Here's to Squiggly Healing! · Functional Human Design

Here's to Squiggly Healing!

(contains the sixth part of Dumpster's Plight)

Resident goofball here and firstly I'm gonna say that my chart is PICKY well I guess that makes me picky then 😂 cause I was messing around with the Vita bot and asked it some questions about romantic relationships and how that would look like for an individual with an undefined g-center cause I don't got mine defined 😅 and I definitely laughed a little at the information I received. And the fact that it made good sense was actually bonkers to me.

Romantic/sexual relationships are finicky things and for awhile I thought I was asexual which means an individual doesn't experience sexual attraction but however I discovered that eventually I do want to explore those things, and it's quite interesting to think about because once upon a time I wasn't fond of the idea of being intimate with someone 🤣 life has a funny way of kicking you in the rear does it not?

Also while therapy has definitely been helpful and beneficial to my position in my journey I'm quite stuck cause recently I've been feeling a massive amount of burnout and it's crisping my brain substantially, BUT healing isn't linear or cyclical it's more like squiggles and crayon scribbles, cause healing isn't a straight line and it's not going around in circles so it's squiggly cause you've got ups and downs 🫠 however most people choose not to do the messy work because it's not clean and they don't wanna deal with it in the slightest but some people are either brave or stupid enough to try it out. I am one of those people 🫣🦝 but my question for you is what are you going to do when your healed (healing never really stops).

Are you going to be that parent that is enthusiastically praising yourself for creating such a messy crayon scribble masterpiece? Or are you going to be that parent that barely looks up from their work and makes a non-committal sound leaving you feeling like your hope and healing was for nothing, it wasn't for nothing you should be proud of yourself for making it this far because in reality not a lot of people are willing to dip into that messiness and most of the time they'll take one look at your masterpiece hanging on the fridge and tell you that it "looks like garbage" or "you wasted your time!" Those people are just ignorant and insecure in their own life, they don't want to admit that they're scared of the fact that you did the hard stuff. But you should be proud and whatnot with yourself for making that scribbly masterpiece 🖍️🦝

Sincerely,

The disgruntled raccoon with bedhead eating the hot dogs from your fridge and saw your crayon scribble masterpiece and chittered in approval before scurrying back up to your attic to enjoy your eight pack of Oscar Meyer weiners 🌭

(And now the continuation of Dumpster's Plight ⤵️)

Feathers pecked the first being’s head, croaking lowly, watching as the second being set down what was supposedly the cat carrier. It was a spacious encasement set up with a towel for bedding, I chirped and squirmed; still attempting to escape. The first being looked at the second, sighing. “He’s definitely feisty.” The first being remarked, Feathers flew down from the first’s head and landed on top of the carrier. “Chop, chop.” Feathers beckoned, I chirped anxiously as the first being approached the opening of the carrier, his grip wasn’t uncomfortable; just unsettlingly snug. “Shh, it’s gonna be okay I promise, it's only for a little while then you’ll be back out here.” The first being comforted me, I dug my teeth into his gauntlet covered forearm, trying to get him to let go. The second being, also wearing a mask like the first approached and Bobble popped her head out from in the sweatshirt hood with a whine, shoving another grape into her mouth. “Tranquillo, piccolo procione… va tutto bene, ti terremo al sicuro.” The second being grabbed his own pair of gauntlet gloves, pulling them on slowly over his latex ones. “It’ll be okay, can you just trust me a small bit, piccolo procione?” The second being continued, I dug my teeth further into the gauntlet the first being had on. My teeth got stuck in the leather, letting out a mournful chitter; trying to yank myself free.

“Sparrow, tesoro he’s got his teeth stuck in your gauntlet.” The second being told the first, supposedly named Sparrow; but he didn’t look like a sparrow in the slightest, confusing me greatly. Feathers let out a mirthful sounding croak, the avian menace flew up onto Sparrow’s shoulder with exaggerated grace. “Silly raccoon.” Feathers croaked, flapping and preening his wings while I remained stuck in the leather, I supposed Sparrow had thicker gauntlets than I had thought. I swished my tail within the confines of the bath towel, trying desperately to get my teeth free. Sparrow saw this and sighed. “Crowe, can you open the carrier please?” He asked the second being, presumably called Crowe, if he didn't look like a crow and Sparrow didn’t look like his avian name, why were these beings bearing those names? The questions plagued me as I felt movement, I was placed in the carrier with the gauntlet; Sparrow had taken it off to move me I suppose, I escaped the gauntlet and found myself trapped within the confines of the carrier, I chirped and scratched at the hard plastic walls; now attempting to escape not the being but the confinement I was placed in. Sparrow took his other gauntlet off, replacing them with latex gloves; he placed strips of tape on the door to secure it further. I chirped at him. Sparrow paused his work and looked past the carrier. “Crowe, have you got any more of those grapes you were feeding Bobble a moment ago?” He asked, Crowe responded somewhere beyond my view, I heard his footsteps come closer while responding to Sparrow “Sì.” Crowe squatted down and pressed a few grapes into Sparrow’s palm. “Mm, thank you.” Sparrow lowered his mask under his chin and pressed his lips against the space between Crowe’s eyebrows, I believe beings called this action a kiss. I screamed within the carrier, my eyes wide and fur raised. Sparrow pulled his mask back up over his airways and placed the grapes in the carrier with me before shutting the carrier door and taping it securely with duct tape. “There we go Mr. Raccoon.” He murmured then draped a dark colored fabric over my containment unit, casting the space in darkness; I waddled around the carrier and found the grapes, my stomach growling greedily as I scarfed down the morsels of juicy sweetness.

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