???

i was an attention-seeker. i was the textbook example of an attention-seeker. i was a troublemaker. i would self-harm. i destroyed my own relationships. i was uncontrolled, dramatic, sensitive. i took everything personally. i had "nothing" to be depressed "about," but made a big show of how sad i was nonetheless. i was really unsafe about myself in a lot of ways.

the strange thing about that is: it meant others could ignore me. the prevailing wisdom behind knowing something is "attention seeking" is to say: well, since you want it that bad, you're not getting any. it meant i was lower-on-the-list of concern. it meant an eye-roll.

the belief was that: since i was obviously doing these things on purpose, it would be bad behavioral training if i was "rewarded" for it. it would "teach me" that i simply had to make enough fuss, and i'd finally get all that missing attention and love. no, it was better to ignore that stuff.

i was suffering. and it felt like - oh, it doesn't matter how loudly i am in pain, nobody gives a shit about if i'm living or dying.

awhile ago, i went through my journals from that time. a lot of them read the same thing. in them, i am convinced i am invisible. that nobody wants to hear me, to see me. that i could die or vanish and nobody would even notice. i didn't even want attention - not really - because it was always dismissive, mocking. nothing i ever did would be good enough to get someone to actually-worry about me.

that's a terrifying thing for me to read as an adult. that is a child who fully has no problem committing. that is a child who has no concept of feeling loved. the most basic human instinct is missing from her life.

i needed help. i didn't know how to ask for it. i was a kid. i was a kid in a bad home, and whenever i thought things couldn't get worse there - they almost always did.

and the ways i showed that - the ways i tried to deal with that - they made others dismiss me. i wasn't suffering prettily. after all, if i was really in trouble, why wouldn't i just march into the first counselor's office and ask someone to help me? i had the opportunities, right? what did i think would happen, exactly? that someone would finally stand up and do something? who even wants that kind of responsibility?

i heard connection-seeking for the first time about three months ago. my therapist mentioned it when we were talking about my history. it rang some kind of horrible bell, deep inside me. i don't know what she said in the rest of her sentence. i just started... crying.

"oh no", i said to her. "i think i just realized: i have no idea how to forgive them for minimizing the ways i was hurting."

how many other kids, though. how many other kids were out there drowning, snatching around for a lifevest, some kind of rope - how many were straight-up ignored.

hate exercising and realizing i've let go of a lot of anxiety and anger because i've overturned my fight-or-flight response.

hate eating right and eating enough and eating 3 times a day and realizing i'm less anxious and i have more energy

hate journaling in my stupid notebook with my stupid bic ballpoint and realizing that i've actually started healing about something once i'm able to externalize it

hate forgiving myself hate complimenting myself more often hate treating myself with kindness hate taking a gratitude inventory hate having patience hate talking to myself gently

hate turning my little face up to the sun and taking deep breaths and looking at nature and grounding myself and realizing that i feel less burdened and more hopeful, more actually-here, that i am able to see the good sides of myself more clearly, that i am able to see not only how far i have to grow - but also how much growth i have already done & how much of my life i truly fill with light and laughter and love

there was a hawk that used to live in the tree outside our house. somewhere in the last four years, the inside of the tree slowly rotted. we had no idea. after a storm in februrary, we woke up to the whole thing disintegrated across our lawn. our neighbor observed the damage with us. we all said: well, that's new england for you.

the hawk hasn't come back.

yesterday i saw a rabbit freeze at the foot of my dog. this is how camouflage works in the wild, after all. my dog, sighthound, completely unaware, was busy snuffling the grass two inches from its fur. i told the rabbit: run, i'll hold him. the rabbit didn't budge. something about a little creature so still next to long jaws - i wanted to find it abstract. i live outside of a poem, after all. not all of it can be meaningful.

what is strength. there's shear force, there's bending, there's tensile strength. i listen while doodling little pictures of sunsets. in it, you and i are holding hands under what you call a toenail moon. i like to imagine places like this, quiet and alone. it is safe, this way. isn't that something. it's safer to be lost in the woods with you than it is to be holding your hand on a main road.

the hawk left somewhere back in 2018. i keep looking for evidence of her line returning. my father says there's been a squirrel problem ever since she abandoned her post. i miss seeing the babies grow up.

my therapist keeps telling me that i have to be proud of the ways i've survived things. there's a part that wants to tell her: it just looks like i'm surviving. the tree is rotted from the inside, and i'm gonna come down in the storm. i still freeze like a rabbit, after all.

what is strength. yesterday i took a shower. yesterday i made myself eat. yesterday i walked my dog and sang a little and thought about doing laundry.

