My Bad Habits Include:
A writing addiction, swearing, giving 0 fucks, advocating for the devil, and playing dress-up in public.

Beliefs:
God loves me, and I love Him. That’s enough. I’m happy to engage in a mutually respectful conversation, but arguing with me is pointless ^_^

Favorite Monster:
Vampires _ My favorite vampiric trait is needing permission to enter the home. Permission is sexy.

Sexuality:
Bi, poly, demi.

Goals:
Heal myself and others with my words. Build new worlds. I can't fix this one, but I can create space and shelter in place.

Hobbies:
Mushroom cultivation, attempting to grow/killing plants, messing around with AI because messing with people is mean, cosplay, Mihoyo mobile games, and people watching.
(If I'm staring at you, I probably like your outfit or find your mannerisms interesting. Sorry about the RBF and low blink rate. I promise I'm not being creepy!)

My Story

I'm hesitant to even put this on here, but fuck it.

Commencing over-share! Skip it if you don't care. I'll still love you.

I live in small-town South Texas. Yeah... you're probably already thinking some accurate thoughts about that if you know anything about me. Anyway!

I love this place and the people in it, especially my family. Love, I've come to learn, does not always fix compatibility issues, though. That said, I don't want this to become an “us vs. them” thing. It's not. Everyone did their best with the information they had.

The Mask
My “best” looked like two excruciating decades behind a flawless mask. I absorbed the only version of good I was ever exposed to. That meant anything else was bad, or worse—useless. I internalized that money is the only viable way to measure worth, that disability means try harder and get over it because life isn't fair. Tears are weakness, and pain is dealt with privately by lone individuals. Asking for help is proof of failure; accepting help means accepting expectations and any strings that come with the help. Love is transactional—a choice and a commitment that outweighs self, sanity, peace, and happiness. Everyone else is right, and I'm probably wrong most of the time. Any personality traits deviating from the Christian faith as prescribed by modern interpretation from the pulpit were actually not me. It was just the inherent evil, weak part of my humanity rearing its ugly head. That part must be purged in your daily walk as part of dying to self and being a living sacrifice for God.

Marriage and Discovery
Then I got married and was finally allowed to breathe a bit in my own skin. Everything was... hard, but better than anything I had ever experienced before. However, allowing myself to breathe meant getting to finally meet myself and start to discover who I actually am. Eventually, that led to the revelation that I could not be the person we both thought I was when we got married. At first, necessity and co-dependence made peace attainable. We were sure if we just stuck it out, we would make it work. After all, we were truly in love. I still love him to this day and always will, but that's not what broke us.

The Wreck
There was a car wreck.

I got hit in the head, which resulted in a life-changing TBI. I lost energy, time, cognition, and the mental capacity to mask. Before, I was disabled. Now, I am incapacitated by disabilities I used to manage successfully. Even as a writer, I struggle to verbally express the frustration I feel every day when I try to do something I remember doing easily and find I am unable.

The first job I lost due to the wreck was the one I had at the time, obviously. I sold phones online via chat. It was definitely a stretch, but stretch goals were always my favorite kind. I had this strange affinity for things I found difficult. They gave me medical leave, but I couldn't heal fast enough.

This meant us living on his job alone, which didn't pay the bills, and the savings we had collected over six years of marriage that were mere months away from being enough to get us out of Texas became a slowly dwindling lifeline for mere survival. Obviously, as soon as I felt I could work again, I got back out there. We were partners, after all. I couldn't let this fall just on him.

The Spiral
The next job I got was in debt relief. I was a comforting presence and financial advisor for people going through their worst times. It was the most difficult and rewarding job I've ever had. I loved it. Then one day, I was on the phone, and the fatigue I had masked for months caught up. My vision blurred and swam, vertigo hit like an anvil from the sky, I slurred noticeably on the call, and had significant problems keeping up with the conversation. I knew it would be unethical to continue, as I had my fingers in some desperately slim wallets. I finished the call to the best of my ability and went to HR.

Once again, I was on unpaid medical leave.
Once again, I could not heal fast enough—but this time, it was worse.

The Breaking Point
Time passed, and our situation went from bad to dire. My husband told me constantly that he could not do this without my help. Fair. He shouldn't have to. I felt so worthless. I could barely fill out an application without slipping into the haze, falling asleep, or throwing up, and I rarely left the dark bedroom because any kind of light or sound had become intolerable. Forget about sleep.

His valid financial concerns became my shame. He needed a helper. I was supposed to be that, but I became a burden. It sounds loathsome, I'm sure, but I'm not trying to be melodramatic—it's just true. While it wasn't my fault, I technically was the cause of all his problems just by existing. I envy the mentally ill who are not self-aware enough to see the strain they cause in others. I can't help it any more than they can. I broke myself even more trying to, though. I went back to work nearly a year later and it took about three months to re-injured myself badly enough to justify quitting. I didn't even bother with leave this time. I knew it was over.

The Aftermath
At length, I broke up with him. I told him it was because I'm polyamorous so he wouldn't feel like he was abandoning me. That was part of it. The mask shattering bloated many a sunken corpse, and the aforementioned differences exacerbated the rift carved by his resentment and my shame. The biggest reason, among the rest, was that I couldn't bear to watch him suffer on my account any longer.

Now, I live alone beneath my grandmother in a cozy, mostly autonomous flat. My parents are taking care of living expenses by letting me stay here. Friends help where they can, and I do cleaning and labor gigs when available in the neighborhood. Besides that, I write and create content. I wish I could do more.

I am grateful to them. I hate relying on them, however, because they still hold many of the beliefs that caused a lot of damage. Every time I'm with them, I have to be cautious and guarded—not because I hate them, but because I have worked hard to stop internalizing the rules they choose to live by—the same ones that did so much harm to me. No evil monsters here, just some incompatible cores bound by obligation, dependency, and a love that hurts everyone who holds it.

Now
I want to get out of this place. I have to. I'm terrified that I will lose myself to the rules that nearly destroyed me many times over. I need to find financial freedom as fast as possible. Not that that's your problem. At this point, you're all caught up, and I'm just thinking out loud.

Since you're still here, thank you for sticking by me this long! It got heavy there for a while, but I'll be okay. Even if all I have left are my books and my dreams, I'll never give up! Whatever else happens or doesn't happen for me, this is who I am, and this is what I do. I'm excited to write my next chapter!