I’ve been staring at my pictures a bit. I’m losing weight and I’ve been on the chubby side since about 2008. So when I was 30. That’s quite a while ago!
I have propagnesia and my own face isn’t one I usually pay attention to.
So I just…
I hope I look okay.
This isn’t that uncommon for me. I have my eyes closed in so many pictures!
Okay. I guess I look like that
But another from the same instance?
Well actually the mischief is classically me in this one.
Let’s try again
A yeah… I guess that’s me.
But why then does this look so different?
The fuck?
Do I really look like that?
B&W filter
I guess…
Anything else?
Lighting is everything.
Well…
At least that’s a good shot to fuck around with filters. This one’s called cozy.
These are indeed unedited photos of me – the last one I fuck around with a filter. And the B&W is a filter too.
If I would pick a favorite it would be this one, also mostly unedited (it’s cropped), no makeup etc.
Some book at some point suggested there’s no real reason why we can’t eat leftovers for breakfast- or an other dinner food.
Portion really depends on if you’re fueling for the day or recovering from it.
Personally I’d like lunch portions to be heftier and kind do both – If I eat lunch at all (which I should). I’ve also done the five small meals a day thing and that’s awesome!
If I we to pay attention enough I suppose
Breakfast
Elevenses
Lunch
Dinner
Supper
Really is the way to go.
But I don’t and either forget food exists, get too hungry and eat treats instead of a proper meal. Or I snack all day and don’t eat a proper meal.
Though in fairness Tupas dinners are awesome!
Anyway I recently made Salad for breakfast and it was crazy tasty!
Baby spinach
Pickled red onion
Grape tomatoes
Candied pecans
Dried cranberries
Dash of olive oil
Half a dash of balsamic vinegar
Parmesan cheese
Cracked black pepper.
(Forgot the shredded carrots but they would have been nice)
And no mixing the oil and vinegar first! A slight dash of each so it flavors but not drown. If your salad isn’t just something like shredded cabbage, don’t drown the flavor away!
I am considering adding sunflower seeds – even with the candied pecans, or maybe swapping them.
Avocado would have been good too. But I don’t buy them because they refuse to ripen until a magic hour you’re likely to mis and then start turning brown and taste kinda gassy.
I will at some point make fake chicken to put on and rearrange some as warm salads are delicious!
Medium Rare Steak slices would work but my body is an asshole and I’m technically vegan who eats vegetarian bacon.
To skip out on current events and pets suddenly wondering why it’s so quiet and freaking out. Because as much as we might love a sudden calm, out in the wild, sudden calm was danger.
A predator.
Every animal intuitive sense, primal and true.
Everything else has run away or is hiding.
“Come on stupid human, we need better protection because… well I don’t know why this is a personification of animal instinct”
I love the quiet- you may be surprised to hear. Noise makes me chatty. Either because I’m trying to focus and am muttering. I’m trying to focus or sleep and I’m trying to fob off questions. Am at just that muttering stage of the night. Or I have been driven bat shit crazy.
So normal.
Except my favorite hour is actually early morning when the world is still and quiet and here no one has read the news yet.
No one. Checked a feed. No comments. No interpersonal conflict or other. Privacy and maybe a keyboard.
Fuck I don’t remember the last time I had silence.
God I miss it.
No offense to certain individuals hurling sound based abuse at my whole building. No offense at all. Nothing personal. Just don’t like what you’re doing.
But while sleeping in my car, at the semi-restful rest stop before it changed – the audio suddenly cut. It was during a storm and I love interesting weather. Particularly rain.
My sister thinks I must be insane. She wants the spring and the summer and I like the fall and the winter.
And the dark.
The rest stop lights went out. But the moon was bright. And I woke enough to rock in my semi-sleep.
“The demon is gone, the demon is gone.”
Those harassing me might have taken personal offense at the time. But the sudden silence was wonderful but pitchfork audio had penetrated my brainwaves. I had come to work around the headaches and cognitive abuse.
It scared my subconscious.
Then there was the other time a sudden silence followed. No not when I stuck my foot on it Christmas Day.
But after an attempt at brainwashing.
