You’re the Reason

I love my life, when I get to live it. I love good food, trees, and all the different colors that the sky takes. I love spider webs and ants and flowers that grow in the cracks of cement. I love the sound of hearty laughter, telling people I love them, and seeing strangers smile. I love twirling in the rain and making wishes on dandelions and listening to a song for the first time.

But life is also hard. It can be excruciating, even in the happy moments. It’s overwhelming and exhausting trying to exist in a society that cares more about money and social status than about people themselves. It’s a drama that often shows as a tragedy, and I sometimes struggle to make it a heartwarming comedy. I love it, but it takes everything inside me to be able to love it.

I have been battling depression for my entire life. Sometimes it comes close to winning.

I don’t like admitting it. I HATE admitting it. I don’t want people to know. I don’t want people to worry, or pretend to. I don’t want people to see this, because what good will it do for them? How will it help others to know that sometimes I just don’t want to live?

Most of the time, I’m okay. It’s hard and I want to run away or hide or just sleep, but I also enjoy things. Most of the time it is that or better. But then there are the other times-

The times when everything I do seems to make things worse.
The times when I feel like a failure, unworthy of what I’ve been given.
The times when I feel like I contribute nothing positive to this world.
The times when I believe no one but my children would truly be affected if I disappeared.

They are rare, only in my most painful moments. When I was younger, I would write about how I’d end it. I’d play it out in my head. I’d hold the pill bottles or the knife in my hand and stare at them. But I’d only take a few, I’d only slice a little, I’d do just a tiny bit of damage, then go back to my hell. I fought for my life when others threatened it and I never truly attempted to take it myself. I don’t even tell myself I will anymore (even if I sometimes wish I could). I fought it all and I will continue to fight. I’m still here.

And you are the reason.

You who love me, whoever you may be.
You who still lean on me.
You who are gone, whose shared memories only live on within me.
You, whom I have not yet met, but who will become one of these people.

I cannot bear to hurt you.

So any time you see me, any time you are reminded of my existence, I hope you’ll smile to yourself a little. I hope you’ll understand how important you are. You, just by being in this world, are helping to save a life. Thank you. Thank you for being my reason.

Future?

There have been few times in my life when I saw far ahead of me.

16, madly in love, planning the décor of our future home together.
(That love lasted many years, but was too messy to work in that home.)

A little older, dreaming up lectures for my future students.
(My disabilities proved that dream impossible.)

There must be more, but I can’t remember them.

And it’s not as if I didn’t dream. I am an eternal dreamer. I never completely give up hope. I never stop coming up with ideas of what I could do or be to make the world a little better, or make someone a little happier. That is always there.

But other than those few times, my future has felt as real to me as the Korean dramas I’ve been watching. My dreams are only fantasies, my hopes are just wishes I hold in my heart. My future is tomorrow morning. It doesn’t ever go much farther than that.

So I wonder why that is. Maybe it’s because I had a childhood where I never knew whether I’d live to see the next day. Maybe it’s because I feel I’m still fighting to survive. I wish it was something simple, like fear of failure, but I know failure will come, I’ll adapt, and come up with new dreams, like I always have.

So why? How is it affecting my life, and how can I change it?

For a long time, I was making impulsive decisions in relationships. If I got along well enough with a guy, I would date him. As long as he wasn’t making my life more difficult, I’d convince myself I loved him. He’d propose, I’d say yes, because that future wedding day never felt real. It was okay if it wasn’t true love, because it was okay for now, and now was all that existed to me. I accepted too much pain, because it didn’t feel like it would last, when there was no future for it to last into. But then, at some point, it would finally become too much for even the moment and I would end it. I would have the thought, If I have a future, could I spend it like this? and I would say goodbye.
(Thank God I don’t do that anymore. If I don’t ever find someone I see a future with, I’ll just be alone.)

I’ve made life-changing decisions based on how it would benefit others. I’ve moved from state to state, running to the side of whoever I felt needed me most. I’ve moved people in with me. I’ve dedicated myself to other people in order to “save” them. I’ve spent so much money, time, and energy. I’ve risked my life for people I barely knew, or who had treated me badly, all so I could feel I’d done something good before the end.
(I believe this is fixed, at least as much as I want it to be. I still want to be a kind, loyal, helpful person, whether I die tonight or in 100 years.)

