A lot has been on my mind, but three things in particular I want to address:
(1) Brandi blamed me for everything. She said “Are you lying?” “Are you tricking me?” “Are you getting something out of this?” Classic manipulation. If you can take 0 blame, something is wrong.
(2) I’ve been thinking about all I said on here about the pedophile — particularly all that stuff that he hated white people, and the white man like my father. In all honesty, there were
some white people who had a hand in destroying his family, past and present. I imagine none of them were children.
I realized something. I was rereading the story and felt like it was the kind of story that you’d read to a kid, only darker, but the kind you
expect to have a happy ending.
And it did. He suddenly repented and tried to kill himself.
Yet I have a memory of getting hit, hard, in the head, with a metal bat.
I realized this week that his story may have just been a story. Something to make me feel bad for him, to make me want to go out of my way to prove that a white person can be loving and kind. Something that would make the end, the “break up,” feel like I did good in the world. I think I may have been duped. He either still hates white people, or never cared to begin with. I remember
@Freida saying that the reason I thought the pedophile was my friend was because he knew what he was doing. I think, finally, there’s some truth at least in that.
I still feel that his unwell attempts after he dismissed me were at least somewhat genuine. I think he did really have some guilt. It was right after I was continuously kind to him. He was used to teenagers. Not kids... wait, that sounds messed up too. hm
(3) I found out that Fungus had/has some things that I have no record of. OCD and memory-hoarding along with a still-good (not quite photographic but good) memory force me to keep matriculous records in weird ways. Usually by keeping certain things.
I tested my memory when I found some things that my memory straight up couldn’t recall today. It’s working fine. I was recalling what my bedroom looked like when I was one and a half. I wasn’t allowed to play in there because it was dangerous. My dad had junk everywhere. I wasn’t allowed to walk and got caged. My doctors claim my muscles may never strengthen properly, but I played sports and still exercise anyway.
A while ago, my phone’s main browser glitched. It suddenly opened 600+ tabs based on things in its history. (Long story, but the issue was resolved by professional staff at the phone’s mother company and it won’t happen again.) For the past year-ish, I’ve been slowly going through tabs and deleting them once I know what they are and can confirm that I don’t need them.
Something weird happened today. I had sort of forgotten that my browser had a “private browsing” section. I remember that I used it to hide things from Brandi, as she’d go through my phone for proof that I was lying. I got down to 255ish tabs (yay! So close to having more memory on my phone!) and I don’t know why but I got curious and tapped the button to view private tabs.
I was confused all day. I didn’t remember a single one. But they all somehow felt critically relevant. And I remember very clearly being sure to close every tab that was private. I had never left any open before — because then they could technically be found.
Yet there were over 100 of these tabs.
It finally dawned on me when I went home a few hours ago. It was when I tapped a tab about a certain animal that has figured out exactly how to catch plant cells and use them to make food, rather than eat them (cool article, probably one I would have remembered). They weren’t mine. These were carefully researched topics that Fungus was explaining to Brandi.
I’m not sure why I can’t remember them. I’m not going to look for reasons though. It might mean nothing
I will say, though, that work without Nestle has been odd. I took myself for a walk, apparently. But I remember that
