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.

Sometimes People Leave.

What a difference a few days can make!

I read my last post and it is so far from what I feel now. The next morning, a few people came to me at once. Each of these people reminded me that I mean something to them in some way. It gave me exactly what I needed. It made me feel important. It showed me that I need to stay.

But sometimes people leave…

and that’s okay.

They may run. They may stomp. They may fade. Sometimes they are even taken.

But it’s okay.

It’s okay because they were there. Because, for one wonderful moment, your lives intertwined. They made their mark and you get to carry that piece of them with you.

And yeah, sometimes it hurts… but how beautiful is that?! That pain can only come from feeling a happiness so intensely. This person shone so brightly that it made you fear the dark. It’s incredible! It’s this magic that each of us has within us, that both unites us and shows how unique each of us are. It’s heaven.

So, don’t be afraid to wear your heart on your sleeve. Vulnerability isn’t weakness, it’s truth. It takes courage and strength to make your true self known. There will be people who do not approve, who choose to make their exit quickly, but that is fine. Their marks would only hurt you. Instead, you get to focus on the others.

They are the ones who love you.

They are the ones who stay.

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.

Words.

I am disabled.

Disabled. It sounds so ugly. We are labeled this because we can’t do some things. No one can do all the things, but we get the stigma. We can blame “ableists” or whoever, but it’s on us, too.

I am uncomfortable saying I’m disabled. I have millions of negative thoughts flashing through my brain, telling me I shouldn’t. I don’t even want to admit it to myself. I am not the same as I used to be. I push myself to try to be, only making it worse.

I apologize. Constantly.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there!” “I’m sorry I can’t make it!” “I’m sorry I’ve been so quiet.” “I’m sorry I haven’t reached out.” “I’m sorry I haven’t done it yet.” “I’m sorry I suck lately.”

FUCK THAT!

And the need to justify everything… the “I’ve been so busy.” “I’ve been in so much pain.”
Then justifying the justifications: “I had to do 8 ___, 3 ___, ___, ___, ___, ___, and ____, all while feeling like ____.”

NO!

This is ridiculous. I always do what I can. I’m kind. I’m supportive.

I’m a person.

I shouldn’t have to describe my struggles as a way of explaining why I’m not perfect. I shouldn’t feel guilty.

And that’s all me. I choose to justify. I make myself feel “less than.” I think about a future relationship and feel like I should come with an “As Is” tag. And it sucks. It hurts. But no one can change it but me.

According to my records, I am “disabled.”
However, it’s my decision whether I label myself, whether I justify, whether I apologize. People will see me how they see me, and I cannot choose how that will be, but I can choose how I see and present myself.

So, HI!
I’m me. I go by many names, but you can call me Duck. I do awesome things and can’t do some “normal” things. I am a mess, and I love who I am. I also love you, whoever you are. Genuinely.

And I am NOT apologizing for that.

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.

Just Do It!

Okay! I will!!!

…That’s what you want me to say, right?

FUCK.
YOU.

Seriously.

My illness/disabilities are not an excuse. I’m not being lazy. I don’t need self-discipline. I can’t just get up. I can’t just push myself. I can’t just get over it.

I DO NOT CHOOSE THIS!

Maybe you didn’t know me before. Maybe you thought you did, but really only knew of me.

I never wanted this.
Or any version of it.

Sleep? I hated sleep. I slept fine, but considered it a waste of time. The fact that it was required to live was the only reason I allowed it to happen.

I hated doing nothing. I wanted to go, do, create, LIVE. Adventure! The Unknown! The Unexplored! The Unexpected! Never stay still, never give in to the monotony, the emptiness.

I HATE THIS. With all that I am, I hate this. I hate that I cannot walk. I hate that I cannot go, do. I hate that I cannot even wake enough to explore through books. Life has become monotonous. I feel empty.

Fuck you. Fuck you and your ableism. Fuck your “encouragement” to try harder, when it takes every fucking drop of my strength and energy just to continue surviving. Fuck you for treating this like some personality trait, something I can change.

