Sylvanna Devlin

An angry pit of nerves

That’s how we describe the feeling of a stone in your stomach. The not quite ready to puke but nauseated sign of fear.

It’s accompanied by a strange sensation akin in to the flu but not quite as debilitating. Too hot, too cold, too wobbly in the knees and maybe a little dizzy.

This is what it is to actually be scared?

My arachnophobia I recovered from years ago. But I reserve the right to scream like a little girl if I see a scorpion.

Snakes? Nah. They’re cute.

Height? Beyond that weird impulse to just jump off some of us get? Nope. Not really.

Failure?

Ahhhh define failure. I seem to have failed forward a lot in life but I long ago read that was not a bad way to eventually succeed.

Rejection? Abandonment?

Shush. It’s not that I don’t have those, but I’ve dealt with it on such a fundamental level it doesn’t really cause the Wobblies

Financial strain?

Ah. Who doesn’t?

Health?

That really depends on what my doctors say about a benign growth in my brain. If I should worry.

It would be inconvenient to survive suicide only to go out from brain cancer. And I have writing I’d really like to accomplish if I am on my way out.

So death?

Well it’s not that bad really.

Death of a loved one?

It’s gut wrenching and awful, sending me in spirals of disbelief and anguish. But that’s not what’s making me tremble a little.

And without going into particulars. This sensation is so new. So unrecognizable. I didn’t realize how scared I truly was.

I fear very little in life.

But what I’m up against now is the worst it gets.

But can’t face capturing another selfie of my face!

More tomorrow.

I warned several times a day multiple days when I first worried over this.

Artificially drawn models aren’t that hard anymore. Changing the pose is no big deal.

Fake animation would be next.

I became obsessed with what pattern I specifically could recognize to somehow prevent a false world from taking control.

With the hacking we have, slipping in an anchors report is nothing. Fake interviews with presidents. The technology was going beyond the “bait and switch” – get the answers they want and changing the question presented.

We were going to risk mental assault if we couldn’t reduce time spent on in person surveillance. No one could listen to what I went through in entirety- it would destroy them. Cognitive abuse that is very sneaky.

I had put it to the background, focusing my thoughts on data exhaustion.

But the criminal element wants our security services to be over-worked, abused cognitively, and have to face the nastiest of reality abuse becoming uncertain if they’re even seeing the truth.

Hacking has become sophisticated and dangerous- and my background thoughts as to what I personally could do have led me to being annihilated.

Now AI generated images are even fooling the police.

I don’t know how long I have to live.

But if you want to know what they can do?

They did it all to me.

I’m really not sure of writing this down. I’m not certain I want to communicate to the outside world ever again.

We went over how their nastiness, bullying, and abuse was killing me. And while at that point I no longer cared why. It does begin to get annoying.

You’re pretty sure my neighbors are nice to everyone else, but turned on me after the talk any fake evidence (which they haven’t seen thus might not exist).

The lies, the the theft, the hacking and harassment.

They do fit one theory.

It’s ludicrous but the only one I’ve got

First the background

One: I have some buried memories, some suppressed but not quite as bad. And a bunch waiting in the queue to be processed. Anything immediate gets dumped into the waiting tank and won’t hang on long.

With enough cognitive abuse “that long” is 3 seconds.

Two: a technique of gaslighting, abusing, and harassing someone to open up was tested on me by those developing their preferred use of the trollbot. Sometime in the first half of 2025x

I must have either been considered a safe target, because “it’s nothing serious” or…

Some assholes thought I was a terrorist.

Idk why. I fucking don’t. But it’s the only “logical” conclusion.”

Those suppressed memories must be a sign I’m a sleeper cell!

Now. Writers are often confused by “extra” attention. A relatively famous friend has it on his Facebook page:

“I’m a writer not a terrorist”

It’s usually online crap one needs to understand draws attention. Particularly searches.

My bookmarks include some interesting things that involve chemistry- which while not my strong suit is that of a character’s- if it was technically possible.

There are others, but that one used to be my favorite. Now? I think the vigilante will just get her knickers in a twist.

So they tortured me to “gain information”

(I think the intelligence services have that covered, thanks)

And the more I reveal of what I know and what I’ve figured out the more convinced she is that she’s some kind of Apex of intelligence and no one is smarter.

No human can figure that out! Not without an AI

Which is insulting

Yeahhh. She can’t imagine anyone cleverer than her.

So all of Academia just gets to roll their eyes now.

