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anonniemouse ([personal profile] anonniemouse) wrote in [community profile] tf_talk2015-04-09 04:03 pm

The Pit

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Victoria Bitter's LJ, part 3

(Anonymous) 2015-04-09 06:12 am (UTC)(link)

Friday, April 19th, 2002

10:23a - I am wounded. It will never really heal.
The events of the last forty-eight hours have been...interesting, to say the least. When I took the oaths of a Paladin and began training, I expected spirit-plane battles. I expected that I might be asked to do extraordinary things. I just didn't expect it. Same as any soldier. They know that soldier=war, but there's still a sense of oh, FUCK when the bullets start flying. I mean, I've done this sort of thing before on an extremely minor scale with the aid of my Master. This time, it was completely alone, as she was under life-threatening attack herself, and I was facing some major-league shit.

Yes, I survived, but yes, I was wounded. The little cuts and bites (which show up in the real world as aches and pains and inexplicable bruises) are insubstantial, but I was wounded twice quite severely. The first was a sword-blow to the back of my shoulders which cut me near to the bone in an attempt to sever my head, and that has left me in such pain that I am currently on 800mg of ibuprofen in an attempt to get through the day and can barely raise my arms. The second was a sword-thrust to the belly, and I had feared that one might be mortal for a while. I know it's serious. I'm bleeding, and it's two weeks off my cycle, with no cramps, though I am in pain. I'm very regular, and I always cramp. The palms of my hands are also bright red, as if burned, and bleeding in little hair-thin cracks at the joints. I'm telling people I scalded myself.

Stranger, though, is what I've been left with spiritually and mentally. I am...suddenly old. I have all of his memories. All of them. From toddler to the day he died. Over a hundred years of memories, every day, every moment crystal-clear in full sensory detail. He's five times my age in life-years. I don't know what to do with this. It's overwhelming me by sheer mass of memory. I know things now, understand things that I'm just too young to, and I don't know what to do with it. I don't even think in the same language any more. My own cradle-tongue is now something as if learned, something I have to translate INTO for speech and text. My thoughts come in the words of his youth.

And he wants to come back. Just briefly, for a good reason, and I know I will accomidate him. Indeed, he carries so much positive energy now that I know it will be healing to me. But it will also be tiring. These things, no matter how positive, always are. And I'm so very, very tired already.

Indeed, I am exhausted. No, exhausted doesn't begin to cover it. I am exanimate. I want to - I need to - just go to my room and light candles and put up a few protection charms and curl up to lick my wounds and sort out all this shit for a day or two at least. I know I'll never be the same, but perhaps with a few days rest I could be functional again.

But I'm already way past my curl-up-and-hide limit at school. Way overdue on a lot of projects. It's the last two weeks of the semester. And I have work atop that. So no rest for the weary. I don't have a lot of choices, but I just wanted to tell the few people that would understand so that they wouldn't worry too much about me, and so they'd understand if I wasn't my usual peppy, fic-delivering self. Indeed, I wonder now if I can ever write again.

I know too much...

Namenast. Namenast, mi amma


7:01p - The Suck is strong with this one...
I've just been outed to my parents, not only as a lesbian, but as a slasher and all around freak...they saw my LJ. In relation to this incident, I've lost my best real life friend. I may not be moving to Atlanta after all. There is talk of mental institutions. My school work is way behind and threatening to tank utterly. I ran out of anti-depressants three weeks ago and the parents are dragging their feet on refilling the prescription. I may be getting another eye infection. My best online friends are decompensating. My muses have committed mass suicide. I have been so caught up in my own shit lately that I have potentially killed things with the new girlfriend. I am trying unsuccessfully to deal with the sudden dump of over 100 years of crystal-clear memories from the sort of life that would keep a shrink happy for millenia. I no longer think in English, and no one else currently living speaks the language I do think in now.

Can I just go back to bed for a week or three?


Wednesday, April 24th, 2002

2:28a - Welcome to the not-so-wonderful world of VB's mucked-up relationships...
I am scared f*cking sh*tless.

Because my parents are trying to get me committed? Because I might actually be crazy? Because my grades are up in the air and about to land with a resounding splat? Because my future currently hangs by a modem-cord and a few applications to colleges I may not be able to attend anyway?


Because there are people out there who really love me.

