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.

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.

I DON’T WANT TO BE THIS WAY, OKAY?!

I don’t want to feel like I have to keep walls up, to not be a burden on anyone. I don’t want to feel like I can’t let anyone in, because I believe they don’t genuinely want in. I don’t want to know that the majority of people are fake and really only want me around when it’s convenient for them.

I wish I was ignorant.

I wish I wasn’t so hurt.

I wish I didn’t have to be alone.

But the clock is tick-tick-ticking, my energy is fading, and I have to choose how to use what’s left. I want to be a positive force in the world, but I can’t figure out how.

I guess I should just be happy that no one will hurt when I’m gone.

…

And part of me doesn’t want to post this, because it’s pointless, because the few who read will judge or compare or find some other way to use these words for themselves, ignoring my pain. But fuck it… this isn’t for them. This is for me, and I’m not going to hold back my feelings, however fleeting, just because they make others uncomfortable. I’ve done that for far too fucking long. This feeling will pass. We’ll see who’s still around when it’s over.

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.

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.

Silence

I’ve not had much to say as of late. I have mostly been searching through the silence. I had surrounded myself with noise for so long, so I’d not have to see what lies in front of me.

I am reducing the clutter, so I can see what is important. It is not easy… I have held on to these for so long, it is difficult to accept that none of this amounted to anything. I know, though, that it is all weighing me down. How much more will I give to something that is never to be?

It is time.

It is time to make room for something real.

It is time to embrace the silence, so I can welcome something meaningful.

And I wish for help, someone to hold me accountable. I wish for caring sternness, so I will not falter. I know that I cannot have this, not yet. I must find all within before I can find it without. This knowledge is accompanied by fear, guilt, and overwhelming self doubt. Even so, I will fight on.

I may fail. I will fail. That will not stop me. As long as I can find the silence, I still have hope.

One day, I will not be alone in the silence. On that day, I will finally win.

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.

Connections (Depressing Post)

Do you want to know something really messed up?

All the people I long for, miss, are fictional, dead, or both.

Pathetic, right? How sad it is that there is not a single living person who makes me think, “I wish they were here.”

But it makes sense, in a way. The thing about the fictional and dead is.. they can be whatever you need them to be. You know a certain amount of information and you can simply fill in the blanks, like a Mad Lib. They can’t disappoint us. They can’t betray us.

So, we romanticize them. We place them in their shatter-proof, collectible case and gaze upon them fondly. It’s a beautiful thing.

But it’s all so broken. Our views, our stubbornness, our hypocrisy… The fact that society is now so fucked up that we have to project our lonely yearnings onto unwitting participants. Our suffering minds create these fictional characters to fill the void left unaffected by pointless acquaintance. Even with the living, we lie to ourselves in order to make this person patch over the emptiness, then drop our jaws in shock when the fully-charged truth shatters the facade and everything falls away.

“I believed…” “I thought…” “I loved them so much”.

We are so full of shit.

Do true connections even exist anymore, or are we all in love with our own lies?

I like to think they do. I like to think that some out there have something real to hold onto. I don’t want to believe that we are all just clinging desperately to superficial shreds as we beautify the rest with our mental makeovers.

But honestly, I don’t know anymore.

I can only hope
that somewhere out there
there’s something more than this.

Friends.

My friends are my everything.

The people I know I can reach out to, to talk shit, get my mind off shit, or ask for help dealing with shit.
I may not always do it. I’m a loner and am not good at reaching out. But I know they are there.

The people who appreciate me.
They call it out or keep it silent, but I know they do. I know that my absence would be felt, that my presence makes a difference.

The people who check up on me.
When they notice some negativity, silence, or distant behavior, they reach out. They check in. They make sure all is well. Not with ulterior motives, but honestly FOR ME.

When you grow up surrounded by hatred, it can be difficult to accept love. It feels uncomfortable, disingenuous. Even if you do your best to be a kind and true friend, it doesn’t seem possible for others to be the same.

BULLSHIT!

Bitter, broken assholes have lied to you! The “nobody would care if you died” and “you are the most worthless thing” and “no one’s gonna love you; they’ll just lie to get something out of you” are nothing but PURE BULLSHIT.
YOU ARE NOT UNLOVABLE.

YOU
ARE
NOT
UNLOVABLE.

True Love exists, platonic and romantic. It’s out there, yours for the taking.
And I know this may be hard to accept, but

YOU FUCKING
DESERVE IT.
💜

I wouldn’t say I’m doing “well.” Things are rough. I’m having a hard time coping. But it’s a lot easier when you know your friends have your back.

 

⇐◊⇒

 

And I know some people see things like this and think, “Ugh, this emotional shit again.”
This is who I am. If you haven’t made peace with it by now, I doubt you ever will.
Don’t let me bring you down, just let go of me and move on.
I will not be offended. I love who I am, but I’m not for everybody.

And I absolutely will NOT
mute
dilute
change, or
be untrue to myself
for anyone.