I've been really quiet lately, but I'm still here. Just been doing real life things. Nothing bad, or major, just life stuff.
The cramps seems to have gone away, I put some wards up around my home to keep outside energies out, and while it doesn't filter out the noise from children screaming or hot rods' exhaust pipes, it does keep all the bad spirits out.
In turn, it also takes away any excuse I have to blame my problems on anyone or anything outside of myself, so that's good.
I have been harassed much of my life for being different. When I was a child, I had a feminine face, high-pitched voice, and even walked like a girl despite being born male. When I was in high school some of the football team accused me of being gay (because some pervert spied on me while I was masturbating, and also presumably because I was still a virgin), a rumor which affected me off and on for the next 20 years. And adding (Shi/Hir) pronouns to my Steam name I find myself constantly dealing with transphobes telling me "you will never be a woman" and "I can't understand all the trans women who go by Lilith" then acting like I'm overreacting when I call them out on it.
Right now, it's just the folks in the video games doing the harassing, and only because I let them in by playing with them. I was raised to believe it was some kind of cowardice to block people who harass you, and they also believe it, though they don't call it harassment. They call it "having a different opinion."
Mhm. And I'm sure if I held the opinion that your mother was a loose woman and you don't know who your father is due to her having had at least six partners during the time you were conceived, you'd totally be fine with that too. After all, it's only an opinion, and you obviously can handle people having different opinions, right?
Point is, I'm different, I've been targeted for harassment because I'm different, and now that I'm protected from most outside nonsense magically I have only myself to bla....
Actually, no. Me being different isn't the problem. Other people harassing me is. Also, my harassers calling me "coward" for protecting myself from their harassment that they try to redefine as "having an opinion" is the problem.
It bugs me that I should have to use a fancy-schmancy magic trick to make society's energies stay out of my home, because it isn't me that is the problem. I am a quiet, honest, decent person in real life who has some weird interests that I only ever show on my own walls. I never have people over, I never go out of my way to call attention to how different I am, I do my best to follow the rules. My only offense to this world is that I exist. That other people have chosen to be assholes to me is entirely their doing.
You know, one of these days I really need to write down all the lies that have been told about me. There are a lot of them, told by people who mostly were trying to get clout for themselves. It goes way back, long before the Internet as we know it today was widely known. Every time some lying sack of shit spreads BS about me and I call them out, they always, always, always resort to accusing me of overreacting.
If there is a single reason out of all the others for me to believe that I'm Lilith incarnate, that's it right there. The fact is that there are more lies that have been spread about Sean, the man typing this journal out, than there have been spread about Lilith hirself. Interestingly enough, they're almost as damning as the ones told about Lilith, as they all have to do with either sexual misconduct I've never done or are lies about my willingness to contribute to society.
But mostly it's just me and my own thoughts here lately. I do have bouts of stuff I deal with, mostly past experiences from this life that I've had to deal with, injustices done by supposedly "honest" people in my life, being the family's garbage can. I yelled at my long-dead grandmother today, who stole my backpack in 1997 when I refused to drop all my plans for the day in order to do some mundane thing for her. She, like so many others, accused me of "overreacting" to her STEALING my things and holding them hostage until I did what she wanted, then acted like her reaction was perhaps a bit too much, because I was "retarded" and only my "problems" could have made me care that she had STOLEN my stuff from me.
I put the STEALING stuff in ALL-CAPS because Grandma was a Sunday School teacher and she knew better than to act as if theft isn't a major sin in the Bible ("Thou Shalt Not Steal" is literally one of the Ten Commandments, it's a pretty major thing to be so dismissive about).
Stuff like this was all the time. In 1997, I was 26 years old, an adult, and I was out searching for a job that day, but nooooo, I had to drop everything to help Grandma because she ordered me to.
No, Grandma, I don't have to drop everything to serve you. I am an adult, Grandma, and I deserve to be treated like an adult. You treating me like a little boy, and worse than that, a servant boy, is wrong. Just because Grandpa died doesn't mean you get to hijack my adult life and turn me into your personal servant.
I relive a lot of this shit because I was never allowed to stand up for myself, protect myself, demand that people treat me like a human being... all because I was "retarded" and therefore not deserving of being treated with even the same courtesy that mother's toy poodle was given. When I did try to do it, I got labeled mentally ill, because no parent truly ever hates their kid, it only looks that way from the viewpoint of the child being constantly abused.
Funny, though, how the kid being abused knows he's being abused. Could it possibly have something to do with the fact he spent the first three years of his life under his own father's roof, and his father wasn't an abusive piece of shit? Nah, of course not, three years of being raised by a decent man couldn't possibly give a child a means by which to compare non-abuse to abuse.
I seem to be rambling, but there is a method to my madness. The point I'm making is that other people's behavior isn't my fault. My family abused me, demonized me, stole from me, ripped me off, then tried to pass my protests off as the extreme overreactions of a mentally unstable monster. These same people were the ones who told me day in and day out to be responsible, to be accountable, that if I did something wrong I should own it. But when it came time for them to do those very same things, they left me holding the bag. Seems to me that responsibility is only considered a virtue when applied to someone else.
I miss my father. He and I had a falling out shortly before he died. Pneumonia, which he contracted while taking a break from chemotherapy, took his life a little over a month after his 51st birthday. I wouldn't call my step-father by his first name in his presence instead of "Pop." Such a petty thing to lose your friendship with a man you adore over.
As for "Pop," when I read his obituary a few years ago, I celebrated. I danced, I sang, I jumped for joy. I have many times fantasized about going to his funeral and telling the truth about his monstrous evil to the other mourners to MAKE them acknowledge that he was not a good man, unzipping my pants and pissing directly on his dead body.
What I don't mention often, though, is how both Dad and Pop used me as a messenger between the two of them for a long-running argument they were having. The truth is that the day Dad told me to stop calling my step-father "Pop" was the day I told him I wasn't going to relay messages between the two of them anymore. The whole "don't call him Pop" thing happened after I told my dad I wouldn't be his messenger, so it's clear it was intended as a punishment.
So Dad wasn't really a good man, just a more polite and charismatic man. Pop was a piece of shit, but ultimately he was honest about it. Neither one deserves my respect, because they both laid the blame for their own bullshit on my shoulders. So much for "personal responsibility," eh?
Still, I have it in my power now to decide when, and if, I will be harassed.
Ugh, this journal is a mess. Mostly just rambling, telling old wounds and reliving old bullshit. I do, however, need to write down all the lies that have been told about me. More lies than have been told about Lilith hirself. Not as world-shattering, but definitely more numerous. It seems to be a theme throughout my many many lifetimes. Always lies told about me, but somehow I end up bouncing back and winning out in the end. Lilith wasn't the first lifetime to endure such treachery, and mine sure as hell won't be the last.
At least I can take solace in the fact that what other people have done to me is entirely their own fault, not mine, and that I don't have to take their bullshit just because they demand it.