And she’s persuasive enough to have a coterie. And backing. Which we’ll leave alone.

What are the police supposed to do? Those things gaslighted in and out of perception do exist.

And probably would rather not involve herself.

And her motive is so stupid it would insult anyone normal by now.

But she’s probably doubling down on why it’s reasonable to think someone smarter is scarier.

As a side note on conditioning.

Does by that, she means fitness, health, reflexes or patience.

Or some such bullshit that explains certain bitchy behavior but makes it no less insulting.

Authors note:

This one is slightly depressing. Interesting.

But in a WTF is wrong with you, train wreck way.

Skip on to the fourth one for something cheerier

While gaslighting occasionally convinces me there’s a psychopath who doesn’t know boundaries and will wreck havoc on my in order to annihilate me.

I think really?

“Nothing personal, mate. We’re just white terrorists and terrorist employees. Some racially bigoted, but they’re more “useful” than in charge.”

I mean if you want an easy to froth up group of assholes those prejudiced shitty people are easy to manipulate.

“Man. Though, this country is unruly and out of control.

Everyone is squabbling.

“I don’t care who is right anymore the fake news demonizes both sides so an angry gut and shooting from the hip are all The public has to guide them.””

“This has to stop. We have to gain:

Control

I never did understand the idea the abuse in Petaluma was out of a need to control me.

I mean?

Who the fuck, and why the fuck? We’re not in a relationship so that motive? Meh. What’s more I listen to authorities. Actual authorities. I’m a little wild and free but I can be brought in to roost.

I don’t hurt anyone unless mere anxiety that I exist is somehow my fault.

But when I point out how few I’ve hurt – and those out of a relationship mess – gaslighters actually try to convince me to take the fall for some other bitch.

You don’t get someone who burned with compassion who isn’t Buddhist. Most didn’t strive to be kind and understanding on the level I did. Purposefully hoping to cheer up strangers as I pass. An ear to anyone even a stranger.

Let’s stop fucking around.

I radiated with kindness.

Even when my ex drove me into a mad froth I tried to still be kind

But appearances changed with the abuse of an identity thief who didn’t just want to open credit cards. She wanted to take over my life. Replace me. Use my slot in society.

But she’s not good at being me so tried to change me before my final day on earth. She was part of an alienation of everyone connected to one certain person. Because she shat on him trying to get information on my past. And he had influence.

My spiritual writing, my glow were too difficult for her. So every time I chose to go back to compassion despite whatever she had done to my reputation now. I lengthened the time she had before she could kill me.

She succeeded at isolating me, alienating me, keeping others at bay.

She had to make my sister so paranoid she ended up in the morgue. Because she knew me. Loved me. And like everyone in my family. Would continue to do so because our idea of love was warts and all.

But I digress. That I was well liked but “wild and crazy” was what was at issue in 2022 and probably all of 2023.

Scared people trying to control society through abuse picked on me because I was irrepressible. Surly if Melissa “fucking” Devlin could be “brought to order” they could take power over less impossible “enemies”

Oh, excuse me

“Subjects”

Women who use psychological warfare on someone will claim till the end of days.

“It was out of love.”

That fucked up totalitarian kind of “caring”

But they do not know the meaning of love if they think this an okay way to behave.

Men?

It differs. Most don’t use an excuse to try to have power. It’s assumed they would want it. Because men.

And until recently, they were the majority of victims of that kind of abuse.

So we’ll just walk away from that.

2024 saw the rise of the copy cat. But she was young and foolish and not really as dangerous as my “hunters”. Indeed she liked my wild and free reputation.

So I suspect she became a target of the control troll bot.

In 2025 the three year old situation became dangerous. I tried to kill myself and spent months sleeping off major surgery.

In 2026, almost on the anniversary of the start of this, it came to the following situation:

There are terrorists who use me, and others like me as a “demoralization focal point.”

There are bitches who knew and tried to keep me in filth too depressed to do anything. Nit picking, reactive abuse didn’t matter. As long as I was a vegetable they could shit on me and enjoy the privacy they wouldn’t give me.

Playing stupid. Was just a method of:

Control

Abuse and igniting my PTSD?

A way to make me “suicidal” because I had lived for years with a death-wish. They were betting on it. I’d survive a 72 “voices” telling me to kill myself right?

Yeah, no.

But isolating me, making me too paranoid to take the garbage out. Pinning me in place has odd backing.

