tigriswolf: (a bird may love a fish)
You know what's... awkward? I've missed more classes this semester than in my Master's program and undergrad combined.
tigriswolf: (king of the jungle)
I’m really fucking tired of crippling bouts of sadness and a hair-trigger temper.
tigriswolf: (blade of the queen)
Just filled out the Cat Haven fostering form.
tigriswolf: (a bird may love a fish)
Written March 27, 2017

A couple days ago, for reasons I still can't pinpoint, my mood plummeted from happyish to wondering what the point of being alive was since I was so sad. It was storming outside. I really wanted to cry, but couldn't seem to - so I went into the frontyard and stood in the rain.

(After a nap that lasted half the day, I woke up no longer wondering what the point of being alive is.)



Clouds roll in,
dark, full of thunder,
a freezing wind
and icy rain.
I stand,
smelling smoke,
ashy, soot-stained,
letting the sky cry
the tears I cannot cry.

Gaping wounds heal,
flesh knits back together,
become bruises, become scars.
Sharp pain lessens to aches.
Aches fade—

The pain turns to a memory
that hits suddenly,
in flashes like lightning,
in waves like thunder.

Head tilted down,
hair loose, icy rain
soaking into my shirt,
dripping down my shoulders.
I lift my chin,
eyes dry
while water washes across my face.
Freezing wind whips around me,
and I ache, but shivering,
no tears come—
So I let the world weep for me.

Suddenly, sometimes I don’t
even know why, what
caused it, how to keep it
from happening again—

Clouds roll in, dark,
full of thunder, full of ice.
Clouds roll in as I remember,
as I shudder in the wind
while the sky cries on my face.

I tilt my head down,
close my eyes, shiver and ache.
High above me, thunder
shakes the sky, lightning
burns—burns.
The sky cries for me.

Clouds roll in.
I smell ash on the freezing wind.
There is soot on my hands,
so I lift them to the rain.
I cannot cry—
I want to, but no tears come.

I stand in the storm
so the world can grieve for me.

Eyes closed,
face towards the sky,
the clouds roll in
and I inhale
air clear of smoke.

*sigh*

Mar. 12th, 2017 12:47 pm
tigriswolf: (king of the jungle)
My original Build-a-bear. I don't remember what I named him.



The unicorn I've had my entire life, because she belonged to my mom before I was born, and the Pegasus I've had since I was five years old.



Bacon. *sigh* He was on top of the basket of plushies.


(I've gotten a new Bacon and a new Pegasus, though the Pegasus isn't the same. He can't be, you know? So Mom's going to try making my old one smell better, though he'll never be the right color again.

But the unicorn... it hurts her, too, because that unicorn has been around longer than me. Mom's going to try to clean her; if we can make her smell better, we'll keep her.)

poem

Mar. 9th, 2017 10:36 am
tigriswolf: (utter beauty)
.
.
.
Written March 8, 2017




Where does grief go
when it finally fades and floats away?
Is it relief, the lightening of a load;
is it hope, rushing into your soul,
lifting you up, letting you think,
if only for a single moment
and not a breath more,
that happiness might sink back into your bones,
barren for so long, cold and weary?

Grief consumes, ravenous and slavering,
until all you feel is exhaustion,
broken and weak, like nothing
will ever ease the pain, the emptiness.
But when it finally splinters,
what is left?
Hope? Relief? Anything? No—
—thing.

When the grief floats away,
where does it go?
Does it settle somewhere else,
take root, spread pain and fear and anger
—despair—
where before there existed something?

Grief subsumes, washing away everything
anything nothing something—
All.
Where does grief go when it fades
and what is left when it goes?
Relief? The resurrection of hope?
A trench so deep it’d never be possible to climb free?
Can relief sweep you up,
fly you out,
cocoon around you,
let you sleep?
Can hope warm what is frozen,
bloom what is barren?
What happens? What remains?
When hurts heal—slowly, softly—
When hurts heal—
Hurts heal—

When grief finally fades and floats away,
where does it go?
What is left in its absence?
Perhaps relief settles in, spreading
fragile wings, shifting
fragile muscles, stretching
towards a light, far in the distance,
a light shining softly, hesitantly,
hopeful—

Hope, the strength, the thought that
surviving leads eventually to something else—

Grief consumes, digests, spits out
someone you don’t know but
who seems familiar, similar,
an echo, a distorted reflection,
a was become an is.
When grief goes, a new person is left, someone
with fresh scars,
with divots,
with sore spots that will (perhaps) always be tender.
Hurt heals, when grief is survived.

Grief goes. Where? Away.
You remain. You remain.
You breathe, you cry, you smile—
You live.
You live.

Grief fades and floats away.
You remain.
You live.
tigriswolf: (unbroken (i rise))
So, have you ever been in an environment where people keep praising someone who failed you utterly and never even considered acknowledging it? Who not only failed you, but almost seemed to actively betray you? Who consistently did not do even the minimum of supporting or guiding you and then just - let you fall.

The person they continually praise is someone you never met. But they talk about her and suggest others go to her for guidance, and you have to bite your tongue because to speak of what happened will reflect badly on you - not her. It feels like nails on a chalkboard every time she's brought up but all you can do is sit there, fists clenched in your lap, and try to think of something else.

You can't warn anybody. It feels like as much of a failure as when you learned, miles from home, that she had betrayed you.
tigriswolf: (if you are brave)
Anyone else ever get hit with the realization anytime you see a pregnant person that they’ve definitely had sex? Or it hits you when you’re looking at people wandering around somewhere that they’re all there because two people had sex at some point? That you actually exist because two people had sex?

