Rec | ALLOWING CONFLICT OF IDENTITY TO FESTER UNCOMFORTABLY

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allowing conflict of identity to fester uncomfortably

inside me there is a battle between the intrinsic desire to become everyone’s worst demonic nightmare, in a “cannabalism as an act of love” kind of way, against the angelic lens i see life through, that lends my heart to be infinitely softer than any crushed velvet money can buy, and no one wins

@lunarpillow

Feb 7, 2024

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compulsion, devotion, tokenism

It's been a time of great emotional upheaval lately, kicking up old dirt, airing out miasmas, the works. I feel like it's a time of good change, working towards something bigger, and coming out the other side feeling more in my skin. The issue lies with the compulsion to devotion and in a sense religion with it all. I grew up culturally Methodist, but never identified fully with the religion. There was a period where I denied any and all religion out of spite to the institution I was in, there was a period I desperately wanted to believe in guidance or some power watching over me, but it eventually settled to agnosticm. That's where I lay, that's where I've been. Until lately, where Ive felt a pull to explore that side again. It began with a compulsion to draw the natural order, the intertwining of human and animal behaviour. I never knew what I was drawing, or what any of it meant, I just knew it was something bigger than my own words, and it had to be out of me otherwise it would burn a hole through me. I picked up the music of Ethel Cain, ever the sucker for religious imagery, but her music and approach has made me question things. I feel drawn towards a devotion, not necessarily towards the Christian gods or organized religion as a whole but something bigger, more ancient//primal than that? Maybe there is a god in the world, the sun, the gravitational pull, the trees, the water, the butterflies, EVERYTHING IS A CIRCLE. Ritual, giving myself up in a way brings a form of floating comfort, autonomy? I don't know how to describe it. It's been on my mind, i've been pretty vocal about it, and also my newfound love//fixation on Ethel Cain. I don't know. part of me wonders if maybe people think this whole schtick I'm on is derivative of this music fixation and in a way a performance evoked by the music. i don't quite know why it matters to me, i guess I'm just worried my friends are getting sick of it. i do not feel like the same person, there is something much bigger than all of us, even if it is not omniscient or heavenly, it is not us.

@athenainsight

Mar 25, 2025

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In my own skin

I don't really know how to start this post, so I'll let out the word vomit. As days pass, I sometimes find myself more confident, appreciating my physical appearance and grateful for what I can handle mentally and emotionally. Some days I acknowledge I'm smart, pretty, funny. Yet other times I can't see any of that. A lot of times I don't really see myself as pretty, incapable of remembering a simple equation, I feel as if I'm a wet towel thrown on my friend's and loved ones. Maybe I compare myself to others often and that's my issue, that I see myself as lowly yet other times I put my self worth as high. I'm a very back and forth kind of girl if you didn't know already. I do have my moments however when I give in and embrace what I am, a girl who spends more time doing my makeup than studying, and what I enjoy like playing Hello Kitty games when I finish schoolwork or watch reality television, maybe spiral into a rabbit hole of lore after learning about a new game. But I can't deny the weirdness I feel when nobody understands what I'm talking about. They say 'to be cringe is to be free' but God does it make you writhe with displeasure when you're the cringey one. I'm coming to accept and realize that I can be harsh and cruel to myself, especially when it comes to my abilities to perform hobbies I'm passionate about. I've stopped drawing for a month because of these impending thoughts. It's like wearing a suit of flesh in hopes of getting some idea of what you are for some sense of clarity. Maybe it's because I am just a girl, or it's the human experience nobody talks about. If we did, maybe we wouldn't feel as alone or awkward but oh well, what can you do? Slowly but surely I have come to accept and embrace myself despite the faults I carry.

@emmita

Feb 19, 2025

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release yourself from the narrative

This might not make the most sense but if I don’t write it I know I’ll be angry with myself. As someone who has always naturally been drawn to archives and journals and stories- I’ve found that I’ve been trapping myself in the narrative. The idea that life is a singular, vertical narrative, that pain is not simply pain but part of some bigger cycle of distribution and retribution. That pain is naturally repaid with love or safety or comfort. This narrative keeps me coddled in myself, it keeps me safe from having to face the fact that tomorrow might not be easier than today. That this year might not feel much better than last year. That as some things go on, they don’t always get lighter. They don’t alchemize from emotionally pain into material pleasure. The hero’s journey tells us that the narrative follows simple steps. We are called- your alarm, a Britney Spears song, plays in the morning. Your car breaks down in an unfamiliar part of the city. There’s a death in the family. Whatever it is, the call is something that moves us from familiarity to the unknown. It pulls the hero into the journey. We will then face the unknown and hopefully overcome it. But what about the calls that we don’t answer? Or when we get stuck in the unknown? What about when we are braver than brave and we still cannot overcome everything? I’ve learned that sometimes our pain doesn’t come with atonement. Sometimes there is no return. Life doesn’t fit into the narrative. The alarm in itself is a narrative, you set it the night before, or maybe you set it three years ago and you’ve been waking up to the same song every single day. The car is a narrative, the unfamiliar side of the city is a narrative. Why haven’t you been there? The death is a narrative explored and experienced by every person in your family, every friend of the dead, every coworker who called the morning after to see why they didn’t show up when their alarm went off that day. Everything is a million narratives coinciding and to trap ourselves into one, to tell ourselves only one story, is blinding us to the intricate nature of life. We cannot exist in only one dimension, and to choose to exist in various different- sometimes beautiful and sometimes horrible- narratives at once is to choose to stop coddling oneself, to stop following your pain like it always has something to give you. Sometimes it doesn’t. Maybe that’s fine.