Babbling sounds like have been unfurling and in the background aren’t as quiet when someone is trying to wipe your mind. It’s not clear the sound – as pressure waves. Have to be audible. Just messy.
But if the next morning doesn’t have a sudden quiet? It doesn’t take.
Put some music on if you have to. Tired of noise you might be.
Because brainwashing and “getting clear” don’t work without that sudden break – and in the case of 72 hours of slipping, sliding words. The sudden quiet is such a relief. Then it truly is a hot poker being removed.
Check mate to everyone. Game is stalled. No one wanted to play anyway. But there are two kings on the board and two queens.
And we can’t get anywhere.
So go ahead and bitch that after 72 hours of horrible abuse via sound, I make it noisy.
It’s not just my more natural voice, usually considered melodic if I used it right. Interrupting at key times for no more than twenty minutes. At the first instance and no more than two more – five minutes or less.
Usually when that white diamond is about to hit. You see a white triangle and hear my voice? (Or a recording of a mathematician or some such. Anything. You don’t have to care what it said. It just has to interrupt.
I just saved your brainwaves and your the asshole if you can’t recognize it, don’t acknowledge it, don’t believe it, or become mighty suspicious that I know.
So there are a lot of assholes around me.
And then? Then? Say I’ve been muttering and unable to focus, stay quiet, calm down and you ignore what we are all listening to?
Because it’s not me.
You’d shut up if you were listening to me.
But somehow that triangle is about to hit and it’s timed for a morning of silence after? I’ve been stifled and anyone glued to a feed feels a bit mesmerized and doesn’t know why?
That glorious, scary quiet we all want?
I somehow interpret.
And you never get brainwashed.
I finally found an easier way than getting you assholes to listen.
You’re welcome you ungrateful, selfish, opinionated, childish, and willllfully ignorant assholes.
I have taken the heat of terrorists to save you.
You don’t have to know who I am, or how I know. But try to bitch less.
But at least you’re helping make a shit tonne of noise.
Meanwhile I have angry real terrorists to deal with, and you are annoying me and I just annoyed them. And am in a mood so going to make this worse.
Check mate
End set
End match
End game
It’s over.
Because everyone now knows how to stop you? And are such entitled opinionated assholes they will naturally not shut up either.
I’m a frustrated hero, not a saint. We exist. You shit on them daily. So really why should I be surprised you shat on me too because you don’t want to understand.
I’m no angel.
I’m no saint.
I want to focus on compassion.
But sometimes we have to be adults about it.
I’m only a role model in the sense I have indeed survived because I had to. Because it was rise to the occasion or die and I did try dying and my fighting spirit held on.
Did you forget your gaslighting, micro critiques, micromanagement, dogpiing, and insolence drove me to the most serious attempt anyone has ever survived.
Before me.
Otherwise? May you never understand how truly foul you are from a perspective of similar experience.
And young’ns. Hold on. It’s a bumpy road. Never do most of the shit I did. You ask, appropriately? You’ll still get an answer of why it’s a very bad idea.
Seriously I did all kinds of stupid shit and I’m super smart but super crazy.
Some places (like England) have equal opportunity sniping.
But in America theres an unusual power struggle happening beneath everyone’s noses and it’s god awful.
I’m speaking from experience because my ex spouse treated me (female at birth, fuck you.) as the man of the house and he was sometimes “such a women”
(There’s a detail I have omitted in case he ever gets a job again)
And this whole “what’s wrong with people thinking you’re transsexual?”
You figure it out fuckwit.
You have to ask why it’s difficult for those who have had to fight and claw to be recognized as their gender of psychological makeup?*
To have some booby woman even be prodded into that spotlight?
I am not stealing that thunder. Thank you.
Trans women are made of fire because you really have to want to be a woman to ditch male privilege by looks and join the “weaker” gender.
On that. Because women are viewed as less capable and are a “man” if they rebuke with skill. Are smarter, more academically inclined.
Or it’s that time of the month, or you missed the pill, any other way to diminish your position, or “are you feeling okay?”
“No. I’m angry. Sod off.”
It sucks. So women have gotten passive aggressive. And it’s nasty.
They do it to other women. They hen peck and compete for male attention like marriage is the end all be all of blissful existence.
They do it to their spouses if they feel weak and want to tear their partner down.