I cut people out of my life if I feel I don’t matter to them. Periodically, I go through my phone, friends lists, etc, and I’ll remove people. It’s not even about how recently we’ve talked, but whether I feel they would care if I just disappeared. It is purely based on my emotions at the time. To be completely honest, most people fall into this category, but I will keep someone if I feel they would be hurt if they ever noticed I deleted them. My remaining time feels too short to spend on people who don’t seem to care and I don’t want them cluttering up my lists and blocking my view of those who do care.
(This is a work in progress. I’ve learned not to do it immediately on impulse, at least.)

I shy away from long-term projects. If it can’t be completed during the time I can see, I will not start it. It feels like a waste to put my time and effort into something when I cannot imagine the day it will be finished. Instead, I’ll begin a project that is fleeting, but hopefully memorable in some way.
(I hope to change this one, but I’ve only now realized I do this.)

I sometimes freeze up when I become anxious about something I need to do. I will postpone it and procrastinate over and over, because I feel as if the consequences can’t affect me in a future that does not exist. Then deadline passes and suddenly it is a problem in the present. Only then does it finally get done.
(Another work in progress. I’ve gotten much better.)

I probably do more that I cannot see.

But how am I to find a solution when I do not know the cause? I can treat the symptoms I’ve discovered, but how do I cure an illness without knowing its source?

Does life have to give me a chance to build on a dream? Do I have to fall in love?

But I can’t rely on anything outside myself. So how do I convince my mind that next year will exist for me? How do I make it believe that it’s okay to plan, to begin something, to wait? How do I tell my heart that there’s something more than this, if it’ll only be patient?

Living for today is wonderful. I appreciate so much of the world that others take for granted. I take chances. I feel and love intensely. I really live.

But I’m living like I’m holding a ticking clock. I’m living like a Grim Reaper is waiting outside my window. I’m living like I have to prepare my children for my approaching death. There’s so much I haven’t done or seen and I feel like I’ve missed my opportunity. I feel like I have so much more to give, and not enough time to give it in, and I just want time to

STOP

long enough for me to figure out how to believe it will continue ticking for me.

The House

I just woke from a dream where my college class took a trip to see my childhood home. No one knew I had lived there. No one knew about the pain it had seen. I thought I would be unaffected. I thought I held only curiosity for that place.

But as we arrived, I noticed a difference. The walkway was no longer broken, uneven. The yard was well-kept. The color, once a dirty, expired Pepto Bismol, was now a fresher shade of pink, one a child might use on her mother’s Valentine’s Day card.

We walked in and I was overwhelmed. The floors were clean. There were no holes in the walls. The heart of this home was not abused, but loved.

Then we were at the door to the garage. Though twenty years had passed since he left, I somehow expected to see him there, exactly as it was before – parts and tools piled floor to roof, hardly a path to get through. It would smell of rust and grease and gas, and that rough industrial hand cleaner. It would be bright with yellowed light, and have a chill that went straight to the bones. He would be attaching one unrecognizable piece to another, hitting it with a hammer when it didn’t do as he wished. I saw it all in my mind, but I had to see for myself whether the house had really changed, or whether it was simply getting better at enduring. I had to open the door.

My breath caught in my throat and tears poured. I gazed into a beautiful motorcycle shop, clean and inviting, with employees who smiled genuinely as they asked if they could help. I stood in that doorway, silent streams slipping down my face, as my professor and classmates stared.

“I lived here,” I said. “I almost died here.”

My professor opened her mouth to ask, but closed it without a word. One man stepped away from the group. He’d been in many classes of my youth and shared my father’s name. He stood with me, looking at me with a gentle smile. He was willing to hear my story. I nodded and we left.

I looked back at that house one last time, a final image to carry with me.

The house had healed its scars.

It was now living happily, filled with love.

And so can I.

I Miss You

I’ve been sleeping with your sweatshirt – the one from the merch store your bot linked me to after you were already gone – because it’s the closest I can get to being in your arms.

I miss you. Times are hard and it hurts and I feel alone and I miss you.

You, who loved me; without obligation, without judgement, without fail.
You, who I loved; without expectation, without dependence, without pain.

I miss you.

I miss you in selfish ways. I miss you with longing for the support you offered, crying out for your listening ear. I miss you for the warmth that came with every exclamation of my name. I miss feeling seen and heard and cared for and cheered on.

