1,000 Paper Cranes: Day 1 (and 2?)

I thought I would start off strong, fold for hours, and produce great results.

I was wrong. Crane count: 2.

But it ended up working out perfectly for me, in a way.

I chose to come out of isolation and socialize instead. I spent quite a bit of time with two people who are important to me, laughing and enjoying ridiculousness. It felt divine.
How long had it been? I don’t even want to guess. I was just happy to lay aside complicated history and current circumstances and self-doubt. I was happy to just be, with people who knew me. The deep thoughts from that day and the conversations of the next are exactly what I wanted while folding.

It’s after 4am, I’ve got a single song on repeat, and I’m ready to spill my guts

I was in a call with my adopted daughter, describing a friend of mine who passed away before my daughter and I met. She spoke three words that linger in my mind.

That’s True Love

True love. They say it, they sing about it, but how often does anyone actually know it? Have I? Whether platonic or romantic, was it, in fact, true love?

Yes, I’ve had it.

Anyone who knows my past would think I was about to talk about that one guy I couldn’t fall out of love with for fifteen years. And yes, I loved him. I loved him to an insane degree. I poured my soul into him, believing his was my mate. He seemed to feel the same; I was still in his heart. The intensity of our connection was something all could see. Surely this was true love?

Close, but not quite. From the beginning, I put this man on a pedestal so high that I couldn’t quite see him. I took what I saw and filled in the rest with legend. I believed in my story, sang it up to him and made him believe it, too. Yes, I loved him deeply, madly, but it was not true. It was a combination of him and my own design.
And he, he loved me, at least what he could see.. but much of his focus was on the serenade. He loved my story, but his love wasn’t true. He loved only the legend and the mind that made the lie.

So many lies with so many guys.

But one man stands out. He knew me, I knew him. We may not have known all the details, but they didn’t matter – we were friends and loved each other unconditionally. We loved what we could see and what we couldn’t. We loved what we agreed on and what we didn’t. We loved all versions; past, future, and present.

That’s true love.

Years after he has passed, I still feel him with me. True love that lasts beyond death.. It exists, and that means it is possible again.

---

Thank you, my friend. Although you’re gone, you’re still the one I lean on.

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.

Reflection

Last night, for the first time in years, I looked in the mirror and saw myself looking back.
Yeah, a little fatter, a little older, a little more exhausted, but the core of me is still here. That hasn’t changed.

And I’ve been thinking about the fact that I have been close to death more times than I can count. Each time left its own battle scar. I used to be so ashamed of these flaws, but now I wear my marks with pride.
I was there.
I fought through it.
And I’m still standing.

I’ve even been loved, by so many. Maybe it wasn’t always the way I wanted. Maybe I didn’t feel they could truly see me, but they saw something in me. Each of them knew that I was different. Each of them wanted that difference in their life. And maybe I couldn’t love them back, or maybe I didn’t have enough faith in them, or maybe I just didn’t have enough faith in myself, but some form of love was received. And I’m still loved, every single day.

And oh, how I’ve loved! Though.. often it wasn’t the way they wanted. It was misinterpreted, taken for granted, and manipulated. It was also cherished, obsessed over, and yearned for. Some didn’t know it existed, some didn’t know the depth, and some denied it completely. But still, I love so strongly, whether strangers, friends or foes.

I’ve been lonely, too. That’s the other side of love, you know. I release my heart into the wild and I’m left feeling like something’s missing. Some days have been worse than others, but I’ve learned to appreciate those the most. Those are the days when I put so much love into the world, silently, that my heart is a little sad to not see the results. That’s okay though, because I have too much to keep close to home, and I know that it’s out there, it matters, even if I will never know how. The loneliness has a beauty of its own, and I smile to feel it, even in this moment.

So, I’ll still try to lose the weight, the lines, the dark circles, but if I can’t, that’s alright. Because I’m still here, still true to myself. Yes, I’ll fall and consider staying down. I’ll lose my way, my faith, from time to time. I’ll wear noise cancelling headphones to avoid hearing the beat of my heart. I’ll do all of these things, as I have before, but they will never last. I’ll always come back to look myself in the eyes and tell myself that I’m still worth it. I’ll never stop. I’ve already lived and loved so much more than I ever thought I would, and I will continue to do so until my last breath is stolen from my body.

If you’re reading this, I hope you will do the same.

I love you.

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.

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.

Another Confession

First, some background on me:

I love new experiences, good and bad. They remind me that I’m alive. Life is short and I want to feel as much of it as possible.

I also love a challenge. I like to test my limits and see just how capable I am. I’ve never experienced anything I couldn’t handle, even if I didn’t believe I could at the time.

I have never broken a bone. I have never been shot. I have never been stabbed (except twice by myself, accidentally, and it wasn’t serious).

People have always thought I was crazy for wanting to experience these things. They couldn’t even put into words why it is so bad to want this, but were very sure it was. So I explained to them that I like new experiences, blahblahblah, and they kind of understood.

And that was all true… but I didn’t tell them everything.

The times when I thought about it most was when times were toughest.

Automatically, one would assume I had a death wish or was a masochist, but that had nothing to do with it. I never enjoyed pain. I never wanted the occurrence to kill me, or even permanently injure me.

But physical pain is easier to handle than mental pain. So when everything was falling down around me and I felt myself getting buried, I needed something to take my focus for a while, something to allow me to reset. It had to be serious, it had to be intense, or it would be ignored.

