When I was little, I was a mute. Actually the people I grew up around were, to me, intrinsically dishonest and that made me reluctant to talk to them. They never got to know me – and later in life they’d have opportunities to get to know me and always say something that would alienate me.
The meditations I practice try to encourage people to focus on positivity, and I think the positive to that was essentially that it’s clear that I picked a childhood that would cause me to develop a great intuition.
Abraham Hicks teaches that the “family” you grow up with are seldom your true family. I know when people make me feel uncomfortable. That is a gift.

The idea that these relatives had been observing my life, that they had known about my breakdown, that they knew about the fact that in a narrative that could be quite simply described as an entire town trying to kill me – that they knew I was living in a half way house – that they had quietly known everything I went through and chosen not to be there for me and then coincidentally would try to come back into my life as I started getting better, and perhaps most importantly as I realised that I had truly managed to communicate messages from their dead mother to them – makes me feel disappointed. I think to a great extent I see the people I grew up with as having “hidden intentions”, a lot of people talk about Abraham Hicks’ meditations as being so amazing that after a period of absolute solitude and often misery – you can fix your vibrations to attract lots of old friends and people that distanced themselves from you in your hard times. She wouldn’t have an issue with people distancing themselves from you during hard times, not at all. But she also teaches self value – and for me – I have NEVER been the kind of person who could walk way from a person having a hard time. I have consistently been the kind of person who could live with a girl she knew was spreading absolute lies behind her back, who could come home crying because a guy said something nasty and quite comfortably stick up for that girl. And in my life experience people have always chosen to befriend that girl. Turns out that I am often the most interesting thing about that girl’s life and when I’m no longer there for her to bitch about, the people she bitched about me to slowly disappear too. Based on my own understanding of friendship, I wouldn’t at this point accept anyone who offered any less than I do. If you’re the kind of person who can walk away from someone having a hard time, good for you – that kind of self preservation, I’m sure, has gotten you far in life. But that isn’t me. Doesn’t relate to me. Doesn’t sit right with me.

My paternal grandmother would not want me to speak to any of her children without an apology – and any acceptance of an apology would be simply to alleviate their guilt. Not to reconnect, not to salvage a dumpsterfire

Abraham Hicks teaches that your growth comes from the family you choose.

This month I’ve been thinking about a little bunny I found in the land outside of a mansion I used to visit. I walked towards a tiny fluff and I noticed that as I approached it, it just stayed still. I picked it up and realised it must have been rejected by it’s family because it was blind, it had incredible blue eyes. I was forced to leave it behind. At that point of my life I hadn’t learned how to tell people that my life wasn’t any of their business. Take a hint.

I wish I had taken that bunny home. Sometimes I wonder if I have any life regrets and I think that’s one of them. Leaving a little bunny to die. It’s a strange metaphor for what I’d later experience in life. But bigger than that – isn’t it weird how people subconsciously mistreat “disability”?

When I was at university in Farnham I drew a picture of a little bunny sitting in blood with fangs. I hadn’t drawn in awhile. Some loser called sam commented “FREAAAAK” on my facebook. He is one of the most boring human beings anyone could ever meet. It’s probably quite sad to be surrounded by artists, in an art school, and call someone a freak for doing an illustration. The ‘sam’ name vibration is actually sort of wretch inducing, a suffocating cough stuck in a person’s throat – you might be inclined to want to befriend them at some point in your life, they often make good first impressions but then you think back on it and they’re often the worst kind of person to waste your time being around. I’ve never experienced a sam that wasn’t the perfect fit for some kind of ‘pervert uncle’ archetype.

(Segueway – this ACTUALLY sort of happened to me once. I had a brief stint working as a barmaid in a stripclub in Aldershot – no good stories come out of trips to Aldershot – and I went to work in cute black velvet wedges, a corset and a kinda EGL skirt – which isn’t stripclub slutty but was certainly Surrey slutty – and then afterwards I went straight to a house party in Farnham, where I was supposed to meet my then-boyfriend, who, was the only person I was really talking to in Farnham at the time. My then-boyfriend was hiding somewhere fucking hobbitdwarf. I went around looking like some goth prostitute in this big house full of people copying hobbit dwarf and dressing like hippies (the same harem pants, bandanas, the WORKS) and I had people staring at furious-me throwing doors open looking for the retard and his Dwarven bucket-for-a-cunt and eventually I got sectioned and no longer had the confidence to dress like that in public and by the time I got back to Uni all the girls were dressing like ultra-goths and that is pretty much the long-term effect of being this person in public.)

I went to a dr once and told him I was pretty certain I had aspergers and the first thing he asked me was “did you play with toy animals as a child?” I said “yes?” and he said “you don’t have aspergers”. Great diagnosis dude. NHS doctors amirite? Actually it’s just another hilarious anecdote to associate with my time in Farnham. (If I felt like being funny, I’d say it came out as “ass burgers” – but actually it’s not funny having a vocabulary that you can’t speak out loud because you only really spent a few years of your life actually communicating verbally and that if you can speak at all it’s because you enjoyed watching films non-stop and absolutely wouldn’t go out without a reading book, sketchbook/pen or a walkman.)

Also thanks Matt and Trey for assburgers, you assholes

If for some reason self expression is the most important aspect of your inner being, stay the hell away from people – “family” or “friends” who make you feel like you can’t be yourself.

It’s weird – at uni on my birthday, my mother got me a cute cake and flowers and I got a bit of cash to decorate the house kitchen. There were people at my uni that had really cool DJ sets and stuff like that – and I think my housemates asked if they could help but they weren’t feeling it. In any case we hadn’t had time to write a letter to the uni office about having a party so we tried to keep it really lowkey. Some girl in another house was having a party, she had the same birthday as me – she did ask for permission to host it so we assumed everyone would be going to that. I was lucky to live with lots of really fun people so it didn’t bother me at all. We went out to the shops, bought some cheap alcohol, LOTS of fairy lights and some little christmas cherubs. The party was amazing and for some reason lots of people I didn’t know came – I lived with guys who were much more sociable than I am. Also it was a good party. I brought down my iMac, my housemate plugged in his speakers and people were really comfortable dancing to the songs on my itunes that were by no means cool or socially acceptable to listen to. Eventually the kids with the DJ sets came, y’know, the kind of people who don’t make something good, the kind of people who just jump in when everyone else has done the work and take all the credit as if they were there all along.
No one put candles on my cake or sang me happy birthday because I actually don’t like attention. I just like having fun.

I ought to of said happy birthday to someone, but I simply couldn’t bring myself to. There’s something really disingenuous about pretending to care about the kind of person who can spend an entire car journey/life throwing insult after insult at you.

Published by KARINITA


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