I've been sitting here with myself this evening trying to figure out what in Middle Earth is wrong with me. I've been treating people like crap lately, one person in particular...not answering her emails, running from her on IM, hesitating to give her my contact information...and simultaneously not knowing why I was doing it and unable to stop myself. I feel horrible about it, and worse because I didn't understand why. Now, at least, I think I've had a bit of a lightbulb, and sure, it's a bloody cliched illumination, but it still counts.

My life has not been the biggest unconditional love-fest. Not to get into the gory details of VB's life, but all my childhood 'friends', for some reason, liked to use me as a punching bag. I was 6 and getting held under the water in the pool by Sarah and 8 and getting my wrist broken by Whitney and 10 and wearing long pants to hide where Rachel had thought it would be fun to drip hotwax on my skin after she'd tied me up. My parents love me deeply, but they have Major Issues with some pretty essential parts of me, like my sexuality, spirituality, morality, politics, and taste in arts and entertainment. The guy I thought was the love of my life has just stabbed me in the back pretty majorly, and before that, was behaving bloody wierd when he realized I was queer. My only sister's a Class A b*tch. Basically, I've never been really flesh-and-blood seriously in friendship or love with someone who hasn't on some level fallen short or outright betrayed me.

I fell hard in love at Connexions. Hard and fast and terrifying. I got home, and the World Descended in a great heap of crap. I should have been happy about that love, right? Should have reached out for it like a drowning hobbit. But no.

My front brain is going 'what's wrong with you, she loves you, you love her, she's hotter than a Wax Jism PWP...this should be REALLY EASY!', but my hind brain, the one that apparently controls my mouse fingers, was screaming something along the lines of "Eeek! Love! Love means HURT! Hurt BAD! Can't handle more Bad now! Keep Bad away! But tell lady to f*ck off vetoed by Front Brain who loves her. Hmmm...maybe just ignore? Nice easy cowardy solution, she'll go away on her own, and then you no get flattened no more! Okay, you'll be alone, and the people-I-love-hurt-me prophesy will have self-fulfilled, but HEY...."

And then I get all paranoid and think that I was flirting pretty outrageously. This is probably just a crush for her, and she's going to realize it soon, and that will be awful, and she lives so far away, thing I know I convince myself somehow that she's just trying to get ahold of me to tell me it was just a mesmerizing short red dress all along, and I start deleting messages unread and going into full-out hiding mode.

This is also about where the former love of my life gets really down and dirty vicious and my head gets invaded by the Really Dead Folk. And all the people who love and support me on the internet, even Orange and Shawna and Adrienne and Van and such, even they I can rationalize never met me and are so safe, but I start really hysterically avoiding Pam and Loreli because they know and I'm paranoid and not thinking really clearly and sabotaging any relationship that might be risky. Including school. I've managed to shoot my grades in the foot and the people who know me there are about ready to shoot me somewhere else.

Thankfully, the fever seemed to break today with three nicely timed slaps to the face. 1) The girlfriend posted a LJ entry that made me realize that I'd really been shortchanging her and she wasn't lying in wait sharpening her knives and that maybe, to spout a ridiculous romantic cliche, I should give love a chance, because she already kind of knows I'm a wierd lesbian slasher and all that. 2) Ninglor is learning to speak Westron at a speed that is truly astonishing, and soon I won't be alone in that respect and can work out a lot of the FreakyDeakyPsychoStuff. 3) I got a look at my grades as they stand. Holy sh*t.


This is one of those times to invest in a good pair of kneepads. I've got some big-time groveling to do.


Monday, April 29th, 2002

10:52a - The good news and the bad news...
Good news: Think I can now successfully keep parents out of LJ. Have changed password a second time (in retrospect, gamgee was probably fairly easy to guess for anyone who knows me at all) and am being careful that if LJ is ever accessed from home computer, log-out is completed and all records dully wiped.

Bad news: Am currently far too fucked up to sustain anything approaching a fair relationship. Girlfriend and I are on hold for now, relationship to be possibly resumed when I get my life and head together enough to reasonably support someone else.

Good news: Am transferring jobs from this theme park to one either in LA or San Diego come the end of May or the beginning of June.

Bad news: This means the next week getaway is off.

Good news: School may not be completely shot after all.

Bad news: In order to pull off not-completely-shot, the next week will not involve sleep.

Good news: Parents are for some unfathomable reason actually letting me go to the West Coast for this job with a minimum of protest, possibly relating to flattering comments made by boss-man who wanted to transfer me because I'm the best money-maker at the park and being "wasted in a small market."

