It's fucked to decay in mid-life. I've one hip done and knees and the other hip need doing and I don't want to do them. The first was brutal—three more is yuck.I read a birth defect is like getting a joker if jokers are bad—a chaotic impost at the start of life.Chaos brings light so burn bright as the dark chokes you.That should be in a fortune cookie. Along with "Face the fierce tiger with your chair but know that the chair is you ... as is the tiger."That would make a nice change.
Articles from Harrangue Man
It's on the inside of my bedroom door and it's not real—nor fake, I haven't stuck a falsie on it. It's a coat hanger where the hanger part is black plastic and against the white of the door it makes it seem it has a moustache. I smile when I get a towel that the moustache keeps hooked on the peg.I think more portals should experiment with facial hair. An archway with a Van Dyke? A sliding door with sideburns?
The trouble with my scars that I pick is they are a delight to pick; deeply satisfying.In order to stop it I put on cream but unless you have something to suplant the urge to pick you don't put the cream on.So I have a Slinky. Instead of ripping at face flesh I bounce that, bungee jumping the end to the floor again and again. And when I'm not doing that I can finger the inside as it sits next to me.It's nuts to enjoy picking your bod and then summoning the will to stop.
It sounds like a sausage fest.
The nastier aspect of having OCPD is picking at the body. I pick at my face, neck and thigh.I saw the psych and discussed steps to stop it. Then I went home and kept doing it. I had the cream next to me and I would not put it on to stop myself on the first two until early afternoon. Then I had a go at the thigh. It's nuts to discuss self-harming then go home and self-harm. At least I stopped; that is the win here.
It's a hell of a thing to be lying down and experiencing your body spasming in different places: back of a knee, a little finger, a calf muscle. They remind me I've been wounded and those wounds are unfair.But I copped most of them in the service of the state and I wouldn't have been me if I hadn't.So I fall back on that when the spasms ripple; they're the price I pay to be me.WFTW.
"Democrats, or Demon Rats, have taken over transmission stations and invited aliens in person to probe each and every one of you."These aliens have your picture and address along with a personal item for their robot bloodhounds to sniff you out, to track you to where you are hiding, pull you out and stick that probe in you."Cryin' Schumer will be standing next to the gantry, they all have them, folks, he'll be there with a whip whipping you into the holds of their slave ships where more probi
Certain noises are bound to startle; have PTSD and a lot of such sounds in quick succession you'll end up balanced on flight-fight for future noises. The first nasty was a five foot drop of a nail varnish bottle onto a varnished wooden floor. The rest were dice that missed the table and hit the same surface. In the end we rolled the dice (five at a time) into a box so they wouldn't shoot away except of course a couple did.
The ever boil had ballooned and it was popped; lanced with a needle and squeeeeeezed. I felt every e.We had to pause for a breather then we went again, the tissue wad blossomed with boil gunk.Agonising. So it's hot water bottle time and pain meds. The site is quivering in aftershock.The inner thigh boil; it just keeps on giving.