#i didn’t dream Id leave with a literal prescription in my hand | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

Church of the Poison Mind (Trixya) Ch. 7 - Dahlia

A/N:

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I’ve been going through a lot of pretty heavy real life stuff, and have just basically been overwhelmed, but I am so OVERJOYED to be writing again! And I thank you so much for your patience in waiting for this chapter! Here’s hoping the final chapters follow in quick succession. Thank you so so so much for all of your kind words and messages, they keep me going!

ALSO I’M SO SORRY THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER IS JUST ANGST. You’re welcome. :)

I would not have made it through this chapter, or life in general, without my lovely lesbians DjoodiGarland and Matilda_Queen. Thank you for always being there for me and loving me through this. And to Rosie, my beautiful, sweet love. Thank you for everything, I don’t know where I’d be without you.

“What kind of daughter are you?”

There had been a lot of shouting those days, a lot of name calling, a myriad of misspoken insults that sank into her skin like injections of lost faith.

Trixie spent most of her time calling rental agencies, shaking her mother awake, getting turned down by realtor after realtor because she was, well, she was too young. And truly, how could she expect any respectable adult to take her seriously?

“You have to be at least 18 to apply.”

I’m not.

“Is this a prank call? Where are your parents, kid?”

Hell, if I should know.

”You have to file a credit report, first.”

What’s a credit report?

“Okay so, why can’t your mother come to the phone again?”

She’s ill.

”We’ll get back to you.”

No, you won’t.

Homeless. Trixie kept thinking, homeless . If it continues on this way, the sheriff will come and evict us and we’ll be homeless. Countless nights she’d lie awake, obsessively checking her emails, relentlessly disappointed, and she’d think homeless.

She’d stopped going to school, stopped trying to wake her mother in time for the truancy officers, in time for CPS, and family services. And nobody looked at her the same, they always held the same disgustingly patronizing eyes. Poor trixie, her mother doesn’t care, her mother can’t care, her mother had forgotten to care.

But still, they shrugged her case off. Afterall, there’d been no evidence of physical abuse. Trixie appeared well fed, well kempt. And this allowed for more time, for more phone calls and rejections. Allowed for more empty booze bottles and prescription refills, piling sinks full of dishes and dirty carpets.

And soon she found herself asking, “What kind of a daughter am I?”

—

“I’m very sorry, we… I should not have done this. It was inappropriate of me.”

“Katya…”

Through the fog of lost sleep and Russian folk flowing tinny through the car speakers, Trixie rubbed the sleep from her eyes, stealing glances from her seat on the passenger’s side. Katya’s eyes were narrowed and stolid as she drove, focused on the road, pale hair spilling out in heaps over her thin shoulders. And neither of them spoke, the ever-thickening gravity of the night before weighing on them like a fever dream. Trixie felt tender but weary, fearful. She wanted more, so much more than the situation could allow.

Somewhere, on some plane, Trixie knew that this was fleeting; that any feeling Katya might’ve held for her, couldn’t be sustainable. And she could feel the regret, hanging bitter in the air between them, that even though they hadn’t done anything measurable, it was the tenderness that stung the most. The cloying need for sweetness, need for more, contradicted by the wavering inability to act; but still, she yearned for Katya’s touch, for that laugh, and those wide, curious eyes.

The sun came into full view then, but the hour was still just as pale blue as the shine in Katya’s eyes. And as they pulled up to Trixie’s house, much to her surprise, Katya didn’t look over, but stayed steely, eyes cast over the dashboard. And Trixie sighed complacently, as the warmth had seeped out of Katya’s smile somewhere between Main street, and Beacon drive.

Trixie sat for a moment, quiet in her breathing, searching the side of Katya’s face, silently willing Katya to turn her head. Her sight followed the deep plunge of Katya’s cheekbones, down her neck, her freckled chest; and Trixie wanted nothing more than to reach out and let a hand fall to the back of Katya’s neck, but she resisted.

And just then, with a subtle haste, Katya sent her arm across the center console, over Trixie’s chest, and opened the passenger’s side door.

Confident there was nothing more to be said, she flipped a brief nod of thanks and turned in her seat to step down, but before she could, the light brush of Katya’s fingers found her cheek. And Trixie turned her head to meet Katya’s eyes, just as bright and heavenly as they were the night before, but riddled now with penitence. Trixie closed her eyes, leaning her cheek into Katya’s palm, a deep exhale leaving her like a calm under the waves. Softly, she opened her eyes, took in one last glance, and stepped out of the car, closing the door gently behind her.