Bad news: Will only be on the West Coast until the end of summer, late August at most. Unsure of how to obtain affordable housing for such a short period of time, as most leases are at least six months, and parents worry that anything renting monthly is a "flophouse" (yes, they used that term, archaic little darlings).

Good news: Adrienne is learning Westron!

Bad news: See above. This is theoretically supposed to be a dead language. Much confusion surrounding this....relates immediately to next item.

Good news: Am on new pills to sort out head.

Bad news: New pills cause sickness to stomach.

Good news: Have many cool internet-type friends who find lovely pictures of pretty boys.
This is very good.

Thanks :-)


4:13p - Something is coming...
Energy is building. Something big is about to happen. Adrienne, Abbey, those closest to me in this strange thing are abuzz with it...Adrienne is having visions, Abbey having tantrums and memory rushes. And I'm...blinded. Fucking blinded because like a good little girl I took my pills and now I think in English and the memories are a dull whisper instead of a clear voice and yet the edges of my soul are itching and I know something is about to happen...and I have a motherfucking drug-induced psychic blindfold on!!!!

Made myself chunder. Bye-bye little pills. Hope you're out of my system soon, because I can't leave them to this...thing alone

Victoria Bitter's LJ, part 4

(Anonymous) 2015-04-09 06:12 am (UTC)(link)

Wednesday, May 8th, 2002

9:20a - Well, that's just peachy...
I've officially called it off with Pam.

Not that I don't care about her. Really care. Not that I don't lust after her. Really lust. Not that I don't really really want to make a relationship work. Really work. Not that I'm not lonely. Really lonely.

It's just that Murphy's Law being what it is, this had to come at a time in my life when I am quite honestly incapable of maintaining a relationship anything approaching fairly. Yeah, I could just put Pam on hold indefinitely and say "when my life straightens out and I'm capable of being someone's partner, we'll do this," and for a while, that's exactly what I was doing.

But that's not fair. You can't just leave someone dangling like that. And you can't un-dangle them and try to do a relationship when you know you can't hold up your end of it.

So I let her go. And maybe someday if my life ever gets back on something resembling an even keel, I'll show up at her door with flowers and chocolate. But somehow, I don't think that's likely, because frankly, I've treated her pretty badly in my attempts to squeeze blood from my own turnip, and right now, I wouldn't take me back either, even if I asked and said Life Was Good. Which it's not.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

I think I'll go crawl in a hole somewhere.

Why do such right things always have to come at such wrong times?


Thursday, May 9th, 2002

3:43a - It's one of those nights.
I miss Witchwillow. Want to have pretty girls flirt brazenly with me in public and know that of course they're really flirting and of course I'm free to flirt back without getting humiliated or worse because they'd never do something like that you sick gay freak.

I think people sometimes underestimate the value of flirting.
I'm as much for Relationships as anyone, and I want a Relationship. Can't have one right now. Know that. It sucks, but I know that. But I still want to feel desirable. Which I guess is maybe's just I'd never been hit on before by another lass, much less one oozing Hot out every pore, and there was such a thrill about being involved in that age-old mating dance, that give-and-take with pretty much a total stranger that's all the more exciting because you don't know and don't really care if it goes anywhere, but they notice you and you notice them and...

Better stop before I dig myself into an even deeper funk and find more depressing entries with which to clutter up people's friends lists.


Saturday, May 18th, 2002

2:38a - My last pointless spamming survey tonight, I *swear*
Number of people on my lj friends list: 97, because I've been lazy about adding. Should be around 110-112.
...whom I've met in person: Lost count at Connexions!
...whom I've met in person more than once: 1
...whose house I've been to: 0, but will soon be 1
...who have been to my house: 1
...whose precise geographic location I know offhand: 8
...whose full names I know offhand: 3
...whom I've followed/been in touch with for more than 3 years: 0
...who live outside my country: a LOT
...whose journal I consider myself "addicted" to: 7
...whom I've lived with: 0
...who's an ex: 1
...who I'd do: 3
...who I've done: 1, maybe more depending on what happened in the Twelve Hour Tequilla-Induced-Woke-Up-Starkers Memory Hole from Connexions.
...who I have a secret crush on: Now, if I said something, it wouldn't be a secret, now would it? Though she knows. :-)