kinda home

been home two nights now

got home in the day on friday and passed cheetah and we hissed a couple things at each other as i walked by on my way to my room

yesterday i went for a nine-hour drive around southwest colorady. kept telling myself i was going to stay in durango for the night and give myself a mini-vacation, but ended up rolling home anyway. realized most of the way back that i had just repeated a drive i did almost exactly a year ago, the point when i was at my lowest last winter and the entire reason i reached out to reconnect with cheetah

i know i’m usually a bit unstable this time of year. is it possible this whole thing is my fault?

sigh. no. even if i am unstable, cheetah should not be trying to beat the shit out of me. there is absolutely no valid reason that cheetah should be trying to beat the shit out of me

i’m scared of him still. i think the reason why is every time in the past he showed some sort of remorse, some recognition that he’d done something wrong. but this time no, he’s been justifying it

a week ago when we were fresh out of jail he told me the reason he’d done it was i fought back. a couple days ago when i had just gotten home his reason was because i challenged him on something when he was tired and drunk

really bro? i fought back is a valid excuse for trying to beat the shit out of me? or you were tired and drunk? what happens if you’re tired and drunk again and i do something a little bit wrong, do you try to beat me up all over again?

i’m actually not doing okay

like, i’ve been having mini panic attacks most days since the fight. if not during the day, then definitely each night. sometime between 01:30 and 04:30 literally every night, i wake up, tight chest, and struggling for breath

and today, the only way i convinced myself to stay home and not go run away again is because i started drinking about an hour after i woke up

i am most definitely not planning on leaving my bedroom, not while he’s home

for his part, he’s trying, i guess? when i got back from my drive yesterday, he offered me some food he’d brought home from work. i had brought home a pizza though, so we did our own things anyway

i don’t know what to do

i wish i could distract myself by working on my projects, but that’s kinda not working. all those hours on the road lately, and each of them i’m excited about what i’ll be able to get done and build soon, but then i get home and i just sit here on the bed and brood about things instead

current plan on closing this note is to switch over to my book for a while. i mostly re-read and did some light edits on the tuarumanos part the other day while fox was at work, but i want to re-skim the tag end of that. ideally i write another chapter. also good would be to just keep myself occupied for a while so i can’t brood about cheetah

for their parts, the little cats are all over me. little miss pen-a-lope licked my hand and gummed my fingers for like five minutes when i first got back. ally-bee has been more insistent than ever that he needs to not be just in my room but right in my lap. and pen’s been tolerating him enough that she hangs out near me most hours too

at least some people like me around here

it just sucks that they’re his cats. if we ever find a place besides here he can be, they’re legitimately his cats, and he gets to keep them

also, i’d miss the fuck out of him. cheetah is, ultimately, my inspiration. fox is good at patching me up when i need it and cheering me on when i want it, but cheetah is ultimately why i do anything at all, even if he’s never managed to express positivity towards any goal i’ve ever worked for

i would not be buddhist if not for trying to find ways to help him. i would not be into meditation at all if not for the same. i do not do yoga much anymore, but even that, originally, because cheetah

and on the creative side, there’s a god awful lot of my life goals i keep working on anyway, if for no better reason than spite, just to prove cheetah wrong. i fervently believe my point of view does matter, or at least will in the end if i can just keep working on it

for gods sake, i just wish he cared the slightest gods damned bit about what my point of view is

i wish he could work with me on some things, instead of against me

his point of view?

i know he’s scared. he’s packed a lot of his things again. all the little stickers and things he usually has tucked behind picture frames are all packed up. his fursuit parts – a project he endlessly says he’s working on but contributes effort to only once every few months – are all packed away. he fully fears he’s about to be homeless again, in the middle of winter, but this time in a small town in the middle of nowhere

he’s also erased the piece of art he once drew for me on the whiteboard, has blocked me on social media, and doesn’t really seem to want to talk to me any more than i want to talk to him. he comes in to my room to get clothes from the dresser only when talking on headphones to someone else, so he has clean reason to not interact with me

i just don’t know what to do

if i could draw, i would draw my character on the whiteboard. not me as he sees me, but me as i see me

but i can not draw

so i think i shall pour another drink, then open an editor with the text of my book in it, and attempt to distract the fuck out of myself again