[2024-11-08 - 20:27:11]

I am now in NORcal with my aunt and grandma. I have come up here for many reasons, one including the inclusiveness 
of the town they live in. They are the furthest thing from inclusive and as such I haven't told them about how I
am. Though their town makes me feel safer overall, even if I am not. The main-main reason why I came up here was
because of my grandma. She is an alcoholic to put it bluntly. She goes on a bender with the cough syrup and then
doesn't drink for about two days before going back to the eternal party in her mnid. She sobers up when I'm around
her, which might save her life. I was staying with my aunt yesterday, went over to my grandma's because my uncle
needed to change out a lightbulb. I asked her if she wanted to go out to breakfast with me tomorrow, she was
hung over to hell and that was projected within her voice. 

Today we went out to a town favorite Italian restaurant and got some food. They didn't have exactly what I wanted
due to the kitchen being in breakfast mode, they still serve a mean breakfast burrito though, even if it is 
nowhere near their speciality. We were about 11 miles away from town, she needed to take her dog to the vet, and
because of that, 2 hours of waiting inside a car not made for a person above 5'9 insued. When we got back, nothing
much happened. I get this uneasy feeling being away from home, my antipsychotics only make it worse. I didn't get
any sleep the night before due to a misfortunate turn of events. Leading me to a tireless night and an even worse
day. I still got through it, I always do, but it never gets easier. One side effect of not getting much rest is
I reach a new state of autopilot where my muscle memory almost completely takes over, kicking out the middleman
of a needless hesitation. This makes me type much, much faster than I usually do, which I find really ironic 
given what a lack of sleep is supposed to do to a person. 

I remember when my grandma was staying over at my dad's place. It was 2019, she broke up with her husband and
needed a place to stay. My dad let her live with us. Due to our genetic favorability for alcoholism, our house
started to smell like the cough medicine. She got worse and worse, sneaking into my dad's room to get some of the
more powerful stuff when her catatonic states would only allow her to move within the house. I was about 10 or 11
at the time, she came up to me, gave me about 100 dollars in steam wallet credit, told me that she always loved
me and then walked out the door. I didn't see her for about two years after that, didn't hear about her for a
year. It's surreal, the act of living with broken people of that sort. I definitely have my problems, genetic and
environmental. But I try my best not to be destructive, just due to the obligations that I hold having family that
depend on me. It's hard, between the closest thing that I have to a conscious id to the mussolini mind. The
mussolini mind is the part of me that's nostalgic for times that were objectively horrible for my psyche. Take:
my dad's house. Playing through the moments where I was happy. The late rainy nights after getting home from a job,
going to a subway and eating there, side of the highway. The sublime feeling that came with staring outside into
what I could only assume was the void. But that's the thing, the mussolini mind never shows me the "good" side to
a problem. Only the indirect biproducts of that problem. The id I don't want to talk about, it isn't pleasant and
is birthed from the deepest roots of my trauma. Only my therapist May hear about that.

Goodnight SDF
-may