Soon Trixie was watching Katya pull away, her car stalling at first, and then kicking up dust as it descended the graveled drive. A chill ran through her, smooth in the November air; and Trixie found herself, bleary eyed and sullen, missing the cardigan she’d forgotten in Katya’s back seat. All the while hopeful, incredibly hopeful, that its presence would carry Katya back to her.

With a forbearing sigh, Trixie carried herself up the porch steps and pushed through the front door. She entered, closed it quietly behind her, and tiptoed through the kitchen, kicking off her shoes by the basement door.

“Well, aren’t we getting in late…”

Trixie turned with a start, her heart skipping a beat. Kim was sat at the kitchen window seat, spooning heaps of sugar into a steaming mug of tea. And as the steam crept into the air, an image of last night’s coffee churned in the pit of Trixie’s stomach. Then she was desperate for it, remnants of that memory still latent on the burnt tip of her tongue.

“Or should I say,” Kim spoke again with a curt grin, “early? Given it’s 5am.”

“Okay, mom. I could ask you the same thing. What’re you doing here so early?”

“Waiting for you.”

“What, why?” Trixie chuckled, scanning Kim’s face.

Trixie crossed the kitchen floor and headed for the coffee maker, her hip brushing Kim’s protruding knee as she passed by. Her head ached with exhaustion, and while she was thankful for the comforting gurgle of coffee brewing, she felt irritable, raw; unsure if the coffee would help or hurt. Trixie laid her upper body over the center counter top, her elbows resting on the surface; and she closed her eyes, self-soothing, rubbing slow circles into her temples.

“So, you did forget?”

“Forget wh-” Trixie stopped, slowed, “oh, shit. Kim, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot we had- I just got so caught up in… wait, so you sat here all night… waiting for me? Why didn’t you just call me?”

“Well, no dummy, I’m not a freak. I woke up a little while ago. And I did call you, last night. But your phone was off.”

Trixie patted around her pockets, and upon finding her phone, ran her fingertips over the surface; the tips of her nails catching in the cracks of last year’s shatter. And while she powered it on, a soft silence hung in the air between her and Kim.

↳ Kim: hey, i just got in, pearl’s cooking again, im whispering tiny prayers for the safety of your kitchen. you leave school yet?

↳ 1 Missed Call: Kim

↳ Kim: Violet said she hasn’t seen you all afternoon, are you okay?

↳ Kim: say yes to the dress is starting in like 5 mins, do you want me to wait… or???? should I just assume I get to indulge in ALL of these facemasks by myself??

↳ Kim: yoooooo my skin abouta be TIGHT

↳ 6 Missed Calls: Caller ID Restricted

↳ Kim: ok it’s literally 1am, where tf are you????? im getting kind of worried here. ive had to stop violet from calling the police like 6 times

↳ 2 Missed Calls: Kim

↳ 11 Missed Calls: Caller ID Restricted

She shook a wave of anxiety and returned her gaze to Kim.

“I… I’m so sorry, I just, my-”

“You were with her again, weren’t you?”

“What?”

“Listen, I’m worried about you, Trix,” her tone softened, and Trixie met her gaze through clouds of coffee steam, “you-”

“Listen Kim, I’ve had kind of a shitty morning and it’s like dick o’clock and I really don’t have th-”

“You’ve just, you’ve been spending a lot of time with her, Trixie.”

“Excuse me? Are you policing who I spend my time with now?” Trixie said, still joking, but a little sharper than she’d intended.

Speech suspended for a moment as Kim drew in a long breath, and exhaled on a quiet sigh.

“Okay. First of all, chill. I just mean that… Listen, Trix, she seems sweet, she really does, but there’s some nasty stuff going around about her and I just don’t want to see you mixed up in that.”

Trixie could feel a bubbling heat rising in her chest, up her neck, spreading into a rouge across her cheeks. She poured the coffee into a mug, some splashing onto the countertop, and found herself rifling through the spice rack for cinnamon; she needed something to shake Katya’s impassivity, to bring her back to last night’s loveliness; but the scent alone burned Katya’s image in the back of her mind, a picture so clear of her face, so cold and distant.

She sipped slowly, cinnamon catching at the back of her throat, and somewhere in all of the coughing, Kim’s patronization had crept beneath her skin and set the surface ablaze.

“Honestly Kim, I love you, but it’s too early for this shit. And thinking about it now, literally none of this is even remotely your business. You don’t know anything about her,” Trixie said, biting. Her headache raged on, a sour pang radiating from the back of her neck. And she could tell she was overreacting, creating something out of nothing; but she couldn’t help but fall farther into it.