Probably the same assholes.

Because when they fuck up and kill me, someone could entirely “become me”

The fewer who saw me, the easier it would be. The less distinct and more neutral I was bitched into would appear to be a destruction she flies out of and “Sylvanna Devlin is a phoenix, changed”

So if you fucking don’t mind?

As that individual is a terrorist

I will continue to try to lose weight, fix my teeth, get contacts, wax till I’m good at waxing. And try to learn to be careful of gel tips I do myself.

The glue does eventually fail. But a break is only a break.

The more on fire I am by myself the more likely my survival is. But it’s making controlling women hesitant.

If I start to do things others enjoy, they get shat on. So they take matters into their own hands

I’d like to learn Hindi but they find it so alien and she finds it so difficult, so they shit on anything Hindi related.

Shit on, steal, trash my side of anything I want to do. Keep me crushed. Make me feel miserable and trapped no matter how ludicrous a fight would be.

And the terrorist who is fine with that because they’re doing her a favor.

So gaslighting insults or true assholery?

The c*** crowd saw dollar signs. Abuse me into being a whore. That would surely make the terrorist uninterested…

Come on!

Similar techniques are used to the ones that aggravated my PTSD

Worse? It’s middle school tactics and I am barely holding on to life. Withdrawing from the world.

Which suits the terrorist just fine.

The anniversary day the declaration of independence was signed.

It’s easy now to miss just why that’s significant and in what way is this holiday more than backyard barbecues and sparklers.

Don’t get me wrong. This are awesome things.

I am vegan but I ate meat when my body wasn’t as big an asshole.

Ahh the classic American German hamburger

Ahhhh

Well America improved on the hot sandwiches

But my younger fellow countrymen might miss the big deal.

Some guys declared independence a very long time ago and now we shoot off fireworks? What gives. Why do we even celebrate a dusty old document. It’s not like it was the constitution.

Think about a parent, teacher, boss, soon to be exe, actual exes, some other authority making you wriggle.

Otherwise know in your head by some variety of “that asshole”

Imagine you get a hint of what it’s like to live without that fucking asshole. You moved out, moved on, quit, quit the county, etc.

You’re mostly out of their eye and reach and it feels pretty damn good. You’re free of that bastard.

But ooooooh no. They send someone to tsk and “help” you regain their favor. Just change who you are now, everything you do and they’ll “love you again”.

OMFG

What nerve right? Who the fuck does he think he is?

Why should you give a rats arse what he thinks or wants?

You’re just quietly enjoying self governance and that’s apparently “not English enough”

(Okay yeah, they were assholes)

What fucking gall!

Fuck that guy.

You are experiencing a freedom to make decisions for the first time. A band has popped off you feel like you can breathe

And that assumptive asshole announces that you can regain your standing with him.

Who fucking wants to?

Well. That guy is a king. You grow up obeying that king in a fealty based structure. The Magna Carta might have inspired the lower masses to seek representatives. Thus there’s a parliament. How special “England is”

The Magna Carta was the first set of rules developed by those involved in colonization. It’s an American document (its name is latin). The British parliament was based on an idea of the colonies, self governance.

So already America is leading the way for self rule and they kinda like it.

The French Native American war has just happened. England had to send people traipsing through the colonies to defend “England” as that “asshole views everywhere Britain has conquered as an extension of Britain.

We’ve been there in our personal lives haven’t we? Some guy, girl or in-between acts like he should get a say.

You’ve bugged out. WTF?

So Britain, busy fighting invasion and flattening the colonies who resent their freedom to self govern being suppressed

What’s more troops were just forcing individuals to house and feed them like each one of those regal redcoats was a demigod or something.

What’s more. The colonists spent their physical resources putting up with this shit and good old mad king George sends a bill to “pay for the war”

Excuse me?

Dick Soldier here ate my limited food every night. And guzzled my beer. And now you want me to pay the jerk I’ve been housing?

“You can start by paying your back taxes o. Tea.”

Oh gee thanks.

We know how well that turned out.

Fuck that fucking king.

But he was the king. Don’t you see? Only by being brave enough to sail into the unknown, have the wherewithal to build and settle an entirely new village. The cleverness to adapt to east coast humidity. Hunt those big weird land birds (turkeys) and once it was pointed out, till the soil and plant corn.

It didn’t really look edible at first. But maize corn was tasty once cooked. Those were your ancestors.

