It seems that my little clan of fur babies is sick, and it’s likely I am, too. So, I bought many, many cleaning supplies. My challenge to self is to clean the floor (Swiffer magic) every day for two months, use bleach wipes on every surface every day, change my bed sheets and blanket weekly, do my laundry daily, and other such overkill.
If there is something wrong with us, then this should do the trick, I reckon. I have no idea if it’s just me or all of us, but it can’t really hurt to try to make the environment mostly-sterile. It’s not like sterilization is possible anyway; just walking through the apartment barefoot tracks whatever is on the floor from point A to point B. It’s like a losing battle, no matter what I do, so I devised a plan.
Then, to make this plan more effective (I hope), I’ve added a ton of probiotics to my regiment. I’m trying my best to eat clean, meaning all veg with a bit of meat and some fat. It’s really challenging since I don’t always have the energy to do much at all… but I fear dying. If I continue to ignore how shitty I feel and how my life has become a shadow of what I’d call qualitative… then I am certain to perish, honestly.
Then you throw in a bucket full of legal issues, which I am dragging my feet on getting a lawyer because let’s face it: no one wants to deal with a shit shows unless they are already on top of life. I used to be on top of life, but it seems like that phase of existence exited stage left about seven years ago. I’ve been in decline ever since I met my ex in 2015. It was really slow at first, I resisted so well! I was able to maintain myself in spite of him trying to control my existence… but quickly after moving in with that person (which I now know should have never happened, but it did, so I have to deal with the consequences like an adult), my mental faculties started to decline.
And why? Because I started eating what he ate. This is my life. Every time I meet a man, I start to eat what they eat, which isn’t right for my body at all. My mood tanks, my mental health declines, I become lesser and I feel terrible. I get irritable and combative, though I always do have a reason, no matter if my irritability is brought on by my diet. Abuse, that’s the reason.
People enjoy abusing me. That is the only conclusion I can come to. They must think that I am vapid and shallow, unable to ascertain that they are trying to overstep my boundaries. I explain to them, logically, that I am not happy with their choices, and then they continue to make them until I’m fed up and I leave. I go right out the door.
In the moment I leave, that’s when they realize they cared all along. I don’t know why that is, but it’s the truth. They make me stop caring and I go because what I require is love. Not conditional bullshit for being able to fit this mold or that. I am not a cookie cut out of the dough everyone else is cut out of. I am a katana, forged in the heart of a star. I am tempered steel, folded a thousand times. And I will not apologize for it, either.
I am not sorry that a man isn’t manly enough to handle me. I am not sorry that people in general find me androgynous in personality. I am not going to apologize for existing. Not anymore. I’ve spent my whole life apologizing for other people who cannot handle a real woman and I’m done. It’s not my job to make up excuses for you and you and you. I will no longer excuse any of you human beings for what you do to me. I’ve been far too lenient for far too long and now it is time to levy some law suits against arrogant pricks who worked in tandem, agents of chaos that tried to kill me, ultimately. They nearly succeeded.
Now it’s my turn.
Prepare for battle.
Angel-Sansara 