“Trixie, I’m your friend. I’m just saying, you always do thi-”

“Well, don’t just say . I’m stressed enough about this as it is, and I don’t need you, of all people, making this harder on me! You’re always on me about this kind of shit, and I don’t need it right now!”

“Wow, okay. You make plans with me. Break them. Fuck your teacher. And somehow, I’m in the wrong? Since when is carin-”

“I did not fuc- did you ever stop and think, for maybe even a millisecond, that the reason I’m spending all of this time with her is because you keep ditching me?”

“Trixie, do not put this on me. You always do this.”

“Do what?” Trixie snapped.

“You always turn things around on me! I’ve literally done nothing wrong here!” Kim stood then from the window seat.

“Oh, so it’s perfectly okay for you to promise me a ride, and then leave me stranded like three times a week, but the one time I make a human mist- “

“I’ve done so much for you, Trixie! This is not one human mistake . I knew you’d find some way to fuck this up. You know, I bust my ass day and night, and everyone fucking wants something from me. I give, and I give, and all you do is take,” Kim interrupted, throwing her hands into the air, and letting them fall hard to her sides.

Trixie watched the argument unravel from a space outside of her own body. She could see the anger leaving Kim in harsh waves; and though the salt water stung, stirred bitter words in her own mouth that threatened escape, she was able to rationalize, self sooth. She couldn’t fully give herself to the argument, knowing that this was long awaited for Kim, that maybe all the stress and chaos had finally gotten to her.

A person could only bend so far before it broke them, could only expend so much before they were due. And Kim, generous and giving as they come, had spent countless hours of her life twisting and contorting her time to fit the moulds of other people; but the words still hurt, still rang of distant memories of her mother’s disappointment, of rage and of acid.

“Fuck what up?” Trixie took a step back, her mind racing.

“Nothing, just forget it.”

“No, you have something to say, say it. You’re not my mother Kim, I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“Oh, that’s rich! You know, I might as well be your mother. Who the fuck do you think found you this place when your actual mother threw you out? Who got you the job you quit because it was,” Kim pulled her fingers into air quotations, “too much? Paid your rent when you couldn’t. Who busted her ass getting you into this school? You can’t commit to anything Trixie, and now, NOW, you’ve gone and figured out the ONE way you can fuck up school, too! I hope Katya’s worth it I really do. Because when administration finds out, you’re both fucked .”

A knot twisted tightly in Trixie’s stomach.

“Stop bringing her into this! You don’t know anything about her! Or me for that matter, clearly. But obviously , you have a lot to say,” Trixie said, almost shouting.

“You think she cares about you? You’re wrong, Trix. You need to grow up, really. She’s using you, just like she did Phi Phi. And when this all blows up in your face, like everything always does, you’re gonna come crying to me. And you know what? I won’t be here.”

Just then, a small noise from the staircase caught their attention. They turned their heads to find two thin figures perched at the top, eyes wide and watching. And Pearl opened her mouth to speak, but Trixie was out the door, leaving her coffee steaming on the counter.

—

Kim’s words, heated and stinging, followed her like a phantom down the darkened halls of her university. And while it hurt, ached a sore plight down the center of her chest, she knew that everything Kim said had been right. She’d been a bad friend, taken too much and given too little. And she could hear her mother’s words too, fresh as the day they were spoken, like silent criminals come to steal her composure.

Autopilot carried her to Katya’s class, wearing the same clothes as yesterday, in the same cracked makeup down her cheeks. Their eyes met and unmet constantly, knowing, each glance holding space a little longer than it should’ve. And Trixie felt as though she could cry at any moment, as the dull ache in her head echoed through the back of her skull, and the glaring need for escape ravaged all the spaces in between. She felt trapped, cornered, unable to escape Katya’s eyes; though she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to. She wanted someone to see her, that she was sure of. Someone to see passed the façade and tell her that it was all going to be okay; and she wanted that someone to be Katya; but some things just couldn’t be, and she was learning then, slowly but surely, that she had to make peace with that. Maybe they could come out of this on top, settle for glances and smiles, chats after class, and maybe, just maybe, Trixie could forget the rush. And if not forget, then settle for a dull ache of what could’ve been.

5 Missed Calls .

Class flew by in a blurred rush of muted anxiety, Trixie auto piloting her way through the motions, all the while hoping she could slip out near the end unnoticed; but much to her dismay, as Trixie had anticipated, the end of class found Katya beelining for Trixie’s desk, and any interaction between them became suddenly unavoidable.

“Listen, Tracy, I’m… I’m very sorry about last night, about this morning, I would never want to make you feel uncomfortable,” Katya started.

