WarpedTourWasFun
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- May 4, 2019
I know there's a woman behind the words, but I can only read her posts in Stewie Griffin's voice.
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Does no one else go through the transtemporal phase as a teen and young adult? I wanted to believe in transtemporaility, but it simply wasn't me. As someone else observed, my particular writing style is... I don't want to say affected, but similar to letter-writing, a unique but charming turn of phrase takes effort to cultivate and maintain. Obviously, if transtemporality were a thing, my natural affect would be Victorian and it wouldn't slip when I'm upset. I admit in recent years I have not done nearly as much reading as I should in order to keep my linguistic garden well-kept. I need to work on that so that I can still sound poised when I'm emotional.
Funny, I hear Posey from Mission Hill.I know there's a woman behind the words, but I can only read her posts in Stewie Griffin's voice.
^ Christine circa March 2017I had to keep my weight at around a hundred and ten for weeks. I'm really dissatisfied and unhappy. You see, I donate plasma. It allows me to have a little extra money for my own. My husband pays for everything else, and he would buy me anything I wanted if I asked, but I don't want to burden him anymore. So I decided to make my own money for personal needs. But I don't think a hundred dollars a week is worth this. Maybe I can figure out a way to trick their scales... The usual things... down half a gallon of water, wear bell bottom jeans and sew weights to the inner hems. I feel terrible having to lie, especially since if I get caught I'll never be allowed to donate plasma again, and there goes all my money. But I can't keep my weight at a hundred and ten pounds. I think the restlessness I feel is going to kill me. I hate having to intentionally sabotage my progress by eating handfuls of chocolate chips. I hate having to think of how much weight I could have lost by now if I'd only been allowed to try.
So, my conclusion so far:
She's a liar and an idiot
Her parents might also be liars and idiots
No doctor thinks she has this victorian era disease
She's a victorian-era LARPer
She thinks her spirit-soul or some shit is actually time traveling
She has spent literally 12 hours on a forum where people have just been shitting all over her
Now, this is where I'm gonna be nice and do you a favor, Christina.
A shame, you could unfuck your mental state and be a pretty okay girl if you actually pulled your head out of your ass and maybe take a dose of humility and admit you might be fucking wrong. You could apply your fascination with the Victorian era to art, writing, or even things like costume design.
Hey, I get it. I liked the Wild West when I was young. I wanted to be a Texas Ranger and chase outlaws on horseback through the badlands. But I didn't delude myself into thinking I was a real wild west lawman. There's nothing wrong with having a little fantasy.
But nothing you've claimed is real, dear. Maybe your parents lied to you, maybe- and hear me out here- maybe they told you this and were full of shit or just wrong. Maybe those guys that studied their ass off and paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for an education in the field of medicine are right, and you don't have this disease and it's all psychosomatic. Maybe the doctor you need to see is a psychiatrist, and there's no shame in it- I've seen Special Forces guys do that.
Go talk to a psychiatric professional. Establish meaningful interpersonal relationships with real people. Come to terms with the reality of who you are and the way the world works, and it becomes a pretty awesome place- and you still don't have to set aside your fancies and fantasies.
Pardner.
At the risk of sounding "Potato", what do you mean?She's also a 'little'. So.....
Oh.......At the risk of sounding "Potato", what do you mean?
She's a little...what?
...Goddammit
Well see, now I've given you a real excuse to go to the doctorI think I may have actually sustained a spinal injury from the speed of your tone shift from "strangle yourself" to fatherly advice. Holy Hermes.
You need a better therapist if you're still like this.I think I may have actually sustained a spinal injury from the speed of your tone shift from "strangle yourself" to fatherly advice. Holy Hermes.
I don't know why everyone assumes I'm not already in therapy, given my penchant for eternal pensive ruminating. There exist people whom I can pay to listen to me overshare about my life and help me parse out my various various neuroses. And yes, before you ask, I'm honest with my therapists. They know everything you know plus about 10 years' worth of pre-internet history.
Meanwhile, I have my own bed. We have the master bed that we share, but I've got my own bed and bedroom too. Since I took sick in October we've moved to a new place with better accommodations, including ramps for my CP and a sickroom off to the side with my own bed and medical supplies and clean linens, etc., because I'm kept awake with pain and fever most nights, so I want to have a space where I can watch late-night movies, do treatments, get up and have tea and all that without disturbing my husband's sleep, of which he doesn't get enough.
I don't know why everyone assumes I'm not already in therapy, given my penchant for eternal pensive ruminating. There exist people whom I can pay to listen to me overshare about my life and help me parse out my various various neuroses. And yes, before you ask, I'm honest with my therapists. They know everything you know plus about 10 years' worth of pre-internet history.
I love that room. I could talk about it for weeks, and I'm actually a little miffed I didn't have the sickroom's updated pictures on Insta in time for KF to include them in my introductory post, but whatever. I'm sure you'll discuss it in great detail later.I don't have the time or patience to comb through the 903 total posts, but Christine is also on a site called "Talk About Marriage" Profile linked here.
Christine apparently has a sickroom.
.... For her undiagnosed lupus.
(we recently celebrated the 10th anniversary of the day we met in real life)