Your lineage was the descendent of the courageous and bold, and new settlers surviving that awful boat.

You have the endurance you need to build and self govern.

And some assholes who just sucked your towns dry of food and resources now want to hand you a bill. Oh and by the way. Rule are rules even if they chafe. Behave yourselves.

I would like you to envision some asshole soldier forced his way into your life. You don’t know him, don’t trust him, don’t like him.

But that little oinker now says he’s the boss of you?

Fuck off.

At night men secretly meet to sign a Declaration of Independence.

A what?

No one in the known world had ever just said “you’re not the boss of me” to royalty.

“Royalty is royalty and whatever you do better be with his approval”

But Americans were basically sending the message that they no longer see the king as their leader. His troops shat on your happiness and he’s beginning to hassle those who can’t cough up. What’s more those unreasonable taxes we’re getting levied against your land. Your home. Your sanctuary.

Okay one: it was a difficult life but you were so free to do things your way creatively and as a group you were the content kind of happy.

Two: land ownership was a big part of that pursuit of a personal sanctuary and you had your own patch to feel safe in.

Fuck that king George! He knows fuck all about the colonies, how they like to run things and have limited resources.

You were kind of enjoying having a say over who is in charge.

So the next time someone doesn’t see the big deal of this holiday, understand the Americans were rejecting a king – the head of church!

Or they Feels a bit wormy about the pursuit of happiness as it lost it’s meaning by the “me first” generation. It was never intended to be antisocial.

Any escape of the yoke of the nasty boss (or whatever) will give you a taste of the kind of “breath in fresh air)

And the best of the worst “it was over taxes” Nope that part was just the most insulting

That is the significance of the Declaration of Independence.

Hold on to this history. Cling on. Because America was indeed founded by exceptional people. And the news today makes us feel anything but. Naturalized citizen or one born here.

It’s easy to get bogged down and not feel as celebratory as everyone else. Or just view it as “another day”.

Try not to lose the original reason we celebrated. The ferocity and courage. The determination our lives should be more self determined. The creativity and resourcefulness of the forefathers.

And the importance of freedom

Which is treated as a watered down word – because we don’t pause to imagine the American dream.

Freedom.

It was such a revolutionary concept the French Revolution soon followed suit.

Freedom

Let go a little today and hug the ideas and concepts that changed the world for the better.

Happy July 4th, Independence Day.

Hang on, too furious to handle the mere idea someone would try to subject me to their authoritarian horse shit.

I will not follow your commands

I will not follow your rules

I will not let you condition me into ever listening to you.

I certainly won’t “Obey”

It’s an insult you try.

Just who do you think you are?

You lack culture and dignity so there’s no mafia involved. And the Yakuza are frankly more civilized too.

Yes, this is organized crime – all those pots are there – some put in place by Sonoma County socialites.

But your version is small, petty, and I might want to hesitate on calling it organized.

Someone was handed the keys to the kingdoms, all that power at her fingertips. But she became obsessed with breaking me.

The wild steed bullshit again.

It’s not going to happen and she’s pissing me off.

Which makes me difficult.

It’s just as well.

I “follow” along and it becomes automatic.

Being subjugated by torture and reality abuse because she want “obedience”

Is not going to work.

I will not let anyone else control my life, ever again. I will not succumb to nuero-linguistic abuse. I will still fight if melted down to nothing.

Death first.

And as much as you say the cliched “that can be arranged”

I call bull.

None of you want to be done in for murder. Though abuse on your level does deserve manslaughter charges.

But we’ll leave that aside for now.

You’re thieves and pimps, extortionist masters if you have the opportunity. You’re “guns” for hire and that bullet is a lethal trollbot. And you have hacking claws in everything.

You didn’t write that trollbot. It was tested and refined trying to break me. I caused an entire system crash once at the shelter and my discoveries lead to others crashing it twice more.

The trollbot had been too confused to continue about 50 times.

I “”won” 12 times before I stopped counting.

I can’t remember if I had other tactics.

As for the gaslighting game set in motion a couple of weeks ago, against the odds, (the name of that element)?

I kicked Joshua/Davids arse. You tottured me, harangued me, exhausted me, and got me back into it over again, mostly because you wouldn’t leave me alone. My Achilles heal of frustration.

I ran rings around him after taking a nap. And I wasn’t using a computer to do so.

It was one more example of the kind of methods meant to do more high level crime.

She blew the entire payload of capability’s of the psychological methodology and technical capabilities involved.

