that fool I had some stupid internet spat with. Then maybe other events that weren't violent, but I can't help but feel like they were. That event, with that person, is really the only one I can actually come up with, but I feel like so much more has happened.
It might be my mind is deteriorating.
And I wonder if I have invited these events into my life. With getting jumped, I just realized it was a mistake to engage with an unstable furry. Pretty much all of them seem unstable, with a disconnect from reality and a perversion that reaches back into their childhoods. It makes sense they'd harass people online, then when challenged, respond in a way a child might if he had access to cars and weapons.
Then losing my social network, then losing my bedroom, sleeping in my car for about half a year, and the confrontations with my brother. Most recently he vandalized my car. This week I collided with someone on their bike, and I still don't know how much of it was my fault and how much was theirs, but either way, it is costing me. But I am letting my parents handle it, because I don't feel capable. But I am.
This week, because of that event, and general bearing down from management, I have felt stress. Yesterday, I encountered some skaters who I advised on the park policy with regard to skating. And, really, they shouldn't even be in the area with their boards, and they shouldn't have tripods, or suitcases, which one of them had. But I really try to keep things peaceful. That isn't me trying to make myself sound better than i was in this situation. It's just how I do it. I don't like telling people what to do, I don't like walking up to people in a ridiculous baggy uniform I feel fat in. But it's necessary for my continued employment. And one of them responds, telling me to clean some shit, because I was carrying a dustpan and broom, so that must mean I am a janitor. I'm not a janitor—whether I am a janitor or not is irrelevant—but I am not one. I'm just someone in the working class.
I don't know if I want to relive the event to repeat what he said, but it was all denigrating, insulting my glasses, my job, my aspirations. One supposed aspiration I have is to be a police officer. And the stupid classist shit he said just made me feel stupid, made me feel shitty, made me feel low class. As they left, they fucked with one of the trashcans, I guess to make this supposed janitor's job much harder, but it's not my job to do anything with the trash. They just vandalized the area and made another person's job slightly more shitty, and made someone else feel like shit for doing their job.
I guess I don't have many words on it. It's just been something I have been reliving, in addition to so many other events in my life I have been reliving, over and over again.
It's hard for me to care about any of the current political movements because they all seem based around putting blinders on to people who fit my social profile. I've suffered too much. I can't get excited for the supposed oppressed classes when I'm considered guilty for things I never did. When I've been insulted for my class, for my weight, for my appearance. When I am barely functional, when I fall, because my self-loathing cuts so deep, and my fear of everything smothers me in a cloud.