STICKY: Happywashed

I made this blog to vent the good and the bad and the in-between.

I won’t be prevented from venting the bad.

I’m not writing this to gain followers or build up my writing cred. It’s to keep myself alive.

I’m sick of the notion that everything we put out on the internet must be sterile and appropriate. It drives me nuts that an entire part of the human psyche, what we call illness, must be corralled into dark corners and never shown the light of day. My illness isn’t dangerous to anyone. I will never hurt anyone. And I won’t pretend that my life is light and happiness even when it isn’t. That, to me, is toxic. More toxic than anything I might post here in a bad mood.

I’ll compromise though; I’ll leave the venting posts up for a day or two, then mark them private. Then I know someone might have read one. Someone might know about how I’m feeling, and that’ll be enough to keep going.


Back To Business (Self-Care)

General life update.

Two week’s leave was good. I didn’t get half of what I wanted to do done, but I did give myself a gift: the ability to feel free for a while. To just go do random things I wanted to do, fun things I wanted to do but always put off. I did get some housework and miscellaneous things done as well. I didn’t reform my sleep schedule; in fact, I let myself sleep as much as I wanted.

That’s messing with me hard on the first week back to work. I spend the entire day groggy, and then come home and do nothing.

I’m going to have to be militant about going to bed, even if Husband wants to stay up to cuddle and talk. He has the freedom of a workplace that is flexible on working from home and going in late. Me, I’m on work’s sh*tlist, I have to be in by 10am every day. So at 1:30AM, 2:00AM, I’m going to have to double down and be a b*tch, insisting I need to go to sleep. He tolerates less sleep better than I do, which is something I’ve tried to explain to him. Husband always seems to forget this, though. It takes me raising my voice to get him to retain things that pertain to me. If I don’t get a minimum of 8-9 hours of sleep, it takes only a day or two before I turn into a irritable sloth no one wants to be around.

Positives? I’ve ditched the hairpiece and I’m now going to work with short hair. Gotten a lot of compliments from various people at work, of course, I can’t know if it’s real or not. I’ll take it at face value, though. I’ve also begun showering in the mornings every other day, I notice a BIG difference in wakefulness on those days. I also notice I feel better about myself even if I am tired from getting up earlier to shower. Getting up later on a no-shower day doesn’t actually make me feel better.

So while I’m only three days in on the whole showering-consistently thing, I’ve noticed a positive trend for my mood. Whether or not I can continue the trend remains to be seen. I think things will gradually get better if I persist doing these activities that up my mood and not giving in to the depressive inner voice. I simply have to say to myself, you’re going to feel like sh*t if you get up late and don’t shower.  If you get up super late and don’t shower, it’s just giving in to misery, not alleviating it. If self-care is lounging around in pajamas, sleeping till noon, and not showering for a week, then why don’t you feel better? Self-care is doing things that are good for you, even if you don’t want to do it.

Oh, another plus of the whole showering-consistently thing: The background fear that I stink is gone. I know that I smell good. I know my hair looks clean, shiny and bouncy. The hairpiece wasn’t solely there to disguise my thin, limp hair, it was there to disguise my depressive lack of hygiene.

Self-care: taking care of yourself even when you want to “crash into slumber”, to borrow the words of my longtime favorite internet trainwreck. (Am I a trainwreck? Probably a lesser one. That’s why I enjoy CWC’s antics. There but for the grace of introspection go I.)

Now to expand self-care to other things I have been neglecting: exercise and diet. That will come eventually, just sleeping right and hygiene are my top priorities for now. Once I’ve become consistently better at caring for myself this way, I’ll start working in those things. One or two things at a time. Small steps.

I get the feeling that my obsessive, almost-stalkerish need to know what’s going on in the life of The Couple will end once I figure out how to start talking to them again.

The problem is, I don’t see any way other than to be slavishly apologetic. But I just stopped talking to them, I didn’t kick their baby. I chalk that up to my childhood, I don’t know how to resolve these things in a healthy way. I guess I start slow, say hello, but practice restraint. I can see myself easily lapsing back into my uncontrolled enthusiasm if I don’t. Don’t act cold but don’t relapse into “omgyayTheCouple”, just act neutral. If I really care about them, they deserve my best acting abilities. Pretend, for a little while, to be a normal early 30s female who has her shit together. No one cares about what’s going on on the internet, no one cares about that video you watched that was so great, no one wants to hear about that book or album that blew your mind. It takes a certain set of circumstances to bond on interests, and I will get better at identifying them.