“Katya don’t, really. It’s fine, you haven’t don-”

“I think it would be… in better interest, if I didn’t drive you home anymore.”

“I don’t understand,” Trixie said, picking absently at the corner of her thumb nail.

“We can’t do thi-”

“We haven’t done anything.”

“You know what I mean.”

Trixie stood for a moment and let everything sink in, their eyes meeting.

Katya reached for Trixie’s left hand and brought it gingerly to her lips. So tender, so domestic. She placed a soft kiss on Trixie’s knuckle, then let their hands drift together to the left side of her chest. And through the cotton of Katya’s blouse, Trixie could feel the quick drumming of her heart, could see in her eyes a great fear, but also a great acceptance.

“I know,” Trixie said quietly, pulling her hand back.

She turned on a slow heal and started for the door; leaving Katya, small and teary eyed, stark in the middle of the room. And as Trixie stole a final glance, the light of the projector cast her silhouette like a specter across the back wall that sunk into the floor while the door swung shut behind her.

She’d only gotten a few steps down the hall before tears began spilling down her cheeks, probably carrying mascara with them. And Trixie blotted the space beneath her eyes, covertly avoiding eye contact with Jinkx as she passed her down the main hall just before the stairs.

7 Missed Calls.

—

She found herself outside then, heading toward the employee parking lot, under the usual tuck of trees that arched against the rain almost protectively overhead. Though many of the leaves had fallen and sunken into the grounds, there had been just enough to provide her shelter, and she stood for a few beats before realizing Katya wasn’t going to come; then again, neither would Kim. Trixie shivered as the cold hit her, her breath evident in the brisk, and she coiled into herself, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her hips.

She patted around her pockets and produced a crumpled twenty dollar bill, that she smoothed against her books and tucked into the side of her bra, the very last of that week’s allowance. While she scrolled through her phone in search of a taxi company, though they were sparse in these parts, she watched as cars puttered by her, subtly hoping to see Katya’s round the drive.

Before she could hit call, her phone lit up again, buzzing in her palm; a contact photo, her at a young age, eyes bright and glittering, a cheesy smile. And her mother, younger, less weathered, hair still long and curly, thin fingers pinching Trixie’s cheeks.

Until then, the calls seemed more like a minor nuisance, just a permanent fixture on the dashboard of her notifications, but now it cut deep; reminded her of all that she’d lost, all that she’d never regain. And she did something she hadn’t done in months, hadn’t done since Kim had found her and brought her here, she answered . And it went just as swimmingly as she might’ve guessed.

“I’ve been calling you for weeks,” a gravely voice slurred through the phone line.

“Are you, are you drunk?”

“What kind of daughter would ask that?”

Soon there was shouting. And Trixie lost all awareness of her environment, her surrounding; but she knew people were watching, she just simply forgot to care. And tears were spilling out of her, falling onto her shirt, tangling with the rain water washing down her skin.

The air was cold, her fingers red and pruning, phone pressed firmly into her cheek. Everything was spinning and far from sound, and as her mother continued her lamentation, Trixie grew more tense, more unabsolved. She felt trapped suddenly, by all of the forces outside of her own body, controlling her, prodding and pulling like the strings of a marionette. And she came to a startling realization; her life, wasn’t hers. This wasn’t what she wanted, this wasn’t who she wanted to be.

Before she could even hang up the phone, someone was tugging at her arm, pulling her gently from the rain, and from the watching eyes. Guiding her down into a car, her boots finding the comforting crush of empty coffee cups and to-go wrappers. And her phone found its way back into her pocket, as did her fingers, numb from the cold that she pressed into her thighs.

They drove in mostly silence, down familiar roads that were slick now with sleet. And the squeaking of the windshield wipers held an almost deafening stance against the silence.

“Tracy… Ar-”

“Please, Katya. Please , don’t.” Trixie said, drying her cheeks with the sleeves of her sweater.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier, I just… You can still talk to me, you know.”

“No, I can’t. I really can’t.”

Just then, Katya pulled her car swiftly off of the road, hitting the curb and throwing the gears into park. She took off her seatbelt so she could turn to meet Trixie’s gaze.

“What are we doing here?”

“I want to talk to you. I want you to talk to me, there’s n-”

“You know what,” Trixie said, unfastening her seatbelt, “I really can’t. And you know damn well why I can’t.”

“I am not understanding this.”

“Because, Katya! I fucking want you, I want us, I want…” Trixie threw her hands into the air in exasperation, “this! And I’m so sick of everyone in my life telling me what to do, and who to be. Even you! Everyone is always… god, I don’t know! I’m so fucking overwhelmed all of the time by this expectation of who I’m supposed to be, how I’m supposed to act. I have never, ever, not once in my life, not had to fight for every single thing that I have and I’m sick of it. I’m my own person, we are both fucking adults and we can make our own decisi-”

Before she could finish, Katya’s hands were over the center console, pulling her face close, their lips finally meeting.

