This post is more rambling and looking for answers than a solid, coherent piece of writing. Also I talk about maggots and worms and crap (not actual crap; crap used as a substitute for stuff) and it’s pretty gross, so if it creeps you out the way it creeps me out you may not want to read.
So, I’m sick right now. And it’s weird, because I haven’t really be interacting with people that much in meatspace recently. Basically I’ve been a shut-in.
Also there’s a strange culmination of it and other stuff. Last night I reorganized my yarn boxes and put them all back on the shelf they were on, which was above part of my closet. And then that entire portion of the closet fell down and went boom a little while later, while I was sitting on the couch watching Torchwood.
Over the past two days there have been two spiders in my house — one on the wall, and one in the bathtub — which normally I’d see as normal because normally I live in basement suites. I don’t now, however; I live in an apartment which used to belong to my grandma, and in all the time this place has been in our family (twenty years) I’ve never seen one single spider until this week.
I’ve been having nightmares, which is strange in itself because they’ve been really vivid, and really fucked up, and I’m back on my Zoloft — when I was on the first month of Zoloft I didn’t have any vivid, fucked up nightmares. I had a few mild ones, but nothing like normal. I went off it for a week because I ran out of pills, and now I’m on my new prescription and…the nightmares have intensified. (I realize this could just be delayed withdrawal, and I’m hoping that’s it. But it could also mean something, and I’m not eliminating that as a possibility.)
And then there are the maggots. I’ve kept this place super clean. I’ve been religious about it. And yet, twice in the past week I’ve found a maggot. Once in the bathroom, on the wall, and now in the kitchen, on the wall by the door.
I have to say, the maggots bug me. A lot. I can deal with spiders — sure, I’m terrified of them, but I can still put them in a cup and put ’em outside, which is what I’ve done with the last two I’ve found. But the last time I found a maggot? It was on the weekend, and the Ogre was visiting. He had to deal with it. I just found this other one about ten minutes ago, and I sent him a text saying THERE IS ANOTHER MAGGOT ON THE WALL AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO (verbatim; caps intact).
I…cannot stand maggots. Or worms, really. They just gross me out because I start to think about them burrowing into my skin, and then I want to vomit.
Also I’ve read “blowfly girl” like ten times because it’s just like a trainwreck I can’t look away from.
And now my muscles are really aching in that flu-y sort of way, and I can’t help but think this is all connected. Maybe connected to the work I’m supposed to be doing spiritually but have put off, and don’t really feel like doing at this moment because, well, I’m sick. (Brilliant move, Universe, or Gods, or Whoever the fuck sent me illness. Illness demons! That’s it.
Gotta work up a great big funky stench to keep them away.)
The things I’ve been planning on doing are…ok, one thing right now (and one related thing later), which is my much-belated Autumn Equinox ritual that I was sort of planning on doing tonight but I feel like such crap I don’t even have the energy to set up my altar, let alone write a ritual. But maybe I should. Maybe the spiders are telling me it’s time to expel the venom, and the maggots are here to…eat my decaying astral flesh.
Ugh that’s so gross I just grossed myself out ugh ugh ugh ugh
And my muscles hurt because the poison is slowly killing me. It’s seeped through my skin into my muscles and will reach my bones if I don’t get it out now.
And that’s what this ritual is going to be about; about cutting the ties formally. Getting rid of toxic peoples’ energy in my life. One in particular, because I’ve never done a formal ritual to get rid of her. She’s just stuck around, like a boil on my heart.
So much so that I was momentarily freaking out on Friday because I worried I might run into her — I went to a burlesque show and nevermind she still lives on the Island and I’m on the mainland now — sometimes the troupes work together and who’s to say she wouldn’t be there? And there were people from her town, but it wasn’t her troupe, it was some boylesquers. It was enough to quicken my breathing and make my heart race.
Exes are no fun and despite all the growth I’ve gone through because of my past relationships, I find myself wishing more often than not that I’d met the Ogre seven years ago and had just stayed steady with him all this time. Because he’s my penguin-lobster-madman with a box, and I sort of regret not having that extra time with him before my biological clock goes crazy and holds us hostage in a Macy’s or something.
(I’m on a timeline to have kids, by the way, and I won’t be dissuaded from it, not even for True LoveTM because it’s vitally important to me that I spawn my first hellbeast before I turn thirty. Anyway, this is a tangent.)
But you know, if it were a physical wound on my body instead of an astral one and I was in the desert or the jungle or somewhere away from medical supplies and clean water and shite and my only chance to survive and not have any infection or whatever was to cram it full of maggots or some other sort of disgusting creature that would eat away the necrotic flesh and leave me healthier, I’d fucking do it. Because I’m hardcore into surviving the fuck out of this life. I’ve been through way too fucking much to throw in the towel because worms gross me out.
I’d just, you know, need therapy. Extra therapy on top of the stuff I already desperately need. Whatever. I can live with that.
So what is the hang-up here? I can easily imagine doing what’s necessary to survive physical wounds but the second the astral ones crop up I chicken out and run away? Godsdammit, where did my ovaries go? (I use ovaries here instead of balls as a measure of strength and courage not because I have ovaries but because godsdammit, ovaries are way stronger than balls, sorry, it’s true, they can survive multiple cysts and still be ready to produce fetus-making eggs. Punch someone with ovaries in the abdomen and zie’ll be much better off than someone you kick in the balls. Or punch. Vaginae are also stronger than balls, generally speaking, though it hurts much more to be punched or kicked there than the ovaries.
I know. So, again, balls are not an indicator of courage or strength. Seriously. Stop using the word that way.)
Augh, this is driving me nuts and I’m getting nothing accomplished by whining about it online. I’m off to craft a ritual. A very poorly-thought out, haphazard, held-together-by-duct-tape ritual.
Wish me luck.