I’m going to a “nerdy girls” book club meeting tomorrow. Maybe that will help.


Femininity as Power

Something I have always railed about on this blog is the notion of femininity, conformity, consumerism, and how they all fit together. How you can’t have one without the other.

It’s complex. For so long, women have only had the power that a graceful build, a made-up face and thick, styled hair could give them. The more you strove to achieve physical perfection, the better marriage options you could get, the more money and power you could have, albeit indirectly through your husband.

The few people I have discussed this with in real life have seemed affronted, taken aback by my firm belief that femininity isn’t really power, just a means to achieve indirect power, perhaps. For me, it is true; a view created and colored by the fact I was born with an unflattering build: wide shoulders and hips, broad, flat cheeks lending to a round yet butch face, and thin, worthless hair. For me, femininity isn’t a source of power but a source of mockery. How many people have tried to convince me I looked beautiful dressed up, while they covered their grins with their hand?

I am stuck in the system, a misfit part.  I know what I should do. I should quietly acquiesce; grow my straggly hair back out, buy my way into acceptance with mascara and foundation, and just do what is meant for me. Place myself under the limits of femininity just as so many women before me have. But just as before, when I still strove to be accepted, my true nature will shine out and I will see people hiding their laughter as I cosplay as a woman.

It’s destined to be lonely, because deviation from the norm is seen as an indicator you will harm others. Yet loneliness is also guaranteed striving to match the ideal, and I have no inclination to be Sisyphus, eternally pushing a rock up a mountain.

I will always seem dangerous and weird to others. I will be lonely. But I won’t live what is, for me, a lie. I use the time I would have spent adjusting my appearance to gain power the only way I have available- my mind.

It’s been working out for me so far, financially and somewhat romantically. In terms of generic human connection? As you get older, not conforming becomes a disaster- people no longer assume the best of you. Maybe no one will ever get over the fact I don’t conform, and perhaps my husband will always be my only connection to “normal” people.

It’s okay. The zen of unconditional kindness to others will carry me; I simply need to practice it. I can’t change others, I can’t change the way the world works. I can only change how I react to it.

Suckerpunch of Loneliness

Today’s the first day of my leave. I woke up at 12:30pm.

And I’m in a rotten mood. Of course.

I had the thought today that the only place I’ve ever felt safe is in my own head. And that was kind of a blow.

I spent my childhood working up the courage to leave my bedroom. To head into a house where no one cared if I was sad or unhappy. Where no one was my advocate. Where I had to behave slavishly grateful for anything at all. Where I had to endure the random screaming of an unhinged woman, and the apathy of a self-worshipping father.

It still weighs heavily upon me. How do I build a sense of self-worth?

There’s no making up for the past. I can’t relate to people who were valued by their parents, and that’s how it’ll always be. This loneliness may always be present, and though I fantasize about building up someone else in a platonic way, someone who will accept my love, someone who will return it, it won’t happen. It’s best I don’t have children.

Focus instead, on doing.

I need to use this break to build a routine, like I said I would. I will pull an all-nighter tonight, and go to bed tomorrow around 8pm. I’ll wake up in the AM on Wednesday. And I’ll wake up at that time nearly every day; I think I’ll give myself Sunday to sleep in. Only until 10am or so, however.

I need to wake up early, and be productive. Rather than languish in my head in a cluttered, dirty house.

I need to be my own advocate.


I just got out of a meeting with my team lead and the project lead. The meeting was supposed to be an hour, ended up being near two hours. Project lead, known as PL from here on out, spent about an hour-ish telling us about the disaster of her son’s engagement with a woman that was like me in an unsettling way.

Even as I sympathized with PL about what the ex-fiancee put her, her son, and the rest of her family through, I thought to myself,”Ah, this is what I seem like from the outside. What I seem like to others.” I’m not entirely like this girl.. But there are echoes.

Ex-Fiancee came from a troubled family. For the first eight months of the relationship the girl seemed fine, but didn’t talk much about her family. The father was bipolar, very controlling and demanding, going so far as to monitor his wife’s car odometer and prevent her from the use of the car with a steering wheel lock. The girl’s brother was also bipolar. The mother? Probably Stockholm syndrome, very nice.

When PL’s son popped the question and the ring, everything changed. She became downright controlling and manipulative of the son. She became cold and standoffish to PL and PL’s daughter. She was even rude to PL’s 80-something mother. As PL put it, she was trying to put a wedge between PL’s son and PL’s family.