—

And suddenly her fingers are on me, in my hair, running down my neck. Our mouths meeting like it’s the first time, gliding swiftly over one another, melding us as one exchange of impassioned energy. And her breath is warm, and sweet, intoxicating . Everything I need. Devastatingly, so. From the light of the cars in passing, flickering across her skin, I can see every unspoken word, escaping into the expanse. She wants me, and I want her, and this may be fleeting but I’ve forgotten to care as her hands stroke passed my hair and down my back, sliding with a quick and heavy rhythm like she’s striking a match. Every ounce of angst in me cries out for her, yearns to be closer, to be deeper, to love long and speak sweeter. And I’m falling into her hard, like I’ve never fallen before-

—

Their lips parted as Katya pulled away with haste, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Trixie, Trixie, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have, we can’t do this!” Katya tensed, her accent thicker than ever.

And all of the spinning inside of Trixie stopped, her expression blank, eyes blinking quick and without rhythm. Her skin flushed, hot embers fading into gray coals.

“ Trixie ?” She said in a hushed exasperation, realizing that it was the first time she’d ever heard the name leave Katya’s lips.

“We can’t, I’m so sorry. I just, I care about you so much but we… we can’t Trix-”

“Why not? WHY NOT? You just said it, you care about me! Katya, please, not you too, you can’t do this to me, too. I can’t handle someone else telling me what I ca-”

“Trixie, please try and understand… I’m so so-”

“You know what. Save it. ”

And with that, Trixie was climbing out of the car, the garbage underfoot kicking out onto the sidewalk.

#trixya #dahlia #katya zamolodchikova #trixie mattel #angst #college au #dahliasforkatya #lesbian au #tw verbal abuse #tw mentions of abuse #rpdr fanfiction #submission #church of the poison mind

27 notes · View notes

ecotone99 · 5 years

Text

[MF] Sunday Scaries

The conversation formatting doesnt hold on reddit copy paste, so its much better read thru link

Linking at Top to not spoil the end - hope thats OK!

https://www.casualblasphemy.com/blog/sundayscaries

------------------------------------------

Jesus Christ and Other Swear words

Volume II: Anxiety Rainbow

A Slower Burn to Fiery Finish. About 10-15 minutes

Chapter 2, 3 or 7, not sure yet.

Chapter III: Sunday Night Scream Into the Void

I lie (awake) to myself

A feeling of impending doom. So many emails. Existential dread and the Sunday Scaries.

I cannot sleep, it is nearly midnight. I have so much to do this week.

I lie awake and try to think of all the embarrassing things other people have done.

I can't think of any, so I go back to remembering my own social failings.

The time I tripped in front of my Crush age 14. My disastrous bangs of just last year. The time I mispronounced Worcheschertshishire in front of my cute coworker. The 23 blocks I walked with toilet paper stuck to my foot and that afternoon tanning in the park with a tampon string dangling from my bikini bottoms. Everyone remembers. I am sure of it. I farted once on a conference call.

Monday is only a few hours away. So many emails and the dishes sit soaking for a third day. I shouldn't have slept in today. I have so much to do tomorrow. I think about every time i've fucked up in my past 30 years.

My anxiety builds and I try again to refocus my attention. I try to remember all the embarrassing things other people have done, but I literally cannot think of any. I sort of remember one of my friends shitting his pants. Was that the day I walked into the sliding glass door. Do you think he remembers? Oh god, was it me that poped my pants? Oh jeez, i said poped, not pooped. Im talking out loud to myself.

Thank god no one is here.

I feel lonely.

----

I eat a CBD chocolate and feel the anxiety of impending doom. So many emails.

I remember. I remember every embarrassing thing I have done in my entire life. I have so much to do this week. So many emails. I have a meeting tomorrow and I don't feel prepared. That time I was left hanging for a high five with my hand in the air. I looked like Hitler with no friends. It is Sunday and life is Scary. So much to do this week. Were they laughing at me? I feel lonely. No one talked to me today. I feel like the Pluto of my friend group.

I decide to crowdsource some self esteem and climb on Tinder.

Left

Right

Match!

Left

Oh damn this guy is hot.

Damn, 5’10

Left

Right

Match!

Left

Right

Match!

Right

Match!

Right

Match!

Every time I swipe right it's a Match. I feel attractive and desirable

Left

Double ew!

