Sylvanna Devlin

With 92 hours awake and 2 hours of sleep at some point madness easily flows. Add to it intense narrative based reality abuse! One disconnects from everything.

Slipping, sliding, flowing stories swimming around each other. Real sounds only some can hear. Characters, plots and plans. It all begins to blur and a dream world makes more sense than the physical.

Until you are left in oblivion.

You cease to exist. Reality becomes a red river of lies above and the blue truth below flowing in an opposite direction. And you are between, floating on both as up and down really has no meaning anymore.

You’ve been reduced to perception alone and any moment now you will cease to exist entirely.

A life raft of words is sent and you’ll call upon your nemesis if you have to, anything to reconnect. Even surrendering to the lure of an abusive, controlling individual with an unusual affect on women.

Unless they were around all the time for years. Then they fear succumbing to crocodile tears and nuerolinguistic programming.

Maybe he improved. I don’t know.

Then you get some fucking sleep and overhear complaints, “you said she would be in the hospital for weeks after all that”

You write about it and someone says, “you think Nepenthe is you? Come back to reality.”

Oh if it were only so simple. And Reactive Abuse less popular in women. Perhaps my book will change that. Perhaps losing a weak form of power is truly the issue at hand.

And I was sent to Oblivion to be destroyed.

Game Over

The name of my book and my current mood.

I am Nepenthe as described as the version in the song – one I’ve never heard. But they knew the story too well for us not to be the same woman.

And reactive Abuse has made me look ugly and angry when I would prefer to be kind and gentle.

“Do you look good enough on the outside to feel good on the inside, yet?”

Please God, get me away from abusive women I’ve never met, pouring nastiness and frustration with security I just don’t understand.

Maybe trying to Vanish me was a bad idea.

Published under Melissa J Devlin

Game Over.

The game changer.

And just possibly the reason Games are being played with my head.

Oh by the way? The hair and glasses thing is real – no makeup required.

Golly I look tired!

A snapshot of “oh who cares about the perfect one right now. Maybe I’ll do myself up for New Year’s Eve!

I’m hoping taking care of the outside will improve my mood on the inside. It’s a step up from “fuck it all”. But I’m learning ASL and thus looking at my hands a lot. I wanted them to be prettier.

At least Tabitha knows when I’m sulking.

Because there’s confusion both pictures taken today. No opportunity for someone to switch cats. But one is a snapshot. The other is really good – from a different angle. Like my photos of me, angles and lighting matter!

But accurate

Do I look like someone to vanish?

But pink but my Christmas tree has very bright red.

Some days I really want to know what’s going on around me.

Sometimes I don’t

Even when I don’t want to be.

I’ve had such the narrative pumped into my feverish mind that I don’t know if the truth will ever be clear.

I love you.

No wonder I want to die. Everyone seems to know things about a Melissa Devlin and won’t tell me what. Because she stole my pictures.

I got in some snacks, some dealcoholized wine, ready to celebrate the season – along with some wine glasses still in their container.

I really shouldn’t have bought them. I won’t be able to afford them next Christmas. But since I did, and they’re special they’re going under the tree.

Self gifting? Are you that lonely? Right now no. I have my cat and Abba (God) and the world has been so fucking painful I both want to save it, and stay out of it. So I am alone but not lonely.

I’ll probably stream the service the local Christian Orthodox Church has. But still not go out.

It might be different this season if there weren’t presents from impulsive me under the tree!

It’s ridiculous I suppose. And I’m searching for justification and explanations but really it’s just more fun that way. The season is better with a fuller tree.

I do recommend it to those celebrating alone but still celebrating. And there are actually probably more who would, if it weren’t for a bare spot reminding them they’re celebrating the holiday by themselves.

Put a fake tree up, just a little one. Put on some ornaments. Pop a luxury item under that tree if you can afford one. I am in luck in that I still have ornaments and a proper box for them I acquired in 2005-2006 or before.

All my decorations save some paper trees and a couple of stuffed creatures are all I’ve acquired since and I was given them. My tree was bought in 2007. My decorative icicles in 2006. They’ve been through lots of moves with me. My ability to cling on to 20 year old decorations is admittedly a sign I love Christmas.

I don’t even know why.

Since I do. I’m celebrating in style in my tiny room in a woman’s Single Room occupancy building. It’s cramped. But I’m still grateful to be here. It’s the season for gratitude I suppose.

Self care wasn’t a concept I entirely understood. I’m learning to wax legs, proper nails are next. Preening was the only aspect I could get behind. I’m sure a glass of wine, heated blanket and a book would count. I should try it.

A lot of people roll their eyes at the very concept, everyone associates the word self with selfishness and care with others kindness. What the hell is this idea?

Well let’s think about the airplane oxygen mask example always given. If you don’t put yours on first you can’t breathe enough to help others. It’s such a conceptual cliche because it’s an idea we can visualize.

For some self care is a spending spree, it’s true. It’s not spiritually invigorating but some find comfort in finding a deal or best quality item. I’m not going to judge. And I certainly wasn’t going to bother last year while in a homeless shelter. But after that slightly crowded environment – with a roommate losing her shit, actually getting sick, and my cat (thankfully) at a friend’s? I could do with a better experience.

So a few modest self purchased presents under the tree.

I didn’t celebrate at all in 2023 either. It just wasn’t an option with the constant audio abuse and it was my first Christmas alone with my cat. So this is Tabiitha”s first actual Christmas with me too.

I can’t explain why it works. It just does. Frankly I could do with sitting with my grief alone and in private, and my stalker kind of makes everyone able to have visuals and maybe even commentary anyway. But it’s better than nothing.

Maybe next year I’ll be more social. But this year at least I’m satisfied with the way I’m celebrating the season.