I WANT TO.

God, how I want to. If there was ANY way to have even half the ability I had before, I would drag my ass through hellfire to get there. I would literally give up an arm to be able to stand still longer than 10 minutes, or walk long enough to get through a grocery store without excruciating pain, or stay awake watching a movie without breaks, or use a ladder or stairs or bend down or look up without getting dizzy and nauseous.

And yes, I know you are not in my shoes and my health problems are not visible. I know you’re just ignorant and I should be secure enough to shrug off your comments. I know. And I try.

But every second of every day is pain. Physical, mental, and emotional agony. I feel an invisible weight threatening to crush me at any moment. My very soul is screaming, crying, trying to will the rest of me to move, do, be, live. Everything I try to do, every thing I’ve done a million times before, with ease, feels impossible. I push. I struggle, never giving up, finally finishing in hours what could have been done previously in ten minutes. I get so angry at myself for struggling. I get so furious at myself for not being what I was. And my heart breaks. It kills me that I cannot help others the way I used to. I cannot be the one they turn to when they are in need, because I am no good to anyone else if I am not okay. But I try anyway. I try to do everything. I try to be everything. And I end up making it worse. All of me is devoted to this, to just trying to get by.

And I don’t have anything left. Nothing to make me a person.

So I try to accept where I am now. I push though. I joke about it. I inform and I brush away the pity. I feed the spark of hope that I will find another way to be again. To do again. To live again.

And you

You come in with your bullshit mottos. Your judgemental phrases stolen from inspirational posters. Your fraudulent quotes attributed to idols of the past. You come to me with your “Don’t give up” and your “Push yourself” and your “Just do it” and try to extinguish that hope, tear up the plans, block the path to being the best version of who I can be now.

So

FUCK YOU.

Fuck you for trying to take from me what little I have managed since the world took so much.

Fuck you for trying to make me feel like a lesser person, instead of having lesser abilities.

Fuck you for thinking you have any right to give me any advice, when I would not trade places with you for anything.

Fuck you for spreading your hatred.

And the truth is, when all is said and done, I feel sorry for you. Because yes, you caused me bitterness for a moment, but I’m okay now. I am smiling, literally smiling as I type this conclusion. I love myself, I am proud of my strength, and I know I can and will take these struggles on again and again. I will continue to be good. To do good.

But you, you have to live with that poison coursing through your veins. You have to wallow in that flood of misery. You splash it at others, but they move on, dry off, forget that it even happened. You stay, hide in it, only peeking out to scan for more victims. You live in there, and if you don’t find a way, a reason to leave, you’ll die in there.

So I take them back. No “Fuck you”s. You don’t need them.

You’re already fucked.

Viruses & What Comes Next

I don’t know if there’s a higher power. Maybe there really is a God (though I do not believe them to be as depicted in any religious text), or maybe Nature is the most powerful. I don’t know if there’s a Heaven and a Hell, if reincarnation is a thing, if there’s some other afterlife, or if this is all we’ve got.

But I do know that what we do matters.

We make a choice with each of our actions. It would be easy to say we choose between right and wrong, but life isn’t that simple, is it? Sometimes we just don’t know. Sometimes we have to pick a number, draw from a hat, or close our eyes and point. Sometimes whether it is right or wrong out of our control.

But it’s important that we try to do right. To be good.

Because it matters.

No matter whether there is anything beyond, what we do here matters.

Our lives are short. They don’t seem that way sometimes, but they are. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and a decade has passed. In the grand timeline of eternity, a lifetime isn’t even worth a mark.

But our actions are.

What we do, that is what reaches others. That is what lives on. We do these things and other see them, feel them. They carry those action with them. It affects them. They, in turn, affect others. It goes on long after all of those who witnessed us firsthand.

