January 6th, 2015

2013, cyd, new

So I continue my life's search for the antidote to the invisibility I suffer from.

I'm on this nostalgia trip. Not full time. Just during alone time, when I know I have time for feels and time to recover before dealing with Doc. He doesn't need it. He and nostalgia are bitter, bitter enemies. He won't let it anywhere around him, and he cannot begin to imagine why I would want to revisit ANY of my past, let alone why I seem to cling to parts of it.

Old school photos and family photos that grew with the family throughout the years. And I thought I had the journal from the 80's transcribed, but apparently I don't. Maybe that's for the better. That just doesn't seem like a good idea to have around right now.

I've got all of these mental health advocates that pretty much ignore me, when they really aggressively promote other artists/writers/photographers that have mental illness. it's pretty much starting to piss me off. Do I have to act all pathetic and call upon people's sympathies all the damn time to get a little fucking acknowledgment? After 15 years of this shit, do I really have to fall on the sword of my mental illness and bleed all over every expression I make in order to turn heads towards me? That seems to be what others are doing. They talk about "recovery" and "stigma", but play on those very things to build their audience. Hell, I can be manipulative like that.

76 people went to my page containing a poem I really aggressively tweeted and facespaced. I don't know how many watched the video, but I sent them there mainly to read the text. So potentially 76 people read that poem. And a percentage of them listened to me perform it. For the first time in months, one of my poems was more popular than what has become my fetish content, my thumbsucking. What did I hear about it? Nothing. For that matter, what do I hear about my thumbsucking, the most popular part of my site? Nothing. Do you know how many retweets my tweets for my written or spoken work I've gotten? None. You know what got me attention on Twitter? When Brian Glicklich tried to passive-aggressively use my illness against me and I turned it around on him and he got hostile. The tweet I made about that, with the screen captures. That tweet got attention. Playing the buggery victim.

I'm not comfortable being the victim. I'm more comfortable with standing up and pulling off the duct tape of stigma and walking out of the pity party. Maybe on here, not so much, but I vent openly and get raw and naked with you guys. I know I am melodramatic here at times. A lot of times. Sometimes without meaning to be.

I really wonder if this journal is going to come under scrutiny from this Brian Glicklich thing. There is nothing he can do to me. I've put it all out there. And I'm prepared to play the illness card again. It worked once. I figure I can get one more use out of it before it permanently stains me. Dog help me if he decides to take my words out of context. I crucify myself. I don't think he's going to come after me. I think he will leave me alone. He's going after the vulnerable of our group, as he sees it. People who are tweeting from work (stupid) and such that he can blackmail them into not posting. He's got nothing on me unless he's willing to pay someone to spend hours going through the hundreds of thousands of words here looking for the few hundred that are germane to his needs. I don't think anyone has that kind of money/will to live. I can't read it. I wrote it.

It bothers me what an asshole this journal ultimately reveals me to be. I am not a good person. At least I'm aware of it and trying to improve these days. But yeah, it hurts to go back and read how delusional, or bitchy I was. The greatest editor that ever lived could make a story of it all. 15 years in the life of anyone would make a good story to someone.

So I continue my life's search for the antidote to the invisibility I suffer from. And will continue until I die or find it.