A few months ago, PL, her son, daughter and the Ex-Fiancee go on vacation together. From the family’s standpoint, this is Ex-Fiancee’s time to make amends. Ex-Fiancee is even explicit as to, this is your chance. But instead, Ex-Fiancee blew it. She blew small events wildly out of proportion, freaking out when the family placed their wet shoes on the opposite side of the deck from her wet shoes to dry. She thought it was a snub. Another event is when PL noted her son’s side looked blotchy while they were at the beach, and asked if he had applied sunscreen. Apparently, that was Ex-Fiancee’s job.

For the entirety of the trip, Ex-Fiancee barely spoke. She wouldn’t speak to PL or PL’s daughter when they entered the room, even when they greeted her. On the 13 hour trip back, Ex-Fiancee didn’t speak a word.

Needless to say, PL’s son told Ex-Fiancee,”Look, we need to put off the wedding. We need to work on these issues.” PL went hot and cold on this, saying at times “Yes, I’ll go to therapy with you” to straight up “No, the wedding is now or never.”

Rather than do the reasonable thing and go to couple’s therapy and put the wedding off, Ex-Fiancee refused. Refused to cancel anything. They had a bridal shower even while PL’s son was trying to get her to cool down and put off the wedding. Ex-Fiancee forced PL’s son to sit with her as she opened gifts, which was embarassing for PL’s son. And not a single picture of the bridal shower included PL or PL’s daughter. When PL’s son and Ex-Fiancee returned home, they found presents from people who couldn’t attend the bridal shower. Ex-Fiancee cursed and kicked the presents, saying she didn’t care about them. Then pretended, later on, that coming home to the presents was like Christmas.

Needless to say, the wedding is off. PL is dealing with the Ex-Fiancee demanding money for all the things they had to cancel and not get money back for. She refuses to return the ring as well. PL and PL’s son are out of a lot of money to get this girl out of their life.

What really struck me was Ex-Fiancee’s hot and cold disposition. Little things seem like huge insults, indicators of how people really feel about you. Being utterly silent, to a troubling degree, in the presence of others. Hiding her dysfunctional family. Being on best behavior for a long while, then slipping up, revealing the damage. These things, they are spot on between me and Ex-Fiancee.

What isn’t spot on is the outright selfishness. The attempts to wedge the Mother-in-law and family away from the son. Refusal to meet people in the middle on matters.

The difference between me and Ex-Fiancee seem to be self-awareness and a willingness to not hurt others. I do tend to discard relationships, however. I discarded my husband’s friends, based on the conflicted and flawed perspective of “I’ve made too many social blunders and can’t undo it” and also “knowing” they didn’t really like me and judged me negatively. I don’t think I’ve hurt them by doing this, as they never really cared about me. They care about Husband, and my presence at social events is not important to them. Now that I’m figuring out how to have casual acquaintances, I can start speaking to them again.

Husband’s friends might be one thing. But I would never discard Husband’s family, or force a wedge between him and them, because I care about Husband. I don’t want to hurt him, though I’m sure I have. Fourish-years in, we seem to still be working together.

Also, I’m self-aware enough to know that maybe these “slights” I perceive aren’t slights at all, or at the very least, not worth blowing up over.

The whole thing is quite eye-opening. As many chances as PL and PL’s family gave Ex-Fiancee to make up with them, she kept thinking that there was no resolving what she’d said and done. I am certain that Ex-Fiancee is like me in that social failure weighs heavily on the heart, and while maybe they’d forgive her, they wouldn’t forget. And it’s that they won’t ever forget that burns the most. But we don’t get a new, blank slate with other people, though. We have to live with the slate we have.

Need to remember this. That while maybe forgetting isn’t an option, forgiveness is worthwhile. Working to keep the slate from filling up more is worthwhile.

Another Year, Another Birthday

Tomorrow’s my birthday. Husband’s leaving town tonight, to go to Gencon. I’ll be all by my lonesome from Thursday to Sunday. Which is okay, I might get a little lonely. Or, I might have kickass fun, derping around the house playing music and movies as loud as I want and not having to control myself. Or both.

I don’t know. I just always feel.. freer when alone. I always have. Probably a consequence of childhood, where everything I did when other people were around was just always.. wrong and bad. Reading books? Why aren’t you out socializing? What are you doing, skulking around the house like you belong here? It didn’t matter what I did, it was just wrong and bad. And that feeling has persisted to adulthood- other people won’t just let you be. You have to put on a performance any time someone else is around. Be proper. Be gender-appropriate. It doesn’t enure me to human contact when all human contact seems to be horrible.

