Common Purpose
Jun. 26th, 2022 12:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormWhen I sit down to write a post I feel arrested, my body suddenly frozen and blank. It's a similar feeling to how PDA seizes me sometimes and I'm not saying it isn't that, but I'm also not sure it is.
It's summer. Covid is functionally no longer limiting most folks' choices of behaviour except perhaps to keep them a little more strongly in (I use this word deliberately) cliques they by now prefer to unfriends even if they didn't prefer them previously. People are busy.
I've already written elsewhere about the lack of interdependency I feel in my life, how I miss it. It seems to have always been an issue for many neurodivergent folks to navigate what having people in their lives sometimes but not other times looks like; they say autism has black-and-white thinking (you're there for me or you're not) and I feel that; they say ADHD struggles with object impermanence and while I don't know about ADHD I know that my sense of people in my life recedes when folks are too busy for me. A lot of folks have interacted with me lately in ways apparently of their choosing and then expressed regret at doing so afterwards. That's hard on me; it leads me to take my distance.
And so I freeze when I sit down to write in part because I want to hide myself from these people. If they are not in some way mine, I want to not in any way be theirs. I want to hide both my hurt and my little joys from people who feel, to me, to have abandoned the work of me but keep me around for entertainment.
Writing that, I know that I also very firmly want to be in a space of being wanted and consented to with my interactions right now. Folks who come to me under obligation, instead of freely: those aren't the folks I want around. And it's also true that I haven't before let anyone make me stop writing on their behalf and I am not about to start now. So here I am, writing.
I talk about people this and people that but here's the thing. The crows ate most of my corn trial and it broke my heart and I had no one to talk to about it so it got stuck in me and I haven't processed it yet. It's big and it hurts and talking to a person about it is stabilizing, whereas writing about it means I go right down into the darkness until I reach the bottom and I'm scared to do that. When I sit down to write the corn trial looms up and threatens to overwhelm my feelings and so I can't write about anything else.
So I guess I'm resentful and restless around people because I want someone to make a safe space for me to talk about this and they haven't and won't.
I'm also in the dark part of my cycle right now, the cycle that was worse last time around and feels like it's gonna be worse this time around. It takes a lot more to settle me at this time.
I need to write about corn, loss, the process of pain and then unfolding that into fertilty and new options, but I need to feel loved when I do it.
And I think to do that I'll need to go sit with what's left of the corn, and plant my new round of it.
It's summer. Covid is functionally no longer limiting most folks' choices of behaviour except perhaps to keep them a little more strongly in (I use this word deliberately) cliques they by now prefer to unfriends even if they didn't prefer them previously. People are busy.
I've already written elsewhere about the lack of interdependency I feel in my life, how I miss it. It seems to have always been an issue for many neurodivergent folks to navigate what having people in their lives sometimes but not other times looks like; they say autism has black-and-white thinking (you're there for me or you're not) and I feel that; they say ADHD struggles with object impermanence and while I don't know about ADHD I know that my sense of people in my life recedes when folks are too busy for me. A lot of folks have interacted with me lately in ways apparently of their choosing and then expressed regret at doing so afterwards. That's hard on me; it leads me to take my distance.
And so I freeze when I sit down to write in part because I want to hide myself from these people. If they are not in some way mine, I want to not in any way be theirs. I want to hide both my hurt and my little joys from people who feel, to me, to have abandoned the work of me but keep me around for entertainment.
Writing that, I know that I also very firmly want to be in a space of being wanted and consented to with my interactions right now. Folks who come to me under obligation, instead of freely: those aren't the folks I want around. And it's also true that I haven't before let anyone make me stop writing on their behalf and I am not about to start now. So here I am, writing.
I talk about people this and people that but here's the thing. The crows ate most of my corn trial and it broke my heart and I had no one to talk to about it so it got stuck in me and I haven't processed it yet. It's big and it hurts and talking to a person about it is stabilizing, whereas writing about it means I go right down into the darkness until I reach the bottom and I'm scared to do that. When I sit down to write the corn trial looms up and threatens to overwhelm my feelings and so I can't write about anything else.
So I guess I'm resentful and restless around people because I want someone to make a safe space for me to talk about this and they haven't and won't.
I'm also in the dark part of my cycle right now, the cycle that was worse last time around and feels like it's gonna be worse this time around. It takes a lot more to settle me at this time.
I need to write about corn, loss, the process of pain and then unfolding that into fertilty and new options, but I need to feel loved when I do it.
And I think to do that I'll need to go sit with what's left of the corn, and plant my new round of it.