In retrospect, this is probably why I would jump into relationships. Wrong or right, they were always intense.

So a broken leg, a bullet in my arm, or chip of blade stuck in a bone would be a relief. Yes, it would suck, but it would release me from other stress. It would be something that I could see, touch, control. It would allow me to temporarily set down some of my burdens, give me a chance to make a plan and strengthen myself before I took them back on.

“A break to keep from breaking.”

Yeah, I was never talking about a vacation.

***

LOL: So now, stress can lead to serious Fibro flares. Pain is there 24/7, but during flares, I can’t do anything. Sometimes I can’t even hold my phone.

Guess this is a case of “Be careful what you wish for.” 😂

***

I’m Still Here

A strange thought occurred to me tonight: I’ll probably live to see my boys become men.

What a crazy idea. Life keeps moving, I keep waking up, and every day my boys are a day older.

I have already lived 20 years longer than I ever thought I would.

My story is not a simple one. The main plot moves slowly, yet every page brings new conflict. There are many twists and turns. Some chapters exist only for character growth. Sometimes it gets confusing. Sometimes I have to stop, close my eyes, and try to forget it exists for a little while.

But it does exist. 20 years ago, it was expected to stop, but it is still going.

I am still here.

I get so lost in the drama that I forget… This is all just bonus.

I

AM

ALIVE

And I am so glad that I’ll be here to see what life has in store for me next.

If I Died Today

Shout-out to the people-

whose father abused them

whose life was constantly threatened by someone who was supposed to love them the most

who were told almost daily that they were worthless and could never be loved

who were starved

who were locked in a room

whose mother abandoned them, even when the threat of suicide hung overhead

whose adult siblings told them no one would care if they died

who were raped by people they trusted

who had a 0.01% chance to make it through

…

YOU FUCKING MADE IT!

💜

I have often thought about my death. Sometimes I’ve wondered,

If I died today, would anyone see what they did wrong? Would they have regrets? Would they change?

I’m finally at a point where I can say it doesn’t matter.

I’m not going to die for them. I’m going to live for the people who are good to me. For those

who offer a hand when I fall

who call out to me when I lose my way

who envelope me in warmth when my heart gets cold

who get in my face to show me that I am not, will not be, alone

who give my bitchiness some space, so it does not reach them

who tell me truth, to ward off the lies

who don’t compare me to others, but to whom they know me to be

who miss me when I am away

who believe I am strong enough to fight my own battles, but stand ready to support when I don’t believe in myself.

These people are my heart. These people are the ones I should keep in mind. They are the ones who should affect my actions. They are the ones who matter.

I am alive today because of these people, and I swear that if my life ends from now on, it will not be my intention.

You are enough to keep this worn heart beating. Thank you.

My Birthday is in 2 Days

and I don’t want it. Because what’s the point?

What makes me so fucking upset is that I was going to help people. I was going to be great. Lives would have been changed for the better. I was on this path, I was doing well, and then

fuck me.

Because never in my life have I gotten a break. And all I want is to do good, but Life just fucking kicks me. And yeah, I get up, but I never make it far. I never get to be someone. I never get to help people. I never get to inspire. I’m just in the background, struggling to give people a reason to care.

Fibromyalgia. Narcolepsy. Restrictive Lung Disease. Anemia. Vertigo. Kidney issues. I start feeling stronger and plan to do something, anything, and then they hit hard and I can do nothing.

I can’t even save my cat, the one who has been there for me for years, helping me with my illnesses… Now he’s ill, needs surgery, and I’m failing him, because I am not enough.

I would have been great. Now I am nothing.

Happy birthday to me.

Broken Strength

I’m trying my best to not be broken. I try to be a person and I stall. I feel… unwell. I was hoping this wouldn’t come back. I was hoping that my life would fight it off. It is a lot less extreme than usual, but it is still there. It does disappear for a time, when someone breaks through. They are my happiness. Sometimes I am too broken, I don’t want to let them. I’m afraid it won’t work. I’m afraid this will stay.

I feel anxious and brokenhearted. I have no reason for this. My life is complicated, messy, and difficult, but it is also unbelievably beautiful. I am happy, even in my bouts of depression. I hear the saying, “She carries the weight of the world on her shoulders,” and I’ve always felt it arrogant to claim this about myself, but I feel the heaviness. I never thought it to be so literal, yet I can hardly stand under the burden.

But I would not change it.

I want to feel it. I need it. I can’t be disconnected. If I don’t bear the weight, then I don’t understand the heaviness, and if I don’t understand, then I don’t see clearly. So I’ll take it all. I’ll take it and let it show me truth, so that I may speak it to others.

Right now, I hardly have the energy to speak. But this is the time when I can focus; feel it, see it, know it, so I may speak of it in the future. It hurts. Sometimes I feel it is too much to take. Sometimes I want to scream. Sometimes I want to run away from the ones I love, so they don’t have to see my struggle. In the past, I wanted to end it all, remove myself from this world, so I no longer had to face it, face myself and my inability to be the hero I long to be. But now… Now I hold it. Now, as my weakened legs wobble, I shrug and keep holding on. Now it is done because it needs to be done, and I recognize it as my duty.

My present life is my strength. My hope for the future is my endurance. My love is the reason I am breathing. As long as these things remain, I know that I will always be okay. What I have, what I am now, is enough. Though I may not always do so with a smile, I can take it. All of it. And it will only get better from here.