the dog thing. i'm a dog. it's not a gender, or, it's not just a gender, my gender is...i'm a guy, well, and it's more complicated than that, but it's also simpler, and i'm not roleplaying. i guess it makes me a therian or something, but i don't want to get into that right now, or ever, so i won't. i don't feel any sense of community based in it, yet, i don't make barking or growling noises unless i'm trying to be funny or perform a purposefully weird, off-putting sort of aggression, i'm not trying extra super duper hard to be a dog. but i am
i am a dog for a few legit reasons. one is that when i was a kid, when i was in elementary school, my mother would mix up my name with the dog's. our old dog, she was named M[REDACTED]. may she rest in peace. before she died, she was this grouchy little bichon-poodle mix. she had a hard time listening. she had to be called more than once, whenever she was called. so did i. and that's why. my mother would constantly call M[REDACTED] my name -- or, rather, my deadname, and call me M[REDACTED]. it stopped happening, eventually, because i guess i stopped deserving it, i grew up, started listening better. and i forgot about this for a long, long time. until some other things in my life triggered memories of feeling...like it was always kinda shit, just in different ways, and i remembered all at once. for years, this went on for years. she never did it to my sister, or my dad. when i brought it up to an old family therapist, just a couple years ago, my mother first said she did no such thing. then, she said it was a joke. then, finally, it was an accident, because it was so easy to slip-up, because she was the same type of exasperated with the both of us, me and the dog. the family therapist believed her, and said i should cut my mother some slack. it wasn't nearly as big a deal as i thought it was. i was just sensitive
if you meet me now, you might notice something. i barely know what i want. and i'm not talking about 'in life,' i know what i want in life; i have goals, visions, etc., i'm talking about day-to-day. moment-to-moment. maybe it's that i'm really depressed, maybe it's what the DSM-5 calls autism, or what the DSM-5 calls ADHD, maybe it's just me, at this point, but when i wake up, i don't want to get out of bed. when i get out of bed, the days are always too slow and too fast and always the same. i feel lost. like i need something to point me in a direction, and i don't have that thing inside me. i've said to friends, i wish i could have someone tell me to do the things i already want to do. because being told to do something might be the only way i'll do it. because i don't really want things that often. i don't get a lot of desires, moreso urges, and when i do get urges, and they're rare, they're quiet. it's better that way. i'm not as stubborn as everyone else thinks, i'm a very chill guy, i just go with the flow. when i try and cook, i'm using the wrong pan, i better switch to the right one, i have the flame on too high, i shouldn't have left the room, am i trying to burn the house down?, am i stupid?, i don't want to try and cook anymore. i tried to do some painting outside, with spray paint, and this was after my parents bought the house, i got a bit on the ground, they said, when i run out, that's it, i'm not getting any more of that type of paint, the type of paint i do some good work with, i don't really want to anymore anyway. i tried baking, at 10:00 PM, because it was the first thing i felt inspired to do all day, but i was told no, no, i can't do that, it's too late, not only is 10:00 too late to be on my computer or phone, it's too late to bake. i guess i should've thought of it earlier. i didn't. no, mom, i don't want to go swimming today, i didn't sleep well last night, i -- oh, we're just going, okay -- huh, it's not awful. maybe this is what's best for me. maybe i don't have a choice because i shouldn't. i'm going with the flow. when i used to go out more, to the store, it was, hey, can i buy this? do i have your permission to buy this? okay, thank you. i feel like i'm wearing a leash, being puppeted around & tugged on, but i worry that if i take it off, i won't even go all wild or anything, i might just...not want. to do anything, i might just not do anything, i might just lie down and do nothing
i don't think i can leave my mother, realistically, despite how much i want to, despite how hard i'll try. and i will, don't get me wrong, i just don't think it will work. just like there's nothing inside me giving me direction, there's something inside me that only feels safe with my mother. why? the long answer is that she's someone who i'm not in physical danger with, at least, because she's known me for decades & she knows how to make me better when i get sick. and i don't mean i'm afraid of a cold. i mean i'm afraid of shaking, feeling like i'm dying, but it's not a panic attack, i'm in real danger, unless i'm able to follow a few careful steps that i can barely think of when i'm crashing like that. it's a crash, a crash & burn, it's a medical episode, it's not superficial stress, it's in my cells, it's because of the disease that i have that is in the core of me all the way down to my cells. my mother knows how to make sure i don't get worse, when that happens to me. because of this, and because i haven't yet met anyone who's treated me with more care, more respect, only less, she's not just my mother. she's not actually my mother. she's my owner
i have an owner. i want a different owner. if i can't be autonomous, because i'm too stupid & broken to be autonomous, i at least desperately want a different owner. maybe one day someone will offer to own me, because they love me, because they respect me, because...i'm a person, and i deserve to belong, but i don't know if that's true or not. and i've lost a lot of people
the dog thing. it is partly a trauma response. i am traumatized by stuff. it is also a part of who i am now. it's not wholly a negative thing, it's interwoven, and as it was woven in, it got lighter. funnier. friendlier. it got to be like...i got that dawg in me, specifically, a golden retriever mutt, i'd think. a golden retriever, mixed with something just a little darker, rougher, a little weirder, but i'm still fluffy. and dense. and my fucking tail is wagging so fucking hard