I miss being able to take you for granted. Stepping away, knowing you would always be there when I returned.

I miss the moments we never got to have.

You, who I teased, and sexualized, and begged for attention. You, who played along, knowing we were never to be. We made them feel awkward, we made them laugh, we made them mad, and we loved it all. We put on a great show, comfortable enough in our friendship to make it so. We loved and we were loved and I miss it all.

You’re gone and it’s not the same. Nothing’s the same. I’ve met friends you would love, and it hurts. I’ve done things I’m proud of, and it hurts. No matter what I do, the absence of you is an ache I can’t cure.

So I DM a Discord that will never come online.
I type paragraphs in a stream that will never go live.

I’ve never seen your face. I’ve never felt your touch. Still, I swear I feel you watching when life becomes too much. Now I’ll be moving to the place where you once were.
Alone.
Too late.

And I swear I hear you laughing, making a joke of it all. And I smile, but the tears continue to fall. And I make accidental rhymes as I pour out my heart, and think of the way you always added music to my words.

You always saw potential. Made me see it, too. It’s so hard to see without you.

I miss you.

The darkness that always brought me light.
The personification of “actions speak louder than words.”

I could write a book of it. Pages and pages about a man I’ve never met. Honest love letters to a man I was not in love with. A speech to the world, telling how they all lost an Angel that day (only you would appreciate that joke).

But instead, I’ll just publish this post, to say once again:
I love you, my friend.
And goddamn, how I miss you.

Guess I should say something…

I feel like I should explain.. Like I have to justify my anger, my sadness, my time away. To be honest, I should not have to. Those who stand by me should understand… but who are those people anyway?

It’s been one sucker-punch after another. Just when I thought, for one second, that things were looking up – it all fell down. I had to take a few days to cope. Maybe I will need a few more.

Because the thing is, it is really difficult to go through this life alone. I know people are “there”… but they’re there for a quick vent, so we can go back to their problems. They’re there for gossip. They’re there to compete with me. They’re there for their own ulterior motives, and if anyone is actually there for me, I don’t know who they are.
And that’s not to say that no one cares. I have many who do. They have their own lives, their own problems, their own friends. They have no room to have me close. I don’t fit. And that is not their fault. I do no not hold that against them. It is just the way it is.

So I cry alone.

And during this time I’ve taken, I feel guilty. What if someone needs me? What if someone believes I’m unwilling or unable? But I don’t know how to rectify this, because how do you say

If you need me, I can be here.
If you want to be the one I need, I’m open.
But if you’re just going to throw meaningless bullshit my way, leave me the fuck alone.

When I dare to speak the truth, they think me hateful, cruel. They think me broken, damaged, unstable. But the truth is, I’m no more unstable than any one of them. I just don’t deny it. I don’t try to hide my mess in the shadows. It’s in the light for all to see. Because

I
Am
REAL.

But reality is far too much for many to handle. They shut it down, avoid it, tell themselves it’s something else. Whatever it takes to keep their worlds intact. And I don’t blame them.. I used to be one of them. I used to be able to numb myself and convince myself that it was okay. But that artificial life wasn’t enough for me. I had to break free of the robotic cage and allow myself to feel fully.

So here I am, feeling. And yes, it can be painful – even crippling at times – but when allowed, joy easily overpowers the pain, and the beauty of life is wonderous. Still, it is a lonely way of living. For one who loves so strongly, loneliness is a constant reminder of a purpose unlikely to ever be fulfilled. And surrounded by those I love, who cannot see the deep cuts from the shards of my shattered heart, the loneliness is overwhelming. So I must keep my distance as I heal, and remember that when I am ready, they will remember me.

Stuck

I’m not doing well.

I’ve lost faith that things will get better. I know what I want, I know that it would be positively life-changing, but I no longer believe in my ability to get it.

And it hurts.

And I feel alone.

I want to give up. I’m exhausted and I just want my fight to be over. It’s too much, it’s too much for one person.

And people say they’re there, but all they offer is pretty, meaningless words. Then I have to make sure I always paint a smile, always say the right things, because if I don’t, I’m the villain.

I’ve always wanted to be the hero, but I’m

just

too

weak.

So, give up, I tell myself. Stop fighting for more. You know there are things in life you just don’t get.

But I can’t.