But I do get lonely. I suppose I want to have my cake and eat it too- be alone as I please but have human contact at the drop of a hat. It doesn’t quite work that way though. You have to keep and maintain relationships to be able to sate that need. There seems to be a conflict between my need to live judgement free and my need for human contact. It’s not like I do anything too nuts when alone- I might derp around the house spazzing out and giggling, I enjoy being able to go from room to room without having to stop and have conversations every single time. I focus better, knowing there will be no interruptions.

So, plans for alone time.
1. Run around the house mostly naked while making idiot noises.
2. DRAW AND WRITE!!! I got the tablet Husband bought working, finally, after four days. It turns out doing what the manual explicitly tells you not to do is the trick.
3. Maybe do some cleaning and sorting of stuff in the garage and closets.
4. Maybe deep-clean the carpet in my office. Husband dropped a plate of curry chicken on the floor in there. Curry doesn’t come up. It dyes everything a faint shade of orange. As much as I’ve applied oxy-clean and hot water, the stain is still there and the room probably smells faintly of old curry. This idea is labor intensive, and involves dragging furniture out of my office.
5. Set up workout room.

Plans for my birthday? Slothful self-indulgence. Broken up by maybe going out to dinner with my half-sister and mother.

The next couple of days are gonna be gud.

300 > 150

So my nurse-practitioner upped me to 300mg of WB. When I told her some things are better but some things are the same, she said,”Well, we want a complete remission of symptoms so let’s up your dose.” I took the first one yesterday.

The different between 150 and 300 is pretty dope. The first day I took it, I showered. WOAH, HOLY SHIZ RIGHT? I’m feeling far more level. Almost a little manic, but not really. I’d say I’m at my optimal derpiness right now. I actually talked to people today while I was out testing my non-legit solar eclipse glasses. My focus is a lot better as well, though I’m prone to tunnel vision.

Another contributor to my good mood is that my birthday is in a couple of days. Husband is going to be away on my birthday for GenCon, though, so that makes me sad. He bought me a present – a 22 inch drawing tablet. The kind that is essentially a monitor, so you draw directly on the screen. Sadly, the drivers for it suck reallllly bad. If I can’t get the problem resolved today, I’m going to splurge on a Wacom Cintiq. Ungodly expensive, frighteningly expensive, but quality software and hardware. Hopefully the drivers for the existing, non-Wacom tablet their tech support sent me today will work. Otherwise… It’s Wacom o’clock.

Work is going okay. I just replied to my manager about the leave I’m going to take. I can shave three days off the unpaid ten days I plan to take by using vacation, floating holidays, and a paid holiday (Labor day). Unnghhhhh I can’t wait for that leave. My body is ready.




Non-Religious Belief Systems

Yesterday, I confirmed with manager that I’ll be taking two weeks of unpaid leave. I think the relief at knowing I’ll have two blissful weeks with halved responsibilities has helped me relax a bit, and be more open.

I’ve been feeling extra lonely lately. Instead of repressing it though, last night I sought out Husband for cuddles. That doesn’t happen too much. Practically glued to him, even tried to fall asleep cuddling. Skin hunger is a thing. There’s been a shift in my thinking lately: Husband, though another person, is not the enemy. Husband has my back. Husband can be my protector, if I need him to be. That’s such a novel concept- someone protecting me. Someone keeping me from harm. I don’t think I’ve ever really had that in life before. I can count on him. That thought immediately draws me toward him, emotionally.

Someone reading this blog, especially earlier entries, could make the misapprehension that I don’t love Husband. That’s not right. The truth is a bit more complex. I think of romantic love as I think of gender: something somewhat artificial, kind of a belief system. You have to actively believe in these concepts, and aspire to them. Most women seem to be seeded with the notion of “true love” and romance early on in life, through media, through socialization. Coming from a broken home and not really relating to other women, that concept never took. My sister, who posts Harley Quinn memes and other dramatic romance memes on Facebook, is in love with the idea of being in love. I can’t say I’m the same.

My Husband isn’t my world. And I’m not his world. We go through life together, but we don’t have illusions about each other. Well, not to the degree that seems appropriate to True Love believers. Our relationship works because we communicate well. Mostly in dead, long-forgotten memes, but that’s just comfortable.