And I actually hadn’t been that interested before. Now I was mired in the slurry of multiple crimes.

It probably does have GUI issues like seemed to come up each time she was warned not to target me.

I don’t know if a more high class group is waiting for them to settle down, or are just experimenting on twits. But they’re being tanked by a…. Ill informed gaggle of girls convinced the same tricks will always work and are shocked, horrified, maybe even freaked out when I learn what they’re doing.

Personally. I guess I can hope I live through the night as the women probably all do “punch like a girl.” But I suspect men more readily armed are trying to decide if they would risk potential scrutiny if I was actually shot.

As my father is the top mathematician globally – retiring on a very high note.

He has indeed worked for the kind of people willing to at least see if my flag means anything this time.

And one day the history of mathematics will have to include my creative and free father.

I gave returning to mathematics some serious thought and decided I had spent about forty years getting good and had books to write.

Though I’d like to skip out on this saga. Focus more on my fiction.

Though I seem to digress.

But have I?

I’m distinct in looks, personality, perspectives, and philosophy.

And then there’s the hybrid British Bay Area CA accent.

I really think framing me is a bad idea.

I’m far too noticeable with a future one can wish me luck to and mean it.

Meanwhile you have some asshole peeing on my air conditioner. (well did).

You’re a small time petty gang that have been handed a the keys to the “how can we fuck with you vehicle and are driving it into the ground.

I’m still a bit insulted you would dare to order me.

Who the fuck do you think you are?

A mother and child emerge from the room of a thief, a liar and a bully. Also potentially a monster of the worst kind.

I don’t know. But if she is doing something vile his mother knows, and is the take.

I really have to get out of here.

Though I suspect child pornography unless the mother is particularly vile as opposed to low grade nasty.

Just a couple of doors down

(Sorry too furious to function

I used to be the sweetest thing around, my path of compassion endless. I pursued more understanding, more perspectives, more recognition of the difficulties one faced.

Because of this some nudged me to the path I didn’t want.

I am no leader.

I am support. And I did it well, casting a net below those I loved.

“Boudicca to the rescue!”

A saying in my family. About me.

I could be ferocious but didn’t need it. What was usually required was brute force, help packing or planning, comforting perspectives, a ready listener, and knew how to hug!

Or in the case of my ex an unwilling surrogate for rage he had for his mother.

Frankly I think they may be too similar to get along. But say what you like of her (and I had opinions) she was very adventurous while Toad was a bit of a coward.

But he was my cowered and I protected this “delicate being”

The divorce wasn’t straightforward but it wasn’t horribly messy. It just dragged on as all his reactive abuse had blown up in his face.

I was tired and exhausted of barbs, baiting, bouncing crossing and worse. Of having my wounds dug into. 6 months with 90 minute appointments my therapist and I worked on ways to avoid anger, to avoid “the dragon”

And one night it got dangerous for me.

No not when he pushed a cat tower onto me and it was thigh striking back kick that fucking thing or be bathed in glass.

Though that was special.

(So was the bruise)

No it became dangerous when the coil at my feet burnt my temper into a furious froth as I wanted to be left alone to cool off.

That was indeed one of the tactics. Just bail when his nasty needling struck.

But he wouldn’t leave me alone. I am bipolar. I fucking needed to cool off! But he was so clearly the aggressor that when the police arrived (called by my neighbor), they removed him for the night.

I was expecting a trip to the psychiatric ER with how much I had screamed to be left alone. But with the police there I burst into tears. It was finally safe to do so.

Thus, my tears first and toad being ousted second. One thing was Resoundingly clear.

I was not dangerous.

Because earlier that evening, during the peak of the fight to end all fights the dragon in me inflamed my brain- that’s how it felt.

And I succumbed to evil.

For three seconds

Just three.

I really did want to kill him.

The next three I backed off and stared as his gormlos expression. I was a warrior queen in that moment and he didn’t fuck off and give me some space?

But the next three were considering how stupid baiting that level of rage was. And maybe he was just that stupid.

Anyone could lose control if pushed past their breaking point and their evaporating patience runs on fumes – it’s just fucking worse when a bipolar person sufferers from rage and is a berserker.

He was looking at the most ferocious I ever got, trembling, smiling a little, and like the danger I posed was no more than a whiny, petty mother.

He loved fear, he said he was addicted to it. More than just kinky sub stuff he was into unusual play. Odd form of thrill seeking I suppose. But his genuine need for a jolt of flight in the “instinct scenario” was now a problem.