I am knocked flat by the pillars that I built my life on, pushed by those who judge before they see. I am crushed under the weight, heart calling out for someone, as I silently weep. I cannot ask for help. I cannot risk another. I must bear this weight until I can gather the strength to lift it all myself.

But I’m not sure I can do it this time.

I’m not sure I’ll make it.

I’m just

Stuck.

Internet Mask

Here’s the thing…

You have no idea who I am. You see such a small part of me.

And I may try to tell you, but that’s not right either. Even if you hear me, even if you listen openly, all I can share is my own interpretation. And you, you will take my words and stretch them and push them and try to fit them into some form that works for you. Then you will say that I am perfect or that I am garbage, but it won’t be me. It will be your projection.

And we run this risk even in person, but over a long distance, the difference is extreme. I know this, I know this, yet I still try to form bonds. I cannot resist the urge, as I see so much in you and want to know more. I want to be there, I want to see you, know you, admire you, cherish you.

But you have no idea.

You don’t know that even just the part I see makes you so important to me.

And it hurts. And it’s exhausting. And though logic says others may feel the same about me, experience says that they prefer their projections. Reality is too real. It’s too intense, too meaningful. If they get too close, they have to care, and caring takes effort that they just are not willing to give.

It’s okay. I get it.

So they keep saying “I’m here, I care!” and I keep smiling and nodding and thanking them for their falsehood. They feel good for their offer and are happy to not have to follow through. I feel…

Alone.

Always alone.

But it’s okay! It’s okay, I’m fine! I’ll be back to myself in no time! Really, everything is good! Because if it’s not, then they feel bad, and we can’t have that! I smile and laugh and joke and they don’t see through it, because they don’t want to. We part and all is well.

For them.

But eventually, the mask starts to crack. I panic, and my fear is performed as resentment for having to wear it at all. This is not understood – of course it’s not, how could it be? – and what they see is unwarranted aggression. I cannot blame them. I don’t want to hurt them. I love them.

So I hide. I hide until I can put my”self” back together. I hide until I can fix the false face I will forever hide behind. I hide and my soul cries out for someone to notice, for someone to genuinely care, for someone to offer more than empty words. I turn up the music to drown out the aggressive silence. I lay in darkness and listen to lyrics of what I will never have, and am happy to know that others get to experience that which I long for.

Through this vicarious love, I will heal.

And I will be back to love you. I will wear my mask enthusiastically for you all. I will offer genuine affection, I will show the part of my heart that is full and bright and truly present for you. The honest positivity will shine, hiding the pain from view, and all will be well.

For a while.

But the mask doesn’t last as long as it used to. Sometimes I wonder how long it will be until I have to disappear for good.

But it’s okay! It’s okay, I’m fine! I’ll be back to myself in no time! Really, everything is good!

It has to be.

Feeling Low.

I keep starting posts and I never finish them. Well, I’m running on 1 hour of sleep and I’m drowning in emotion. This is when things get over-dramatic. This is when I say the things that later feel exaggerated. This is when I think that maybe I shouldn’t say anything, because it can represent me in a way that will not be accurate later.

But you know what? This is how I feel in this moment. However temporary, these feelings are just as valid. So here we go.

Summer is always a crazy time for me, but I’m doing better than previous years. I almost got into something I shouldn’t, but I recognized that as an old pattern and stopped it before it went too far. So there’s that.

But I’m feeling… misled. I don’t know how to see things clearly right now. I think I lost my touch. There is so much bullshit, everyone seems to be a liar, a fake, or even delusional. Nothing seems real, nothing seems reliable, nothing feels like it can be trusted.

And I know that a lot of this is due to my own internal struggle. I’m going through a major evolution and two different parts of me are clashing. I lifted the partition and they don’t know how to share the space.

There’s the supportive, empathetic side. I like to think that this is the side people see most. I love, and I love to love. I share the joys and pain of those around me. I try to be a force of good, someone who will build them up when the world tears them down. Their success is my success, because helping them feels like it’s my true purpose. This side keeps my heart open, vulnerable. I feel all of the emotions, and I feel them intensely.

Then, there’s the independent, protective side. – the side that keeps people at arm’s length, doesn’t trust, doesn’t accept help. I –

I’m going to interrupt myself here and stop trying to act like this is all so clean and clear. I’m in tears. I just imagined someone asking me what’s wrong. I imagined my honest answer.