Left

Right

Nothing. What!?

I lower my standards

Right

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing

Sunday Feels Scary Again. I have so much to do tomorrow. I don't want to play the game anymore. I fear rejection from strangers. Kinda horny tho. I survey my matches and read messages:

“Hey”

“Wanna Fuck?”

“Nice weather Today”

“Show me your bobs?”

“Nice Feet”

A profile stands out

Blake

6”2’ “Ive never shoed a horse, but I told a Cow to go home once”

I don't really get it, but he's HOT. That fish he caught is HUGE! I climb out of my comfort zone and message first. I've never done this before

“Hey” she wrote with butterflies

….

…….

………..

18 minutes pass. Nothing.

I go back to swiping unenthusiastically

Right

Nothing.

I feel like a Moth in a world of Butterflies. Undesirable.

OH GOD. I research gravity blankets and take a xanax. I think of Cocoons.

I fall asleep lonely horny disappointed anxious and 8% numb. So many emails. Maybe I can do the dishes tomorrow after work, the gym, and picking up my prescriptions. I shouldn't have messaged him. I need groceries. That time I tripped on the bleachers and Becky laughed at me. I run through the grocery list in my head. Eggs, avocados, kombucha, spinach, Shame, paper towels, CBD chocolates. I feel weird.

------

I survive another week with espresso and antidepressants. It was hard. I am so tired. I am so tired all the time. Its sunday night and I feel The Doom coming again. I batten the hatches and prepare to wait out the emotional storm under the weight of my new Gravity Blanket. Its heavy and sweaty and I regret buying it. My anxiety rises to new highs and I feel like an idiot. Thank god no one is here. I feel lonely.

Ping!

Blake: :Me

“Hey ;) still up?”

I think about unmatching to teach him a lesson for not replying to me last week, but digital or not, I really need this distracting attention.

“Maybe ;) whatcha doing?”

Trying not to think about Monday LOL

LOLOL Same Same. Sunday Scaries :o

LOL I KNOW! Just gotta get through this week,

I am getting a puppy on Friday!

Puppy! What kind!?

A Frenchi :) her name is Luna

OMG NEED!

You have any pets?

Nooooo :(

You can come play with mine!

Cats or Dogs?

YES PLZ! I grew up with dogs :)

What was the name of your first pet?

Daisy :) she was so sweet

Awww, where did you grow up?

Seattle, just moved for a new job

It's hard being in a new city!

Well I can show you around!

What is your job?

Never been to Seattle, were you born there?

Born in Suburbia, lol

a little town nearby called Auburn

I work for a company that has meetings

I have a friend from Auburn!

LoL what do you meet about?

No way!

We meet about other meetings

Yea, did you got to Westside Elementary?

Eastside

Oh nice, her mom was a teacher there

Did you have Mrs. Ellison for 1st grade English?

I don't remember a Mrs. Ellison?

I had a Mr. Gardner

Oh lol. U like cars?

Sort of

I just got a new one :)

What was the make and model of your first car?

Wow! You are having quite the year!

Lol 1994 black honda civic. The dream

You sound like a Capricorn

Virgo!

Oh nice, when is your birthday?

August 24th, 1990

Just got a pic of my puppy, wanna see?

OMG YES

206-390-0345

I like Capricorns ;)

Oh god that sounded desperate

Texted you

Didn't get it!

Tried again

Nothing :(

Lol new phone too, I think its fucked tho

Whats your email, I wanna show you my bb pup!

Lol look at you Mr. New

[[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])

….

……

……..

Did you send it?

…..

Hello?

Fal Asleep? lol

Ping!

An email arrives to my racing heart. He's so inquisitive! New car and a puppy! I wonder what he does for a living? Such a Gentleman, that was a whole hour of texting and he didn't even ask for nudes. I click the notification but my email won't open.

Please login to continue. I type my password “Daisy123”

Incorrect password/email combination

Please try again

Oh, is it lowercase?

******3

Please Try Again

*****3

Please Try Again

******3

Please Try Again

Ugh im so tired, I can't even type right. I'll leave it for morning

--------

MondayVegan Jessica III sleeps well in dreams of Blake, Frenchi’s and Avocados under the weight of her anti-anxiety gravity blanket. She wakes with a smile and grabs her phone eagerly.

Please Try Again

Vegan Jessica III eats her last free-range Avocado on a piece of whole-wheat gluten-free non-cruelty noGMO carboloaf. Num!

Please Try Again

Fucking Annoying!

I switch over to my work email and begin responding to CC threads as I walk to the train. I meet with my team and we plan our next meeting. We have a great plan to plan.