And every night for six months he had got a petty thrill driving me to rage. But he had always stopped when I walked away.

Real rage is scary, hellfire rockets through you hollowing out your insides and ripping open every emotional scab and scar. All the pain and suffering ever endured turned to the hottest of flames and it rockets out that hollowed core, filling every gap with a fire on par of the sun.

That’s rage.

It’s worrying for others but I found it worse to my own psyche. I couldn’t be the person I was striving for with this endless working of every button he could find or create to wound me, make me angry, and get his rocks off.

As I stared at him after the last 9 seconds I very gently took his upper arms and tried to walk him away. He occasionally stumbled so it was not an unfamiliar touch

He had to get to safety. There was a dragon in the room, never mind I had been that dragon, now I had let who I was die inside, and was in the calm of demise.

My mild synesthesia associating the moment with o white shroud of death.

But the fight didn’t end there.

( least I didn’t want to kill him, anymore)

I felt evil had slithered inside. The root danger in all of our psyches.

But it’s plainly obvious that even in a literally murderous rage. I held back. I regained control. Meds and gods had given me what I needed.

It’s just as well. I know what’s hiding back there if I ever got into a fight. Yes, yeah, yeah, yeah, the gorilla no breaks strength was on. The perception speed only bested by the speed of my fist.

You try to strike me and it’s a block and fist but not lethal. Painful. You’re headed to the ICU. But will probably will live. Unless I’m so angry that punch packs power and speed into a single hit KO

That’s the berserk part. Dig deep into my wounds and oh boy, The explosion is a state to avoid.

Those 6 months gave me severe PTSD. He had been so abusive, so cruel at all other times and burnt up my tethers on a nightly basis so I hit rage.

I didn’t realize fibromyalgia was beginning to trickle in. Possibly genetic but in need of being triggered; it’s basically an autoimmune disorder that treats adrenaline and Cortisol as invaders (according to the latest theory I saw)

But for a long time any time I tried to consider that night, physical pain echoed in. Hi stress levels can trigger a flare up. So can the relief of a sudden drop in them.

If I got angry my nerves would begin to tingle. Rage biochemically trigger a nasty flare up followed by the desire to die.

WTF is this?

https://www.facebook.com/groups/1023544744457314/posts/3517888608356236/

Now I know some bitch has been posting as me – and though I could find the full comment is likely an asshole.

So that’s what’s going on.

The fucking, vile, monstrous, arrogant, foul, nasty, probably bigoted and unpleasant moronic bitch.*

Please note. I do not post as Sylvanna Devlin anywhere.

It’s this blog

And “Game over”

That’s it.

I’ve had it with the character assassination the evolutionsbremse has caused, because people think I’m that bitch!

*Her awful reputation has ruined my good one. So it’s a guess she’s unpleasant As I was liked well enough till I revealed my pen name (and was too hacked to get relevant news or even comments)

Now a different bitch is trying to steal my legal name and I’m fucking fed up.

Talk to me in person and I usually get along or at least am polite unless rude behavior has made it a dual bitch fight

(Don’t piss off people trying to be nice. Our bite is ferocious and all we need wield is words)

But I’m trying to hide quietly while the bitch brigade harasses the fuck out of me. But for all they know they’ve mistaken me for someone who has done more than post blog facts and theories . (admittedly some pretty wild)

They don’t know me, despite invading my privacy, but the assumption is I seem to deserve being treated as less than human. And unless we’re going X-Men, or scared of a CIA cover or some such (really?); we have stigma, or mistaken identity.

I’m trying to hakuna my tatas because my ferocity isn’t fucking working. But just ignoring bullshit becomes too much. But I keep straying from compassion and that’s not okay with me.

Current assholery is no one believes that of you anymore.

You can’t poke and prod, shred and create wounds to shred further- and expect a lovey dovey response.

But meet me in person and I’m still the sweetest thing.

And I’ve given it some thought. I am sorry but a reflexive sorry is built is and the British install it fiercely when we’re young.

It’s sometimes sympathy

Sometimes apologetic in nature

And sometimes short hand for “whoops, my mistake. Hope you’re okay.”

Then there’s the asshole Version

I’m sorry (not really it’s just snide) this is who I am and you can’t complain people think I’m weak when they also claim they are afraid of me….

Ah some of this bullshit is stigma.

I need to thoroughly think through my response.