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.” 😂

***

Connections

I’m at a point in my life where words fail me. I cannot talk to people about normal things. Talking about what I go through is difficult, especially when I know that others don’t know how to respond. So, sometimes I just listen. I listen to them have normal conversations, build normal relationships, and I wish I could be part of it.

I’ve always been an outsider, so I’m used to it. But when they’re my friends and I can’t be myself with them, because I’m too broken, it hurts.

And I want to confide in those who offer to listen, but I’m afraid that it will change the way I see them. If they take it too lightly, make a joke of it, or bombard me with advice, I’m going to pull away from them. And when my friends are all that make me feel sane, I can’t bear the thought of losing them.

The one person I should confide in, can’t handle the emotion in it right now. He’s going through the same intensity. He needs someone and I’m here, waiting, ready to give so much love and support, but he keeps it in. And I think that’s why no one else is leaning on me for once, because this is when I’m supposed to focus on him. I’m supposed to help him, and it will help bring me back. I just need him to let me.

I need to work on making myself approachable. Because of the anger and pain that occupies my every moment, I don’t seem very open. All I can do is let him know I’m here, encourage him, and hopefully he’ll let me in. Hopefully he’ll let me help.

Our connections can save us, if we let them.

Remembering Life

There is so much to say…

The beauty of words is in their power. Words that flow directly from the heart are felt on the skin. Painful elegance emulating a sudden breeze.

I remember the days…

I felt alone. I felt helpless and unloved and broken and worthless. I felt afraid of my strength and weak in my courage. I sang at the top of my lungs, but only in my mind. Lyrics poured from my eyes as I’d hide.

I felt the cold creep in. Necessary robotics to occupy time. Loss of self, to survive. Spirit exorcised, to keep silence intact. Needs squelched, for they were not to be met. Ice hidden inside an insulated smile.

I felt the passion. A soul soaring in galaxies never to be discovered. Gliding, frolicking in existence. A breath adored with wonder, admiration, and inspiration. Every nerve smoothly swaying, alert and alive.

I think I forget, sometimes. I hold out my mirror and ask others to see me through it. I draw a masterpiece of love, yet forget to include its eternity. I display the heart, without appreciating its history.

And so I stumble, forgetting the burdens that balance me. I cower, forgetting that which once frightened me. I look away, without seeing anything. Then, I try to say, “this is me.”

But I am not today. I am not yesterday, or tomorrow, or the day that I die. I am not this curve of the lips, or the wetness, or the pressure in the chest. I am not the shake of the head, or the sigh, or the slow applause.

I am I.

I am a legend that can never be told. I am a movie that will never be seen. I am pages of so many stories, in so many books, in so many minds. I am a love that will be felt, and lost, and felt again. I remember, today, that while I am and will always be Death,

I am also Life.

And now, it’s time to embrace it.

Timing is Everything

It seems I am moving again. Soon. I am excited for this new chapter. Certain aspects will be difficult, I’ll face a challenge unlike any I have experienced, but I know I’ll be better for it. This is an important part of my journey.

I have been writing many posts lately, some unfinished. They never quite say what I set out for them to. This is common with me, I’m afraid. I never can seem to get out everything that I need to. I get distracted by loss, by pain, by fear. These are very real parts of me, but they are not all there is.

And I’m getting better.

I’m feeling it all. Anyone who truly knows me, knows that I am made up of emotion. I cannot be myself without the agony and joy, the laughter no one else understands, the tears that no one sees. Though there are times when I need to hide away from it, this is who I am.

This move is coming at the perfect time. I get to spend one last holiday with my family, then move on to my new life. I am finding out a bit about my health issues, then moving to a place where I will not let them hold me back. I am finally at a point where I can let go of the obligations I have felt to others, that have done nothing but tie me down. I’m going to live free, take chances, and have no regrets.

As I type this, there is a huge weight on me. I am still struggling, and every step forward adds heaviness. I carry fear and uncertainty, heartbreak and longing. I carry feelings of helplessness and guilt. At this moment, however, hope is more powerful than everything else.

It’s time.

I’m ready, Life, so you better be ready for me!

Couldn’t Take It

This morning, I was supposed to focus on the ~14 weeks worth of homework that I have to get done in the next 12 days. Instead, I found myself sitting, staring. It’s been the routine lately: sit, stare, sleep, repeat.

I couldn’t take it anymore! I burst out of this cold, desolate chest, stood in front of the lifeless body, and screamed, “LOOK AT ME! FEEL ME!”

It looked right through me.

“NO! THIS IS NOT HOW IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE!” I had to do something.

I remembered the flutter felt last night and my answer was in front of me. Music. Music is the way.

So I started to sing, but it was not enough to remove the glaze from the gaze. I put a song on repeat and felt a slight ache from a weak beat.

It did not fade. It was working.

New songs, new lyrics to break through the chill.

I watched as ice melted to tears and the beat became stronger, pounding from the core. Never have I appreciated pain more.

I feel the urge to hide again, but I’ll fight it. I need to feel this. I need to keep living.

 

 

Autopilot

Today I got some help.

Help is not an easy thing to accept, no matter the form. I want to do it all on my own. I don’t want to feel that I am lacking, in need.

“There’s always gonna be a part of me that’s sloppy and dirty, but I like that, with all the other parts of myself.”

– Silver Linings Playbook

I love that piece of myself. I know others don’t get it. I know many see me as a charity case. I accepted help today because I knew that it wasn’t charity. It was known that I could do it myself, but also that I could use a helping hand. I am grateful. I hope this is also known. It is hard to express when you feel… robotic.

And that’s where I’m currently at. I feel as if I am on autopilot, doing what I must, without feeling, and sometimes without memory of doing it. I notice that my lack of emotion leaves a gap, so I try to fill it with words I would say if I was more myself. I know that no one looks long enough to notice a difference. Sometimes I wish they would, so maybe someone could pull me out of this. I know they won’t. If I don’t blow up, freak out, scream for attention, then I am put to the side. This is how it always was. This is how it always will be.

I could try to reach out, but I have nothing to offer anymore. I have no reason to ask for anyone to care, to deem me as important. I have no argument to persuade them. All I can do is keep doing what I’m doing, hope that one day I’ll be a real person again, and maybe find someone who will stand beside me in the days to come.

It’s not something I can count on, but at least the actors make it seem possible.

Love and Hate

Those who don’t know me, don’t see me. Those who know me, see me as “different.” Sometimes this is seen in a positive way, sometimes negative, but it’s always there.

I love that I have turned my bedroom into the family hang-out spot. This is where we play video games, watch movies, read together, or just be.

I love dressing up or wearing silly masks/hats/glasses/fake mustaches to do everyday things, like walking home from school or grocery shopping.

I love being honest with my kids about how I’m feeling, even when it’s not pretty.

I love being poor, and the appreciation and creativity that come with it.

I love going far out of my way to help someone, even when it may not be the smart thing to do.

I love risking everything to following my heart, even when it’s not logical, when no one else understands.

And I hate the world for trying to beat all this this out of me.