As for platonic loneliness, not much has changed in that aspect. I still find my thoughts vengeful and bitter at times, the flip side of the coin from the childishly optimistic side of me that still thinks Husband’s friends could be close to me. The realization from a few posts ago about my tendency to idealize kind people is still sinking in, but I think I will soon be able to treat my husband’s friends as they are: fair-weather acquaintances. I am learning to accept their limitations. They aren’t friends like the ones in books. I will never be as important to them as they were to me, and that’s just life.

Focusing on myself, on the things that I want to do, that’s what I need to do. Without being cruel to others, I need to develop a belief system with me as the core. Even if you’re not religious, you find something to believe in whether you realize it or not. I must believe in a better version of me, I must have faith despite the damage done to my self-worth.

I can believe in me.


So, what I had long feared happened yesterday. I had a sit-down with my supervisor and manager about my work performance.

But I’m not sh1tcanned. In fact, at 4:30 today I’m going to be talking to said manager about taking unpaid leave.


I’m going to push for two weeks leave. Two weeks to decompress, unfack my sleep and hygiene schedule, and maybe, just maybe, draw and write some.

I’d told Husband in the past I wanted to take unpaid leave. I researched it as well. But the meeting forced my hand, and everything went better than expected. The best part of the leave is that when I discussed it with my supervisor, he said that taking leave when I planned to might coincide with all members of the team being involuntarily, temporarily, out of work. This is a hazard that happens with the government giving out contracts; sometimes when a contract ends they don’t get the new one out in time. What a surprise, right? This is the government we’re talking about. This results in a “gap”- if there’s no new contract out yet to pay workers, they don’t work. Of course, when the new contract rolls out, the workers are back on payroll.

So, there’s a chance that while I’m out, so is everyone else on the team. Who knows what will happen – maybe no gap will happen at all. Even so, taking leave at the very beginning of a contract is better than taking it at the end.


Two weeks. Two weeks to get my sh1t together with 100% dedication. I am excited. I need to plan what goals I want to accomplish over those two weeks, yet I need to be careful not to over-plan myself. I have a tendency to do that, then when presented with implementing the plan I get overwhelmed.

Let’s get going. Next post will be a debrief of 4:30 meeting with my manager, and a refined version of the following.

From highest priority to lowest priority:
1. Sleep schedule overhaul. I’m going to start getting up earlier. Today, after the meeting with manager/supervisor, I got up at 9AM. But I’d really like to see how I do getting up nearer to sunrise. More time to get stuff done. As much as I love late nights, maybe it’s time to try being an early bird.
This means getting up at around 7AM. Hmmm. Dare I try waking at 6AM? The easiest way to rise early, for me, is to pull an all-nighter than go to sleep the next day at an early time. So, I’ll plan for an all-nighter around the time my leave starts. tells me after the all-nighter I should fall asleep at 9:00. After that, I think 10:30 is my bedtime. If I want to wake at 7AM, 11:30PM. I don’t know. I get so optimistic, but my habits are hard to change. I’ll try it out. I’ll happily settle on rising at 8AM. Consistency is the only thing that matters here.

2. Hygiene overhaul. I shower once or twice a week at best. Not good. Not good at all. I should aim for every day showers, washing my body every day but washing my hair every other day. It’s not good for hair like mine (thin, fine) to be washed every day. Other goals: Teeth brushed twice a day. I’m good at brushing at night, but mornings? Eh.

3. Exercise. With two weeks to spend at home, Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness (DOMS) is not going to ruin my life. I’ve been wanting to start lifting again, but I keep putting it off since I know I’ll be physically destroyed for several days after the first time.

4. Draw and write. I am not going to spend those two weeks living on the internet, watching TV, and playing games.

5. Hoard overhaul. There’s stuff in my house that hasn’t seen the light of day in years. It needs to go out the door. I feel calmer with less stuff now, whereas before in the poor years I felt better with more stuff. Time to box stuff up and take it to the thrift store.

6. Short hair revelation. I’ve been considering returning from leave with short hair. This means saying goodbye to my wig. I love it, but it’s far too dark. I am very pale, and the wig is dark brown, whereas my natural hair is a gold-brown. The contrast of dark and glow-in-the-dark doesn’t look great. I’m considering also dying my natty hair a shade lighter. Boy, I’ll be unrecognizable when I return to work. But it’s time. Time to openly be myself.


Freedom From Femininity

I’ve always felt like being a woman is a massive chore.

