Not capable of being normal...

Date: 5/8/2021

I was in a huge warehouse that was a program for people like me. There were apartments in it, tiny ones. Lots if other people were there too, had their own apartments I'd imagine. Obsession was a thing people dealt with. I was friends, or maybe dated, a boy who was autistic. I couldn't touch him except his back, I couldn't hold him, had to press against his back with the back of my palms too his back. Anything more caused a freakout. He had long emo shaggy black hair that hung in front of his face. He was addicted to something, I walked in on it. I tried to tease him out of it. It was hard, it ultimately didn't work. I had my own obsessions, the current one was getting the best of me so I combatted it by going back to the last one, a girl I was obsessed with, an ex who was away and never visited, only messaged or called. I was thrilled it worked, that one obsession canceled another. There was a theatre show several people there were putting on. I helped set up. The washer or dishwasher broke and we had to remove the engine. We didn't know how to replace it, had to offer some seller that came by random things we had that we didn't need that might be worth something. I sold something I'd had, an electrical thing not exactly an appliance. I don't recall if we got the part. They were doing the play work or so it seemed. They ended up with an offensive over the top performance of a real life tragedy. The asian woman who wrote it or lived it or something came by to scold them. Something about 19 or 17 people from a country that begins with a P died... She ended up performing and it was beautiful. The light kept glinting off her so I couldn't actually see that well. I missed some of her performance because it kept bouncing off her necklace or her eyes, which glowed white when it did. I was in a common room very close to my room. I was accused of not socializing with people who were just like me so I tried. Some woman came in, wearing normal clothes and a black fancy Victorian Gothic corset and I thought, maybe her. She sat down and began to speak like some normal woman, about normal things. I was disappointed. Not like me after all. I was accused of wearing too heavy clothes, my white jeans weren't Gothic, they were Mom jeans. I was told I couldn't handle the summer in the city wearing those. And that I needed to venture out, go explore the city. Take it in steps, but make moves. Two guys and I did clown around later when 'working' on the theatre set. We had too much to drink and they tried to harrass me by banging/ 'threatening to open the door' to the bathroom while I went. I decided not to risk it and ran to my apartment building and my own toilet. I retreated to my room, my apartment actually. It was nice, but small and cramped. It had two rooms, the living room and a bedroom, my bedroom that was already done up like me, black bed with black bedclothes and a black bed curtain/canopy. Very black, dark, almost too much. I was upset I didn't get to decorate it, that my hammock wouldn't fit. It also had a bathroom with a toilet. I went there. While I was in the toilet I kept getting notifications. Apparently, despite the WiFi being down on my phone -which is what the washer dying was wall about- it was working on my computer I kept in my bedroom. I'd forgotten about the computer and I guess it was behind the curtains because I didn't see it. Just heard unique noisy notifications. Something about telling three people - I assumed we all lived together at the time it was made- that they had a message. and to answer it. Anyway all the messages I wasn't getting was about getting back together, an apology, or still assuming we were together.