I have been isolating more lately, and though I wish to feign ignorance, I cannot. I know exactly why.
People have different definitions of friendship. For some, playing games together is enough reason to consider others friends. If they enjoy time together, they have a friendship.
I’m sorry, but it’s just not the same for me.
Anyone who knows me, knows that if I care, I’m all in. The same goes for friendship. We don’t have to talk everyday, but I do have to feel a genuine bond with someone to consider them a friend. They have to be someone I think about when they’re not around. They have to be someone who shares a little of their soul with me. If I feel connected to a person, I will give my all to be there for them, with them.
But if I don’t feel connected, they simply fade away.
I still see them around when I have the energy for groups, and I enjoy their company. I don’t just stop caring. If anyone needs me, I’m still here. But… I’m not going to lend my energy to the superficial if I can’t get to the layers beneath it. And I *know* that no one can be everything to everyone, but I don’t need everyone. I just want a few deeper friendships. I want even a fraction of that love and support that I offer.
But it’s hard. It’s hard because more and more people seem to only be interested in the other type of friendship. I have a couple of real friends, but they, too, isolate or are busy and are so far away, and I just
wish
that I could have someone here who made me feel like doing things with them was better than doing them by myself.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 was supposed to wake at 6am today. Instead, I woke at 4am, from a dream that felt strangely natural to me.
A man I barely knew, but found attractive, made a joke about starting a family with me, and in response, I spread my legs a little wider. No other change in expression or body language.
At a loss for words, he couldn’t take his eyes off me. After a moment, he sat a few feet in front of me. I scooted an inch or two toward him. Again, I showed no other change in action or expression.
We both knew it then – He was hooked.
And though I no longer play those games, I woke with so many memories flooding in. So many guys I drew in, then put a wall between us. I adored many of them, but I kept a boyfriend whom I didn’t truly love, so I had an excuse not to open my heart to anyone.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. But it empowered me.
I’m not that tease anymore. I have grown to be open with my love, platonic or romantic. Sometimes I falter, sometimes I hide when things get hard and I don’t want others to see how much it hurts me, but I openly admit that I care (too much).
And though I have so much love to offer a partner, I am alone. I probably deserve to be. Sometimes I fear the loneliness will drown me, but I have also learned to turn some of that love toward myself.
No, people aren’t drawn to me anymore. I don’t have anyone infatuated or obsessed. I don’t have ten guys texting me throughout each day. I don’t even have one.
But the thing is, those people from my past never really saw me. They saw what they wanted to see. They saw my model-level looks, they saw the sexy body language, they saw the shyness that was only an adorable act. They saw a little attitude, and a little of my good nature, but only enough to enhance everything else. The close friends saw that I was also truly intelligent.
But they never saw past the bullshit.
Now that bullshit is gone and what’s left isn’t always pretty. Sometimes scary, sometimes sad, often awkward and silly and weird. My love pours forth, bringing all side effects with it, and the openness and honesty are so uncommon that it can overwhelm.
I know, I know, I’m intense. But I love me this way.
Yes, I loved the attention when I was younger, thinner, more guarded. I loved the power. I loved the control. I loved the security in knowing I could have my way, any way, if I wanted it.
But now, I love the freedom. I’m free to love and free to get hurt. I’m free to pull people close, and free to walk away. I can pour my heart out, knowing that many will not bother to listen, cannot be bothered to truly care. I can sing out loud, with a terrible voice. I can type out a blog that few will ever read. I can walk a tightrope of faith without the spiked “safety” net below. I can walk into darkness, without voices talking over one another to get my attention, distracting me and causing me to lose my way. I can be excited, offended, hopeful, disappointed, friendly, angry, passionate, uncertain, and afraid. I can live genuinely, knowing that those around me can actually see me – the real me – and all others will fade.
I may not be the beauty I once was, but my soul is more beautiful than my appearance has ever been.
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.
People were always drawn to me. I tried to warn them of the danger, but they were mesmerized by the glow. Try as I might, I could never fully control the flame.
I’ve burned them. I’ve left scars.
Though most would say they had no regret, I could not bear the guilt. I hid my fire.
I showed myself only to those who burned others with their frost. Foul winds were sent from their lips; feeding me, fueling the flames. The breath of corruption transformed my blaze into a monstrosity I could not accept.
Again, I hid.
So here I sit, talking to the shadows that my flares cast around me. I speak of the joy of being myself again, unhindered by another. While not untrue, my words mask the longing within. The yearning for one who won’t be singed.
One who does not fear my brilliance. One who is inspirited by my flickering. One who finds glory in my warmth. A flame to match my own.
I’ll find it one day. I must. Life cannot be so cruel that such a passionate heart must live without sharing it. It just… can’t be.
I feel like I should explain.. Like I have to justify my anger, my sadness, my time away. To be honest, I should not have to. Those who stand by me should understand… but who are those people anyway?
It’s been one sucker-punch after another. Just when I thought, for one second, that things were looking up – it all fell down. I had to take a few days to cope. Maybe I will need a few more.
Because the thing is, it is really difficult to go through this life alone. I know people are “there”… but they’re there for a quick vent, so we can go back to their problems. They’re there for gossip. They’re there to compete with me. They’re there for their own ulterior motives, and if anyone is actually there for me, I don’t know who they are. And that’s not to say that no one cares. I have many who do. They have their own lives, their own problems, their own friends. They have no room to have me close. I don’t fit. And that is not their fault. I do no not hold that against them. It is just the way it is.
So I cry alone.
And during this time I’ve taken, I feel guilty. What if someone needs me? What if someone believes I’m unwilling or unable? But I don’t know how to rectify this, because how do you say
If you need me, I can be here. If you want to be the one I need, I’m open. But if you’re just going to throw meaningless bullshit my way, leave me the fuck alone.
When I dare to speak the truth, they think me hateful, cruel. They think me broken, damaged, unstable. But the truth is, I’m no more unstable than any one of them. I just don’t deny it. I don’t try to hide my mess in the shadows. It’s in the light for all to see. Because
I Am REAL.
But reality is far too much for many to handle. They shut it down, avoid it, tell themselves it’s something else. Whatever it takes to keep their worlds intact. And I don’t blame them.. I used to be one of them. I used to be able to numb myself and convince myself that it was okay. But that artificial life wasn’t enough for me. I had to break free of the robotic cage and allow myself to feel fully.
So here I am, feeling. And yes, it can be painful – even crippling at times – but when allowed, joy easily overpowers the pain, and the beauty of life is wonderous. Still, it is a lonely way of living. For one who loves so strongly, loneliness is a constant reminder of a purpose unlikely to ever be fulfilled. And surrounded by those I love, who cannot see the deep cuts from the shards of my shattered heart, the loneliness is overwhelming. So I must keep my distance as I heal, and remember that when I am ready, they will remember me.
Yelling to Myself 