If you’re raised in a conservative, traditionalist household, your father might feel that you are his property. What his property does reflects on him to others. My own father wasn’t exactly conservative, but neither was he liberal. He was religious when it suited him. He idolized Bill Clinton and JFK for being skirtchasers, but otherwise, women existed solely for his needs. That’s the way it was for me.

He and my stepmother weren’t one for positive reinforcement. They preferred heavy-handed authoritarian parenting. I needed to know they owned me, and that anything they gave me I had to be slavishly grateful over. Flat out told as a child I was just renting that room I slept in. My existence was a burden for them, and gosh, I wasn’t a likeable burden either. Didn’t I think about my father’s feelings? Didn’t I care about his reputation to people who didn’t matter? Why didn’t I adorn myself with skirts and makeup and high heels, become a cheerleader, and be popular at school? Why did I insist on being quiet, introverted, reading books, and showing no indicators of femininity? Why did I embarrass him that way?

I’ve always known I had low value in this world as a female. And a female who doesn’t make her life’s goal to please the eyes of others, that’s even worse. It’s easy to reject this world when you’ve been treated the way I’ve been. It’s easy to reject what others try to force upon you. Femininity has always been forced upon me; it doesn’t feel liberating or empowering to me. At all.

I’m steadily giving up on the notion anyone will understand. No one will understand. I need to pound this into my head, to get past the notion I’ve been struggling with since childhood, the falsehood taught to me by fiction: someone will understand some day. That fiction was meant for normal children, good little boys and girls who know what they’re supposed to be when they grow up. Not for people like me.

I’m finally opening my eyes. I thought for the longest time that if I was kind and nice, no matter how “odd” I was, people would still like and accept me. But now I know if I don’t wear makeup, have nice hair, and act appropriately feminine, I will never be accepted. I will never fit. I will always be strange, and people will forget my name.

I’m better prepared now. I took off my pair of rose-tinted glasses. It’s funny, how much I talked in this blog about the female half of The Couple wearing those, but I had a pair myself after all. I know now I need to conserve my energy, when it comes to other people, because they will never return that energy to a “strange” person. Other people are a bottomless pit, taking and never returning. If I was normal, if I was a proper woman, it would be different.

If I live a lie, other people will reward me. If I live my own truth, I am borderline shunned. And yet, I know what is still better, in the long run.


Home (Losing My Religion)

I had a dream last night that I started talking to my husband’s friends again. I felt that warm glow of perceived acceptance and reciprocity fall over me again.

Kind of painful. Will I ever leave this childish need for their approval behind?

I guess I need to finish growing up. The warmth and affection that was lacking as a child, I can never make up. Not unless I have a child of my own, and that’s not going to happen. No one will ever provide what I crave. Look forward. Leave the loneliness behind.

A constant in one of my non-canon, emotion-dump stories is the main character’s need for home. A place where one is wanted. A place with familiar faces, with no fear of what’s behind their smiles.

Is this concept truly fiction? Fantasy? I always hoped it wasn’t. More and more I think it’s possible, just not for me. You have to fit. You have to belong. If I was slight and slender, with beautiful hair and a made-up face, if I had gender-appropriate interests and behavior, would I belong at last? Part of me fears that’s the case. The other part of me knows about the coldness of social competition that happens when you become an adult. So it’s hard to say.

I wish I could meet people who were warm and open who valued friendship and camaraderie over social advantage. Many people seem to think,”Does this person make me look good in the eyes of others?” It doesn’t matter that this person would stick around far longer than anyone they were trying to impress. I’ve heard too many people gripe about not having any real friends.. Then I see the “friends” they were griping about, selected solely on perceived social status.

And here I am, wailing about the nature of the world yet again. Fiction is often about the ways the author wishes people could be, and I’ve spent too much time reading fiction. A cycle that I don’t know how to break; I read about people I’d want in my life and I think, I can find people like these. But the people in novels and comics, they don’t exist. They’re idealized. I idealized The Couple, who seemed warm and open but were just as judgemental and cold as anyone else.

I wonder how much longer I can keep believing in the concept of home and family. These concepts are ones I have to have faith in. I feel like the world is gradually chipping away at my beliefs. This must be what it’s like to be someone who follows a religion who gradually falls away from it. Only, I’ve never believed in a supreme being, just in the best of other people…

…that I’ve read about in books.

Well, I’ve come full circle.

So, what do I do? Do I stop believing in people, that they can be better than they are? Or do I accept reality, that people are complex and that I may never find who I am searching for?

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I have to find a way to reconcile all of this.