I’m not sure how much of a mood listening to “freefalling” as an acoustic cover is while writing a blog… but it just feels like it should be considered a “mood”. Not to mention this is straight after what feels like a decade long BPD meltdown over whether or not I am an ongoing problem in our poly household relationship. *sigh*
I am unsure if Moxie is in co-con or whether I myself just genuinely feel like writing something about my feelings. Mum’s older sister messaged me the other day on Instagram after I decided finally to follow her off of our DID account. y’know, the one we actually use. I often wonder what our family, or at least, what certain family members think that I am up to nowadays. Like, I always feel like I have been the black sheep of the family, and perhaps that’s because in the most literal sense, I was. Growing up in a white family kind of had me feeling very confused… also note that I am saying “me” more as an overall “me”, because a variety of system members have different memories of growing up.
P.s I’m totally not in blogging for decent grammar or vocabulary, and am sorry if none of this makes sense to some.
Dad got me a phone as a gift when I was about 8 or 9, it was a Sony Ericson, small brick of a phone… The idea behind it was that I’d be able to receive calls from him in between visits (which to be honest were pretty few and far in-between). Of course as any kid in 2002 would be, I used to love the game ‘snake’, but phones back then had far slower response times than smart phones nowadays. I remember the numerous occasions in which I would bite the sides of the phone if the snake didn’t turn on time, resulting in me having to start all over again/losing my high score. I remember the countless times that I had to reinsert the battery after yeeting the darn thing across my bedroom. One birthday, we were given a spy diary, can’t for the life of me remember the name of it at the moment. The one though where it records your voice and then you can unlock it using your secret password, otherwise could access it by wedging a screwdriver in-between the plastic opening. I had to set up that diary on the night that I got it, which probably was in the middle of my birthday party at home, I think there were smarties either on a cake or in those small snack boxes that year. Because my bedroom didn’t have a ‘proper’ door so to speak, the sound from the living room travelled into my room. Trying to set up voice recognition in the early 00’s was an absolute pisstake for those of you that are unaware (shit, it was pure shit). I had to sit in my cupboard to try set it up, and then when it worked and I went to show my uncle that it was working, the piece of shit still didn’t recognise my voice, instead of opening it responded with “access denied”. I believe eventually he helped me set it up, he is the most tech savvy out of everyone in our family.
The point of that paragraph was that I used to get quite emotional as a kid, which to be fair, I still do as an adult, but I suppose one could say I have better control as an adult… or more appropriate responses perhaps?
An hour of vent typing and existential crisis later, I’m losing track of my thoughts and whose thoughts are mine. My aunt has seen the message I sent her, potentially even responded… I’m anxious to see what she says. I also need to message dad back, and mum. Emotions make life so complicated some times.