They get in the habit of squabbling and competing so heavily that someone sitting out is apparently a red flag to a bull. Hey power struggle waiting to happen. “I want to command you.”
Ah yeah, I’m only a sub in the bedroom and you are not my type. I don’t like assholes.
I’m only a pussycat to those who make me feel safe enough to let my guard down. Too.
And. Yes, Neurally-biochemically trans women are already woman in many ways before a single hormone pill.
Now, some general rules of better engagement.
Women (and others falling into the same traps):
You run? Don’t expect to be chased
You hide in the bathroom to cry? You expect to be given room to do so unless too many pills rattle.
Both?
Do not stand beside a locked door trying to continue.
Women? Don’t expect men to gently nudge and cajole you out of the bathroom. You want space? You should take it. But expect to be given it.
You should also give space.
Some of us just need to cool off. Leave us the fuck alone because nothing rational is happening once we reached the point of needing to walk away.
If they want to go take out their temper in a video game. They are not “just playing” and thus it’s okay to try to continue.
And in that vein. If we settle down we might still need space from the argument still so it is not time to start up again because “we seemed calm”
Of course you know all this you little toxic bitches. You are using reactive abuse to control your spouses and “win” because they (rightfully so) get pissed off you are ignoring their boundaries and then have to take care of their mood and yours.
Fuck off with crocodile tears.
If you cry like a banshee expect to be allowed a little bit of a good wail then maybe someone will comfort you.
So long as the asshole doesn’t complain you’re crying too loudly.
And what the fuck is with the last word? You can’t win at life so you toy with others? Jostle for perceived being in the right? Lapping up apologies like they are precious baubles?
A man blows his temper and now he’s the asshole for having feelings? For being wounded by you (though unable to admit it)?
Again. He has to deal with his own emotions and comfort you. Self regulate better! FFS.
Don’t bait, barb, and boundary cross. Do not try to continue arguments until no one else cares anymore and just will say anything to get you to stop.
No lying, needling, wheedling, or whining either.
Young at heart enough to chew a pen is normal. Your fuckery shouldn’t be.
Here’s the thing. Abuse is aggressive. It attacks the wounded and if not someone yet hurt they will drag them down.
Anyone who has been abused shies away from the term – particularly as much as we have in the past (lost my marbles and don’t want them back)’
Anything but that.
That’s if they’re not twisting the word boundaries as just previously defined.
To call someone else abusive in the hands of an abusive bitch is a method of control, a childish “I know you are, but what am I?”
To block, parry and counter is apparently now the same as trying to exert power and control.
Sure. Fine. I want the power to be left alone. And to control my own moods without your interference.
If you don’t know the difference? Who cares? You already shat on me so much it doesn’t matter what I say or do.
I’ve been gaslighted in and out of the truth, my heart used as a carrot stick to survive the ongoing abuse without compromising my inner glory for some good old unselie fae.
No one would believe the angel within me existed anymore, no. So why bother trying, just to have you spit on the ground outside my window?
Do I look pretty enough to feel pretty on the inside? Not anymore but your bullshit was so soul destroying I wonder what I would see in your eyes.
Do you have one?
Is it pretty?
Or does your opinion on a stranger make you irrelevant to my existence?
You want to see a wordsmith wield words.
Fine. Got it. Anything to make you bite your tongue a little more.
I’d like to be left alone. But Melissa isn’t here right now. I said I couldn’t make it through the night.
You said, “do you promise?”
Sure hun, whatever. Anything to shut you up. So unending patience is gone and parry and repost is here
The one striving for more compassion and more understanding was so shat on by you abusive bitches she lost her mind.
You wanted to know what “Silver” was like.
You would best mind your tongue before you find out.
And men? Who so wanted me, you let me suffer and get close to dying? So disappointed to see my unselie side?
How much can you really say you love me if you leave me crying like a banshee and I’m going to get a written warning.
Fine. If you are going to lie and abuse the system? My patience is gone.
And you are so deluded you didn’t even recognize I was trying to stay nice.
Not succeeding at holding back a wail. A cry. Sobbing.
And knocking things off my bed was apparently enough for the bitch next door to say I was throwing things.
Sylvanna Devlin 