Azriel: Im not really looking for trouble

Cassian: what a horrible way to live

Tamlin: What kind?

Feyre:

*Feyre appears*

Suriel: Oh no you’ve caught me

Feyre: I wasn’t even—???

Rhysand:

“You’re mine, I whispered, dragging hands through his hair, down his back, across his wings” - S J Maas

Who doesn’t love this chapter🎨

Intimate and stunning art by Gabriella Bujdoso

i told you i was saddened - too many people feed wild animals, mistakenly believing “once won’t hurt”. too many people think that wild animals are just bigger/smaller versions of domestic animals - they see a fox running around a house on youtube and think that’s a catdog and i could keep it. i told you that the worst part of working with wildlife was having to take care of the aftershock of this. in my state, any nondomestic animal that bites a human must be put down to check for rabies, even if we are positive the animal is safe. the government just slashed the budget again, no more EPA. around this time every year, we spend hours on the phone trying to rehome creatures that can’t survive in the wild anymore - someone thought a feral animal could be “taught” to be a pet. 

a woman cries to me. the fox in the basket is growling. “i thought it was like a dog,” she says. “I didn’t know it would be this much trouble.”

i told you -  why can’t people understand that care can look different on different bodies. that sometimes love for one thing is not love for another. that it can be selfish to want to hold something that was not meant to be held. the lovely thing is that we have plenty to hold, and each other, and a whole world; but there are things with hearts that should stay in the woods. it’s not yours to touch, is all.

you told me: let people have their fun. it’s one raccoon. it’s one bird full of bread. it’s not that big of a deal. 

much later, long after you had been washed out of my hair and my life and my hurting - i realized you would leave little bruises on me, but hated whenever my lipstick smudged across your cheek. you used to say - i just don’t like the feeling. you would bite my lip until it bled and look down at me and say - marking my territory. 

we say that cut to the quick. that means it hurt. that means it drew blood. that means too far.

we got that from dogs. from cutting the nails of our pets. how tender it becomes, this cliche. to mean. we have internalized this little pain. we have said to each other a tiny warning. we say - i am giving you my hand and my heart, and i am asking you not to bite too hard.

we say i'm used to it. that means: it still gives me pain, but i have learned how to survive it. that means - it cannot get to me, my skin has gotten too thick. that means - i have become immune to this.

we get this from a french term, but a german base. to acclimate. i have spent many days thinking this is maybe the saddest term in the whole english language. it's rare we use it out of a place of joy. it's rare it comes on the heels of good news. it is more often a quiet confession.

but i have also learned - there are things that still cut me to the quick. there are things i am surprised about hurting. which is a good thing, isn't it? that i am never used to spring. i am always surprised by it. i am always mourning the crocuses passing.

my dog gives me his paw. he is used to me gently filing each nail back to where it belongs. this is not without trying. he is a rescue from the racetrack. for months, getting him to sit for his nails to be trimmed was an entire expedition. now he half-sleeps through it.

PROFIT IS NOT MORE IMPORTANT THAN OUR LIVES.

WE DESERVE HOMES THAT CAN KEEP US WARM IN THE WINTER AND COOL IN THE SUMMER

WE DESERVE HOMES THAT ARE SPACIOUS ENOUGH FOR OUR NEEDS

WE DESERVE HOMES MADE OUT OF MATERIALS THAT WONT KILL US

WE DESERVE HOMES WITH CLEAN RUNNING WATER

WE DESERVE HOMES WITH PROPER FOOD STORAGE

WE DESERVE HOMES WITH DECENT KITCHENS WE CAN ACTUALLY COOK IN

WE DESERVE HOMES WITH GOOD BATHROOMS WE DONT FEAR WHEN SHOWERING OR GOING TO THE BATHROOM

WE DESERVE PROPERLY VENTILATED HOMES!

WE DESERVE HOMES WITH ENERGY EFFECTIVE UTILITIES

We deserve homes meant to be lived in!

We deserve homes that are energy efficient!

I’m sick of cost effective housing meaning shit that falls apart in a decade that cant withstand rain nor snow nor heat nor cold. I’m sick of it meaning no real kitchen no real food storage no real room to move around in.