Bruised; Not Abused

I keep changing my mind about the title of this. Not because it’s my first post, but because I can’t make up my mind. I have no idea what to write about…no, that isn’t true. I’ve plenty ideas to go on about. I simply don’t know which ones are worth investing that time into.

A little posting history—I had a Substack. I enjoyed having a Substack. I got good at using a Substack. For the 8 or 9 posts I made on it with almost no readers, I was becoming a Substack genius.
But then Substack joined forces with a far right “news” outlet—quotes intentional.
At the same time, I was finding out about Substack’s right wing history. Then I didn’t enjoy being anymore. So I left.
After, I restarted a Tumblr that I’d had years ago. Then I remembered why I stopped using it—it never felt like home. It never felt good to write on there. I think that contributed the most to my sparsely applied new writings. Tumblr feels much more like where you express how you feel, rather than what you think.
Emotions are easy, albeit not always identifiable. Everybody has them. Everybody experiences them. Everyone can, in their own way, express them.

I’d like people to believe that I can think.

Maybe not in a purely allistic way—being autistic, the universe won’t allow that—but I can think.

I would also like people to know that I am creative.
As well as a little mad…in, I believe, every sense of the word.
I grew into adulthood trying to compensate for neurological disabilities of which I had no help identifying until my forties, I was an unwilling recipient of generous amounts of mental abuse, and the world is actively contemplating the consequences of becoming a hellscape and if it would be worth it—especially here in the States. I think all aspects of mad have equal footing with me at the moment.

I did mention that I’ve been changing my mind about the title of this post, correct?
The one I’ve been considering the most is “Bruised; Not Abused”. Bruised because my right knee is currently, hideously bruised from a fall I had on sidewalk ice last Monday.
And “not abused”, literally, because it wasn’t from being harmed by anyone other than that bastard gravity.
But it is a cautious consideration. A large part of my psyche would really rather avoid creating an atmosphere of confusion for anyone who simply reads the title, and believes there may actually be a danger of abuse….or hoping for the drama of it.
I am also well aware that it may cause offense toward, or be a trigger for, those recently or currently going through an abusive situation.

But I also don’t know what title I would like better? Should it be observational?
“I’m sitting here with a cup of tea as I desperately try to think of words to type because i have no idea what to write in this moment outside I have a hurt knee.”

I’m not sure that rolls off the mental tongue very well.

And it’s boring.

Ah, well…, “Bruised, Not Abused” it is. At least, for lack of a less clickbaity title at this time. My apologies to any who saw the title and expected something much more glaring and insidious. No. It’s just me, not wanting coffee at 6:13 in the morning because the many cups of it I partook of through the night helped to keep me quite awake—along with the pain from a likely torn knee ligament that I haven’t gotten checked out because I can still walk, (besides, the swelling went down two days ago).

It does look horrible, though.
No, I won’t be posting pictures here. Maybe on Bluesky, but I’m still deciding on that.

Anyway, I had started ending my Substack posts with the French expression, “C’est La vie.” There was no real reason. I just used it as an outro for one of my posts there, and liked it. So, I’ll use it here for the time being, and see how it makes me feel.

And with that, I’ll end my first Beehiiv post somewhere around here. Don’t worry—they’ll become much more stream-of-consciousness riddled and confusing as time goes on. I don’t know how often I’ll be posting as of now…or, usually, ever. But, you know what they say….

….C’est la vie.