The St. Louis Snow

I started this blog because I didn't have anyone to talk to about deeper feelings... About trauma that has happened and I didn't have anyone to share or confide in.  I always feel out of touch or out of sorts around others. Like I'm doing something I'm not supposed to or I'm not enough to keep up with. My other cousins just don't understand when I talk about all the hurt and I feel wrong about talking about it... But it feels like in this family we aren't supposed to talk about all the trauma bc it makes everyone look bad... On the off chance that something bad happens to me and I cease to exist, I want a record of feelings to be somewhere. A record of the atrocities my sister and I have endured... A reason why we are fucked up or "not doing what we are supposed to."  I was supposed to graduate college, find a husband to fix me, have kids, become everyone's caretaker.... And I didn't do that. I didn't really do any of that. I am exhaust...

I think I have a type. I haven't felt this much of a dopamine kick since Crickets. Talking to someone so openly... Am I ready to trust another? Can I trust this kind of person, again? Have a person in a life worth living? I am meant to be here. Friends with people who see me and can meet me where I am, emotionally, is... Whooooo... A fucking relief.  I haven't been able to open up to someone like that in a long time and smile like a stupid idiot and be myself talking about the stupidest of things. And it somehow means everything to be heard. To explain something out loud to another emotional being and understand each other on the most basic of levels; understanding that "nobody is born wrong." ("DW; Space Babies"). I can talk to {them} like I talk to myself... I've been flirted with my entire life by stupid men... I value intelligence over bronze or fast cars.... If you can't explain your bigger feelings beyond "I'm sad... Rar!!!" And k...

I would say that most people notice my eyes and then my sense of fashion. I have my staple items like my jacket and my shoes... They have to look a certain way, always. Something that stays the same... Big fluffy socks over my crazy leggings... If denim pants, ankle socks, not shown. But my ankle socks have to have the little puffy piece, otherwise they slide off.  Style can be comfortable. Sweater or sweatshirt over that. Shorts or polka dot skirt.  I have a floral black jumper and a very similar dress pattern, even softer material. I really do love playing in my clothes. I was a very lonely child and it was one of the only things I could control.  ... I like another Ginger. He talks a big game. We shall see... 😉 Red's been around. But Ginger is new. Magellan was a bit younger than me and was nervous all the time. If we had continued, I would've been his first serious gf. Lol. No pressure. Lololol. Good luck, buddy! But I'm not a good starter kit for a girlfriend... I w...

I kept swiping left on the iPurg app, Pick-a-Parent . All the profiles of people had previous, successful, and happily-placed souls, and they were looking for more. I don't take such decisions lightly. I like to take my time, even though that wasn't a tangible element to consider right now. These profiles were quaint, but not quite the feel for what I wanted for a lifetime around the Sun. I just kept swiping left; no one was clicking into place. No one was feeling right.  The way a company likes to exploit The Unborn as a franchise is as dystopian as it gets. Takes a Lifetime, but you'll get it, eventually! Most of these placements are chaotic. Yet, some are meticulous. Sometimes, We suffer enough to earn the Right to choose. As I kept scrolling through the app, not one person or situation hit that craving; that ache of need; that massive desire for drastic change; that lesson I've yet to grasp; that nerve ending of a proverbial scratch. Every Swiped-Left seemed too inv...