I get home exhausted. I am so tired. We met for three hours and planned for three more days of planning meetings about meeting plans. I log in to tinder and check my messages. Nothing. I take a xanax and go to sleep. The dishes are molding and i'm out of avocados.

Tuesday

I wake stressed and skip breakfast. I head into work and drink espresso. We meet again to discuss our plan to plan. Everything goes as planned and we adjourn. I get out of work 15 minutes early and swing by CVS Pharmacy for LaCroix and drugs.

Some freak in a fedora oggles my breasts through my oversized sweater. What is he even looking at?

“Hi, yes, prescription pickup for Vegan Jessica III. It should have been called in Monday”

“Sure thing, insurance and ID please. Have a seat, it'll be about 15 minutes”

Pharmacists are just drug baristas, change my mind. I wait 45 minutes for the man in the never-dirtied lab coat to grab a prepackaged bottle of prozac from the wall. I hand him my credit card.

“Im sorry Ma’am, your card was declined, do you have another?”

The word ‘Ma’am’ turns three of my pubic hairs grey. It makes me kind of miss that creep in the fedora surveying my body.

Are you sure? Can you try again

Yes ma’am, the card is declined. Do you have another Ma’am?

Ma’am

Can you try calling them? I left my debit at home and don't have any cash.

I glance at my Fitbit. The time is 6:01pm

Its after 6pm Ma’am, you'll have to wait till tomorrow.

I leave the CVS and the pharmacists spends the next 30 minutes placing the bottle of pills back on the shelf.

----

I go home feeling frustrated. I skip the mailbox, dishes, dustbunnies and head straight for my bed. I pull the gravity blanket over my head like a ghost and feel a little better. I eat a half a pound of CBD chocolate and feel much better.

I log into Tinder. Fucking Blake ghosted. Unmatched. Under my blanket I get scared of ghosts and eat another ¼ pound of CBD chocolate.

Wednesday

I wake feeling like shit. I don't know why. I feel stressed. I call in sick to work and take a xanax and go back to bed. I awake to a phonecall from an unknown number. Fucking spamassrobocalls. I scream FUCK YOU to 1s and 0s. There's a panic rising in my throat.

I haven't checked my personal email in days now and try to log back in. I click password recovery and an email is sent to my old college email | [[email protected]](mailto:[email protected]). Ugh I can't believe I used to eat honey and drink milk with my coffee; I feel ashamed of my former self. It feels like a Sunday, but it's only wednesday.

I try to login to my old college email to recover my password for my post-college email.

I try to remember my old password

Please Try again

I try all my old combinations

Please Try again

Lockout timer 29:59..

29:58….

29:57….

Ugh I hate this shit.

Trying to recover a password to recover a password. Did I type it wrong? Was it capitalized? Am I just not remembering it right? Was the ‘I’ a “!” ?? Was there 123 at the end, or maybe beginning?

I need to set my passwords to things I can never forget. Maybe take a lesson from Sunday. Shame and Trauma seem to make for fantastic passwords.

MyFatherAbandonedOurFamilyIn1997!

That's not something im likely to forget

I spend the next 29 minutes finally doing the dishes and feel a little better.

Please Try again

Lockout timer 59:59

FUCK

I hate this shit. I click the password recovery button on my college email and a third is sent to my very first email address. [[email protected]](mailto:[email protected])

I go to AOL.com and try to login

Please Try again

It feels like im opening those Russian Dolls. Every time I open one, another is there. The Russian Nesting Dolls of Digital Frustration. Please Try Again Later.

Recover the password

to recover the password

Please Try Again

I channel my frustration and hit the gym. Pilates class with Pontious. I stop on the way home and Scream into the Void. I feel a little better.

I check the mailbox before the stairs.

I turn the key and an avalanche spills out. Envelope after envelope, it seems unending. They just keep coming. The cascade flow dries to a dribble and I reach inside to scoop the rest of my mail out.

My arms are full of dead trees and I feel sad. Plus its like super heavy after an hour of cross planking. I ascend the stairs and unlock the door with my keys in my mouth. I push the door open with my forehead and dump the heavy mess of envelopes and magazines on the floor.

A Victoria Secret catalogue catches my eye. I make a mental note of my despise for their company message and start perusing the pages. What kind of image are they putting in the heads of young girls. False standards of beauty. Where are the real women! That bra is like super cute tho. I order three in different colors but my card is declined. The bras never come, its ok tho, they wouldn't have fit me anyway.