(Obviously, there’s in-vitro and surrogates and stuff, but on the whole, most people are still born because two people had sex.)

It just weirds me out, I guess.

*sighs*

Feb. 19th, 2017 09:04 pm
tigriswolf: (in my defense i've never read fairy tale)
So, it’s always so awkward when a long montage of sex happens during a movie because I just honestly don’t care, but I can’t fast-forward or change the channel because I’m not the only one watching.

Or, I’m just in the room, reading a book, while the movie is playing and other people are watching. I still can’t fast-forward or change the channel.

It’s so damn awkward. What’s appealing about sex scenes? I’m entirely too aro and ace to understand.
tigriswolf: (a bird may love a fish)
.
.
.
.
Title: soot-stained
Written February 16, 2017


It aches
continually
My body
My heart
My soul
so tired
I trudge on

I wish it were over
but time alone heals
so they say
This too shall pass
so they say
Trudging,
I hold on

Dreaming
asleep or awake?
Yes
always yes
Minutes days weeks
Months are gone
but it feels like just yesterday—

Time heals
Hurt fades
Memory softens
Soon again my soul will sing—
everyone says

Hope is all I have now
Hope that they are right
and this too will pass
This will pass
Asleep or awake it all feels the same
but it will pass

I trudge
I crawl
I weep
—I hope

—I hope—

Trudging,
I hold on
—Hoping
I hold on
tigriswolf: (king of the jungle)


It's been a month. It feels like it's been forever but also that time hasn't passed at all.

update

Feb. 12th, 2017 10:39 am
tigriswolf: (king of the jungle)
So, here and here.

The poster thing my little sister made me a couple years ago and the eldritch abomination my mom got me - 1 survived the fire. 1 didn't.

update

Feb. 3rd, 2017 08:02 am
tigriswolf: (dreamer)
So, I went to my doctor on Wednesday due to a daily pain in my left side that showed up about two weeks ago. I was given a new questionnaire to fill out that had four questions; I can't remember exactly what they were, but something like 'how often do you feel like doing nothing' and 'are you unhappy.'

The answers I provided led the nurse to asking me more questions, and I think the result would be obvious: I am, apparently, heavily depressed.

I was depressed before the fire, okay? But now I'm heavily depressed.

This has led me to being a subpar teacher, I think, and I feel guilty about that. Because I really think I'm giving it my all, but the all I have to give isn't as much as it used to be. I'm trying my best and my best isn't... what it was. In every regard, every part of my life.

Which is not helping my depression, obviously. I feel like I'm in the way and a burden and there's this horrible mess to clean up, and that I didn't do everything I should or could have to save Gus, and that everything would be easier if I wasn't here.

(Not that, as I've assured my shrink and my GP and my family, I'm going to hurt myself.)

I was feeling happy, prior to January 14. For the first time in awhile. Everything was going good. I felt lighter and hopeful.

And now everything is just this pit of nothing, and I somehow keep getting up in the morning and going to work and going to class, and I'm going to keep doing that, even while I have to sort through 20 years of my life that stinks of smoke, and even while I know I'm never going to hear my cat yowl for attention again, and even though I'm tired and angry and so fucking sad --

But I was happy. I can't imagine being happy again.
tigriswolf: (old man of the forest)
So, I’ve been reading more than anything lately. So far, it’s all been rereads of my favorites, as I’d planned to read through my entire bookcase to see if I still wanted all the books on it. I have quite a few library books that I haven’t read before, but I’ll take recs, if anyone has anything in particular they think I’d enjoy.
tigriswolf: (king of the jungle)
I literally do not have the energy to deal with the shitshow my country has become.

What the fuck is happening.

It is 20 goddamned fucking 17 and this is exactly how dystopias start.

There are so many reasons I feel like I'm in the midst of a nightmare, and if I am, I would really like to fucking wake up now.
tigriswolf: (to the end)
So yesterday, I told my mom that I hate my brain because I keep finding new ways to guilty for not saving Gus.

She explained in detail how smoke inhalation works, that for a cat his size, with his bad lungs, it happened quickly.

I said, "So I was standing outside on the grass when he died."

Mom then gave me a list of worse outcomes for me, had I stayed to look:

1. Losing consciousness and being without air long enough to cause brain damage
2. Being trapped in a burn unit
3. Losing consciousness and dying

It doesn't really make me feel better, but I know it helps my family. They've told me often enough.

We also discussed how I can find closure, and we've decided to take a trip to the ocean in about a month, to release a biodegradable box or something, with the last picture I took of him and something I'll write between now and then. I feel slightly better, at least.

Also, I'm coughing more now, instead of less.
tigriswolf: (berryjoy)
1) my boss's boss collected money from both buildings to give me

2) I taught my first two classes and did okay

3) I found a book that I had two copies of for a penny at the library

4) I've started collecting more art - found two nice pieces for $10 each at an estate sale

5) I was given two pieces of art for free

6) my family has swooped in to take care of most everything

7) I somehow had replacement cost on my renter's insurance without knowing about it because my dad is an insurance agent and set it up for me

8) I'm alive. I keep thinking that it'd be easier if I wasn't here in the way being a burden, but both of my sisters and my mom keep telling me that if there wasn't this mess to clean up, they'd have been planning a funeral.

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