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.

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.

Drained

I started writing this post, but I became more exhausted just looking at it. Let’s see if I can keep it short.

This past month or so, my life has been overwhelmingly complicated. I powered through, I struggled to survive, I sank into darkness, and now I’m just…

Drained.

Not empty or numb. I feel. I just don’t have it in me to-

Well.. to do anything.

I can’t fake it, I can’t exclaim, I can’t cry or scream or cheer. I can’t relax, I can’t distract, I can’t research it all out. I can’t work or play or sleep.

I’m sorry. I have nothing of me left to offer right now.

When someone needs me, really needs me, I will be there. The energy will come. But as soon as all is well, it dissipates and I am just… here. Here, weary, waiting for the next battle to be called.

~ ♡ ~

At this point, she stops and stares down at her keyboard. The urge to curl up into a ball and just lie there is all too strong. She considers this, but it is not what she really wants. She wants a certain someone’s arms around her, holding her close. She wants her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. She wants to feel like it is all going to be okay, because he will be there. She hates that she wants this, for so many reasons. She had always been independent, but she wants so badly to have this someone fight by her side. She knows that it will not happen, however, and the yearning only makes her feel more alone. She surrenders to her bed.

Patterns

We all have our patterns. Some of these are comforting. Some give us structure. Some are harmful.

I have a habit of self-sabotage.

It all starts with an idea. Whatever the idea, I somehow think this will help me, give me the freedom and life that I need.

Then I start planning. I get psyched and dive right in. Then it overwhelms me and I start to drown in it. I go through these feelings a few times.

After a while, I get to a point where this can become a reality. Everything is in place and though it may not have gone smoothly, it has happened.

Then I fuck it up.

Sometimes right before the change, sometimes right after, I do something reckless to ruin it for myself. I tell myself that it’s the right thing, that it’s following my heart, when it’s really my way of failing on my own terms.

This conflict becomes a Hell that I struggle to turn into Heaven for far too long.

Finally, I’ve had enough. I let go of my demons and work to come up with an idea.

And it all starts again.

NO!

I’m not doing this again!

As much as I love the excitement of following my impulses, I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t keep lying to myself and pretending that my actions are not motivated by fear. It’s time to stop holding myself back.

It’s time to believe in myself.

I have a plan. It’s coming together. Every day, I’m tested. Every day, temptation tries to pull me away from my goal. Every day, part of me wants to give in, change my plans, follow my impulses. This part tells me that it must be fate intervening. It takes coincidences and decorates them in attractive colors and shiny gimmicks. It takes a few words and writes them in the sky. It swirls petals around my feet, sings a song of thunder and lightning, blows gently against my lips, lights a blaze inside the hearth.

But I must resist. I must see these things for what they are; moments of beauty too pure to last. I must cherish them, but walk away before I see them spoil.

I must keep moving forward.

And I can. I can. I will. I will gather my strength and resist the urge to cling to these precious souvenirs of hope and love. I will keep my goal in mind, never allowing the distractions to become deceptions.

I will make it.

I just have to believe.

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.” 😂

***

The Spider

Today I was entranced by a spider. This spider had something unwanted in its web and was struggling so hard to pull it out. The spider would use its legs to detach strands of web, then brace itself against the wall and pull, pull. When it didn’t come loose, it would repeat the process. Over and over, I watched this.

I wanted so badly to help. I could have easily stood up, walked over, and removed the unwanted item. However, doing so would have ruined the web that this spider had worked so hard for. Who was I to do so?

And then I realized that the spider was me and the idiot “helping” was the majority of my relationships.

How many times has this happened? How many times have I struggled so hard, then allowed someone to “help,” only to lose everything I’d worked for? How many times have I had to start over because I let this happen?

Too many.

So I watched the spider work. Determined, the spider repeated the process over and over and over again. The spider did not give up. It did not falter. It knew what it wanted and maybe that wasn’t the fastest way to go about it, but it was the way it wanted.

I had to leave, so I didn’t get to see how long it took. I didn’t get to share in the victory. That’s okay, though, I’m sure it’s all the same to that spider.

I would have liked to be able to communicate and offer assistance in line with the spider’s plans.