Right now, we are in the midst of a pandemic. This virus has taken so much light out of the world, and the darkness is making itself comfortable. It feels hopeless. It feels unfair. It feels frightening and confusing and heartbreaking. Some deny it, some use it as an excuse, and some hide from it. Some just try to make it through the best they can, and we all hope someone is out there fighting it, trying to find a way out of this.

But so few seem to see that COVID is not the virus that is destroying us. That virus has been in humanity all along. We’ve been fighting it over and over, but somehow it hit our blindside and it is spreading fast.

What are you?

Are you a Virus?
Do you take, use, and live only for yourself? Do you make excuses for your behavior? Do you live in bitterness and jealousy? These are the people who spread hate. They grow angry at others for having what they don’t. They take offense to people asking them for any action, no matter the size, that helps others. “Why should I?” and “Where’s mine?” are commonly spoken. Whether malignant or benign, these people offer nothing positive for anyone else. At best, you may be able to form a symbiotic relationship, but those don’t often last.

Are you a Carrier?
Maybe you don’t consciously spread the disease, but you associate with it. The company you keep is infectious. You know them to have a negative effect, but you’re not the virus, so it’s okay, right? Maybe you occasionally laugh at the jokes. You start to slip down that slope with “People are too sensitive.” You think you’re not hurting anyone, but you are. You carry it with you, in an unsuspecting package. Though not as potent, damage is done.

Are you a Vaccine?
You’ve been there. You’ve felt it. You’ve found yourself on the the darker side and thought that was all you could be. But somehow, you’ve changed. You’ve weakened the negative. It will always be with you, part of you, but now you can use it for good. You can use it to help people, to keep them from becoming the same. You show them that there is another way.

Or are you the Antidote?
Are you the rare, bright light that shows the way to something better? Do you take your fortune, your assets, and use them to help others? Do you use love and empathy to take away whatever pain you can manage? These are those who had no reason to go out of their way, but chose to be a cure, however great or small.

Whatever you are, you can change.

I’m not going to share some pseudo-inspirational Gandhi quote here, I’ll just speak from experience.
The people I’ve met in my life, positive and negative, have all affected me. I don’t want to admit it sometimes, but it’s true nonetheless. I carry it all with me, and it affects those whom I affect. It carries on. Maybe not always in the ways one might expect, but it is all there. It is always there.

I do my best to do good. It is not always easy. I get sad, angry, afraid, and even a little bitter. I try to be honest with myself and isolate when that happens. I refuse to spread negativity to others, if I can help it. And it’s not because I want to get into Heaven or come back as a badass lion, or avoid becoming a malevolent spirit. It’s because I want my effect to inspire, to offer hope, to bring joy. I want to spread love, not pain.

If this life is all we have, then I’ll spend my last moments of existence knowing that the world was just a tiny bit better because I was in it.

And that is all I need.

Getting Up.

People who have had less traumatic lives, love to call me resilient. “You persevere,” “you never give up,” “you never let it beat you.”

I have no choice.

And beside that, I do let it take me down sometimes. How many times in life have I let something bad happen, because it was easier to fix the result than to fight off the event? Too many to count. Too many to even remember. Does that make me a lesser being? No, it just makes me real.

I am not proud of my weaknesses. I am also not going to deny them. I’m not going to pretend that I will magically be able to stop them. All I can really say is that I’m trying to get better. Honestly, what more can you ask of anyone?

So today, I made important calls. I filled out important paperwork. I sent an important email. I know it’s nothing, but it’s also not nothing. Each task was a struggle. Some actions created more tasks for my ever-growing list. It can be extremely overwhelming and all I want is a break, but even my breaks are not really breaks, because I just sit and stress and feel inadequate and get angry and tear myself down until I am nothing but a mushy lump of waste. Getting knocked down is pretty tough on a person who literally has difficulty getting up.

But today, I did get up.

Hopefully I will be able to push myself to do the same tomorrow.

At some point, I’ll stay down for a little while, overwhelmed and self-sabotaging… but as long as I’m trying, I will always eventually pull myself back up.

Hell yeah, I’m resilient.

We all are.