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.
My first language was Love.. but I can only speak it. I don’t understand it.
Okay, Okay, bad joke. Give me a break, it’s super early and I haven’t slept much in over a week.
So. Love Language. I really hate that term, though I have no real reason why. I guess I feel like it oversimplifies a complex subject. I have to admit, though, that knowing the ways you give and receive love can be helpful… but people treat it like the zodiac, like these labels are somehow going to tell you everything you need to know.
When it comes to receiving, this is accurate. Quality Time is my #1. That’s what shows me you care. I try to be accepting of others’ methods of showing love, but my mind cannot wrap itself around someone genuinely caring without without butting time into our relationship.
And Quality Time doesn’t refer to big, important things. Yes, it can be going on a trip together. It can also be staying up late talking. It can be taking a class together or playing a video game. It can be working on a home improvement project or going for a walk. It can even be each of us doing our own thing, but in the same room. It just means that whatever we’re doing, we feel each other’s presence.
Acts of Service
I think this is #2 because of how little I’ve experienced it in relationships. I feel like that was honestly a huge sign that I was going down the wrong path. Don’t get me wrong, I am extremely independent and do not often like accepting help (I’m working on it, okay?). but if I’m struggling and a person is completely aware, could easily help without it costing more than a little of their time, and they still don’t offer… doesn’t that show they don’t care?
To be fair, I have become more sensitive about this issue since my disability was triggered. I am always willing to help others, even when it means a major sacrifice for myself, so if I’m obviously struggling, severely sick or in extreme pain, and someone doesn’t seem to care, what could we possibly be to each other?
Words of Affirmation
This shows as half as important as my main, and that makes sense to me. Half the time I don’t believe these words. Unlike the top two choices, words are easy to fake. People say things for all kinds of ulterior motives and it’s hard to find someone who actually speaks honestly. I tend to prefer people who say such things sparingly, because then it actually feels like they mean it when they finally do say it.
On the other hand, not saying such things often enough can make a person feel unappreciated and unloved. They may even start feeling like the other categories are done out of obligation. This is one reason why I try to take time out every once in a while to remind people that I love and appreciate them, and that I’m proud of them. Some say I do it too often, or believe I am too emphatic or poetic to be genuine, but I mean it all the same. Perhaps this makes me a hypocrite.
Gifts
Here’s where we really get into the hypocritical stage. Receiving gifts that are personalized and thought out is absolutely meaningful. It is a wonderful thing.
And I don’t trust it.
I am not big on material items in the first place. I love things, because things are cute or cool or whatever, but I don’t worship them the way others seem to. If I’m receiving a thing, it better have heart put into it. It better invoke a memory or tell a story about us or in some way touch my soul. It has to have meaning. If it’s a game we can play together, great! If it’s a framed photo of us, that’s sweet. If it’s food, you’re trying to help me take care of myself and that’s amazing. But if it’s a hedgehog plush because you know I like hedgehogs, that’s cute and all, but it’s just a thing. I’ll feel guilty that you wasted the money.
However, I’m a person who likes surprising people with gifts. Usually they qualify as another category as well, so maybe I’m not a total hypocrite.
Physical Touch
Okay, this is… this is a difficult one. It depends, right? I guess for some people it doesn’t, but for me.. I don’t know. Maybe I’ve just changed. In high school, I’d have people I’d never met coming to me for hugs and I thought that was the nicest thing. I could show them a little affection, I could show them a little love, without knowing a thing about them. I remember one guy who just spent an entire lunch hour with his arms wrapped around me and I never even learned his name. I happened to see him years later and he remembered me so fondly, that he tried to date me. But I considered it a form of caretaking, comforting.
I don’t like when I go to a church and the greeters hug me. I tolerate it when friends hug me. I like when my kids hug me, and I love when my partner hugs me. As for other touch, I really prefer if it’s only from my partner.
But if I really love them, I touch them often. Love bites, holding hands at home, hugging from behind while they are cooking or washing dishes, playing with their hair, stroking their chest with my fingertips as we cuddle in bed.. I do it all.
And sexual touching and teasing is great, too, especially in public. However, I think my score in this was so low because so much of the physical touch I’ve gotten from partners was sexual or was expected to turn sexual. I miss the cute, sweet, innocent stuff. Sex without the rest is just sex. The sweet stuff makes it love.
Overall
So truth be told, the test was only accurate for my receiving love, not my giving love. This is how I accept love, but I give it intensely, through all methods possible. I love in a way that makes every guy I date want to propose quickly, and leaves a void for them after we break up. I have a tendency to pick men who do not show love in the ways that I need, contrary to what they promise when talking me into the relationship. I have a hard time trusting that friends care about me when I never get time with them.
I know all this, I know myself, I love myself as-is, but I’m still lonely.
When my heart is calling out, I can’t pretend I don’t care. When I’m excited, when I’m hopeful, I can’t keep it to myself. When I have a joke aching to be made, I can’t waste it. I can’t stay quiet when I have so much to say. I can’t force myself to be social when I want to be alone, and I can’t hold myself back from meeting someone new. I can’t dilute myself in order to make others more comfortable. I can’t hide anymore.
I can’t lie anymore – to myself or to anyone else. I can’t be in denial about the things I don’t want to face. I can’t lock myself away, just to hide from the truth. I can’t “play the game” or “follow the code” or whatever other bullshit people come up with to make everyone act the same.
I have to follow my heart. I have to be loyal to my soul.
My friends, you’re going to see me. Really see me. You’re going to see my ugly expressions and hear me sing terribly and feel love and care emanating from me. You’re going to see my creations and hear my random thoughts and feel awkward and weird, because I’m awkward and weird. I’m going to annoy you. I’m going to confuse you and sadden you and offend you. I’m going to make you laugh. I’m going to warm your heart. I may even inspire you once or twice. There will be times when you don’t trust me, but I’ll be telling the truth. There will be times when you’ll take me seriously, but I’ll be telling a joke. We’ll sort it out eventually, because that’s what you do when you care about each other. You work it out. You keep going.
So, from here on out, I won’t start anything that’s not true to who I am. I won’t just go through the motions. I won’t commit to something that’s not my dream. I will keep fighting for what I want, what I believe in, even if I have to fight alone.
Because contentment doesn’t exist for me. “Good enough” and “okay” are not words I can relate to. I don’t do “half-way” or “kinda” or “almost.” I will stay forever, growing and improving, as long as what I commit to is doing the same, but I will not get stuck in a rut anymore.
That’s not a way that I can live.
And it’s time to start living the way I was meant to, the way I never was fully able to experience. It’s time to embrace the fear, the excitement, the peace and the sorrow. It’s time to set my spirit free.
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.
Yelling to Myself 