When my card is declined I think of Blake’s rejection again. Ghosted. What an asshole. Whatever he's probably just another pig who gets off to Victoria Secret models and supports an impossible standard of beauty. I am now convinced Victoria’s real Secret is mainstream distribution of introductory pornography to young boys in suburbia. That's a big mental leap to take from subquality prethought, but I think it's important to note where some of these idolized false standards of beauty start. They start with aging young Mother’s ordering VS products and catalogs to catch renewed interest from their lazily inattentive husbands and trickledown pornoEconomics recycles the catalogs to prepubescent boys. Hidden and stolen, they are a prime middle-school currency. The image of Desire becomes fixed in pubescent development and the path upscycles again.

I throw the catalog away disgusted and pick up my copy of the much more realistic Vogue. I eat more CBD chocolate and forget to call my credit card company. I fall asleep with fragrant advertisements and two miles of photoshop-smoothed Gigi Hadid legs on my face.

Friday

It's a beautiful morning and i'm feeling rested. I don't know what happened to Thursday. We have a brief meeting about next week's meeting and are dismissed early. Summer Fridays are the best! I meet up with my besties and we dress up to impossible standards of beauty.

Thin pink straps patterned with “VS VS VS” loop my shoulders out of my strapless black dress. Clash is in. I think it looks cute even tho the bra doesn't fit well. I lace up my gladiator platform cork wedges and we head out for a night of dancing.

I dance next to my ugliest friend and bask in double attention.

Buy you a Drink?

Wanna Dance?

Ever Ride a Motorcycle?

All eyes on me. I dance and twirl and snort the night away. This cocaine is fantastic. My credit card still doesn't work so I have boys buy me drinks. I black out a bit and wake up in my Uber home. Its light out and the birds won't shut up about the stupid sun. My heart is beating arhythmically and I feel weird. A feeling of impending doom is brewing and it makes me feel weirder - it's not even Sunday.

I sober up a bit, but can't sleep. I decide to finish the vial of cocaine I took from that boy and do some housekeeping.

I take the trash out and open my computer. I feel inspired to clean and conquer.

I will recover my password!

I see a button for ‘alternate recovery options’ on my ancient @aol email and click

A series of questions challenge my identity

“Date of Birth”

August 24th, 1990

“What was the name of your first Pet?”

Daisy

“What was the name of your 1st grade English Teacher?

Mr. Gardner

“What City Were you Born in?”

Auburn

“What was the Make and Model of your First Car?”

1994 Black Honda Civic

And just like that I'm in! I recover my password and recover my password and recover my password.

The russian dolls reassemble and my anxiety plummets

--------

----

---

Until I open Gmail to a Nightmare

The realization grips me. The Saturday Scaries are Real. I spring to the 4 foot foyer of my apartment where the non-fashion-catalog remainder of my mail avalanche sits piled like rubble.

I rifle through envelopes and cut my finger. It really stings. I suckle a droplet of blood and read the envelopes

Bills. Bills of all kinds. Bills of all shapes and sizes. Bills Not mine, but mine. An acre of rainforest in bills.

My iphone rings and my phone wont open. Panic Panic Panic. Saturday Scaries. I pull my bleeding finger from my mouth and the iphone recognizes my face. I answer the call

“Ma’am i'm calling from TransUnion Credit Reporting, we've seen some unusual activity on your report this week, can you confirm opening the following 227 Credit Cards on Sunday between the hours of 11pm and 4am Monday Morning?”

(This phone call 97% actually happened)

My vision spots and I hit the floor.

___

I awake Sunday. My head is throbbing and my finger hurts. I look at the papercut and it stares back with green eyes. It smells like Almond Butter, but the gross GMO kind. I put CBD oil on it and leave the house.

I head to the hospital, but my credit card is declined. My finger is green to the knuckle and it definitely feels like a Sunday.

I head home and curl up in my bed. With my green arm I pull the gravity blanket over my head and cry. I fall asleep feeling scared and not safe.

I wake to pain. The green has spread throughout my whole body. I feel weak. I need to go to work. So many emails.

I feel The DOOM

I try to lift the gravity blanket, but I am weak and it is too heavy.

The longer I stay, the weaker I become. Days pass and I miss meeting after meeting. I sweat profusely trapped inside a cocoon of anxiety. Unseen emails pile up and add to the weight. My phone is out of battery and I can't reach past the blanket for my charger. I need water. I really need water.

I feel The DOOM

I think of blood poisoning and my plummeting credit scoreThe Chrysalis hardens to reject the outside world

It becomes my Tomb. I feel safe here.

Immune to Anxiety

No emails, no meetings.

The DOOM fades to black and so do I.

submitted by /u/Beerandcabfare [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2QcBhf7

#Blogger #Story

0 notes