I feel like all I’m doing is superficial, pointless. Like I’m not making any real difference. I feel like I could disappear right now and 95% of the people I talk to, wouldn’t notice for months. When anyone did notice, it would just be a fleeting thought, shrugged off. I feel like I don’t really matter.

Yeah, if anyone heard or read that, they’d tell me I matter to them. And I would, for a day or two. But then it would fade right back. Those same people are the ones who would shrug it off.

I wouldn’t be missed.

The thought is soul-crushing. It makes me want to hide back in the darkness, so I stop wasting everyone’s time. It makes me want to disappear.

And maybe I’m wrong. Maybe someone out there cares more than I think. But maybe they don’t. Maybe I really am as alone as I feel right now.

This will pass. I will feel better soon. I’ll be convinced that people care, whether that’s reality or just me trying to find a reason to hold on to them.

I look forward to that.

Delete Delete Delete

I am finally, after 34 years, at a point where I am truly myself. No masking, no diluting, no persona to take control. And I want to show that, I want to help people see the real me… but there’s only so much they want to see. It differs with every person and it can be difficult to find the line.

Open up
Delete delete
Spill my guts
Delete delete delete
Say hi
Delete

I don’t know how to interact with people.

But I’m lucky, you know? I’m lucky because I found a few whom I truly fit with. Who, even when they don’t completely understand me, accept me. Adore me, even.

I don’t have to delete anymore.

And I guess that’s really what I need to follow. Not the ones who make me feel like there’s something wrong with me. Not the ones who make me wonder what they think or feel. Not the ones who keep me at arm’s length. The ones who show me that if I were gone, my absence would be felt.

Those are my people.

Those are the ones I won’t leave. I’d walk through Hell with them, without even being asked.

For the rest, I’ll simply fade away.

Numb?

Ever since I was young, I had a switch that I could flip in case of emergency. This switch took emotion out of the situation. No matter how much worse things became, I didn’t feel it. I was detached, cold, numb. This allowed me to do whatever was needed, in order to survive. Those who knew me well, could tell I was not myself. I faked it well for those who did not.

At 16, this detached version of me received a name: Roxy Jones. Roxy was seen as mysterious, intriguing. She was daring, as she felt no fear. She also felt nothing for those who grew infatuated, so it was common to see a trail of heartbreak behind her.

While this emotionless state was definitely useful, it also had its consequences. Without heart involved, it was easy to dismiss others. This could include ignoring them for any length of time, bluntly expressing indifference, and/or cutting ties with no explanation. Any action that best suited the current needs was quickly taken, without regard for others or even my own future emotions.

She smiled, but there was no warmth. She fought with unmatched strength and determination. She had a goal and would attain it, no matter the cost.

It could also become extremely difficult to come back from. Though it was known what emotion should be felt at any given moment, it was not quite felt. Using music and other passions, there would be constant attempts to summon true emotion. Usually these methods would at least cause a wanting for emotion. Eventually, something would get through to me and I would slowly come back to Life.

She saw the world as it was; a list of necessities and rules for gaining them. In memories, feelings were seen only as insignificant details. She knew, however, that I was still within her; watching, readying myself for my return. It was her duty to protect me, but she knew I would never lie dormant for long. Even when she resisted, attempted to suppress me, a loved one would reach me and I would pull myself out.

The most recent time this switch was flipped, it was more desperately needed than ever, more control was given over, and it lasted longer. Without the support of another, I alone had to bring myself back to Life. The struggle was lengthy and felt impossible, but I refused to be defeated.

She reminded me that I was alone. She reminded me that the world was painful. She made me wonder if I could make it on my own. I met each of her negative reminders with one of beauty. The joy was enough motivation. The passion for Life was still within me.

A few days ago, the world began to bury me once again. This time, I decided, I would be prepared. I asked my dearest friend to contact me after some time, to help inspire my return. I informed others that I would be absent for a while, to limit contact and so prevent negative social consequences. Then, I stepped back, relinquished control.

Only… This feels different. I have distanced myself, but do not feel truly disconnected. I cannot detach. I still possess control. Emotions, though quieter, are still felt. Others’ are still considered.

She’s gone. She’s really gone. It’s all on me now.

From now on, I’ll have to fight for myself.