And that’s it right there. That’s what I need. I don’t need someone to do things for me. I don’t need judgment. I just need someone to ask, “what can I do to help you?”

Dear Life,

We need to talk. The way things are… it’s just not working out.

I try to take a break to clear my head and you come back with more intensity than ever, which makes me distant again, which makes you intense, and on and on…

I can’t do this anymore.

I’m not saying I want to give up. Despite what I may say in the heat of the moment, I truly love you. I do. I wouldn’t trade you in for all the money and success in the world.

But this is getting way too hard. Something needs to change.

I’m not trying to throw blame. We’re in this together. All I can say is what I need from you, and what I can offer in return.

So here it is.

I need you to lighten my load a bit. I feel overwhelmed as things are, and it’s difficult to want to hold everything together when I can’t take it anywhere. I need to be able to move forward, and I just don’t think I can when everything is so heavy.

In return, I promise to be more present, the way I used to be. I’ll appreciate you more, and the journey we’re on together, even when it’s a bit rocky. I’ll stop looking behind me with a sore heart, and only look back with clear eyes and mind, learning from our traveled path in order to aid in the road ahead.

I will smile more and sing again.

Can we do this? Can we agree to stop making things harder on each other and make our walk a great deal lighter?

I want to continue this journey with you for as long as possible. Please help me make this happen.

With Love,

Ducky.

Unworthy.

“Worthless,” he called me. Usually “The most worthless fucking thing…”

I’m mostly okay with my childhood. I know he meant what he said when he threatened my life. I know he meant every hateful word he spewed at me every day for so many years. I know that he’s old and toned down now. I know that he still feels hatred at the thought of me, but feels badly as he approaches death. I also know that all of his opinions are not that of the general population.

But that one word echoes in my head. Worthless. Without worth. Undeserving of existence. Unworthy.

I make mistakes, but I know I am a good person. I care, sometimes to a fault. My entire reason for living is to help people. I thrive on seeing those around me succeed, especially if I played a part in it. Nothing in this world makes me feel better than knowing someone else feels better. If I can sacrifice to help another, I will do it in a heartbeat, with a smile on my face and a joyful tear in my eye. Sometimes they appreciate. Sometimes they do not. They rarely know the extent of what I do. A lot of effort goes into tiny, unnoticeable things just to make things a tad better for them.

“Maybe I sacrifice to feel like I’m alive…”

Middle Class Rut – Busy Bein’ Born

Twisted, I go to great lengths to use others in order make myself feel better. I used to see it that way. I’m mostly over that, now.

Still, I feel worthless.

I try. Over and over and over and over again. I fail so often that it has become my norm. Still, I try. I cannot stop. I don’t know how. Just when I think all fight has left me, I find a bit more inside. Eventually, I succeed to some degree. Achieving success after such a war, I think, “anyone else could have done this so much more easily.”

And I feel worthless.

I am unworthy of these amazing children. They deserve so much more than I am.

I am unworthy of this relationship. I could never be what I should be to make this what it could be.

I am unworthy of the friends I have found. Their caring and loyalty are far beyond anything I have earned.

I am unworthy of the small joys and moments of peace. I should be doing more to benefit the world, not allowing it to please me.

I am unworthy of the hidden blessings, the struggles for which I’ve learned to be grateful. I cannot do enough to use them in a positive way.

At least I can say I do not feel unworthy of life… because I do not believe you can be worthy or unworthy of such a thing. It is good, bad, beautiful, painful, everything and nothing. It simply is.

And while others may try to convince me that I am worthy of things, or even “so much more,” it is not for them to do. Their words are kind and meaningful, but do not change the feeling. That change can only come from myself, and I am not sure it is even possible.

If he had not (sometimes literally) beaten it into my head for so many years, would I still feel this way? Sometimes I wonder, but ultimately it does not matter. I am the one keeping it alive.

I cannot even say that I wish it would change. If it did, would I still work so hard to help others? If not, let me wade in this feeling for the rest of my days. And I plan to live a great many of them, because though I consider myself to be a burden, it would now be more of a burden for me to be gone. And I cannot, will not ever stop fighting.