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.

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.” 😂

***

A Painful Journey to Self

Have you ever just fucking loved yourself?

Like, just adored the hell out of yourself?

It’s a fantastic feeling.

♥

It’s been a long, rough road getting to this point. I grew up being told daily that I was worthless, that no one would love me, that everyone who was nice to me was just trying to get something from me. I was called many horrible names. My life was threatened countless times. Attempts were made to “accidentally” kill me. All of this was done by those who were supposed to love me most.

And I was a damn good kid.

I believed the words that were (sometimes physically) beaten into my head for so many years. I believed that I was a burden. I believed that I did not deserve to live. The only thing that kept me from ending my life was the knowledge that dealing with my death would cause an even larger burden for some. I hated myself for failing everyone.

But still, I stayed good. I stayed true.

This went on. They continued to stomp on me, even as I helped them. I made bad relationship choices, wanting to help people, save people. Wanting to have a positive effect, to hopefully cancel out the burden I placed on the world. When I continued to be treated terribly, it reaffirmed the belief that I was a failure.

But I never stopped. I didn’t know how to be anything BUT good.

I don’t exactly know how or when it happened. It sneaked up on me. I made jokes that only I laughed at. I created things that only I saw. I worked on improving myself, though no one knew. I was proud of these things.
I did things in ways that were often criticized, but felt right to me. I didn’t just take the road less traveled, I created my own. My thought processes were abnormal, but I wouldn’t want them any other way. I got excited about little things, and I gained so much joy from that. I loved intensely, and I loved the way I loved.

I struggled with simple things. I had to fight hard for the things most people take for granted. I never gave up. I never let it change me. I was always, always good.

And then it hit me. I wasn’t the one who failed. They had failed ME.

I WAS GOOD. I supported, helped, and sacrificed for others. All of the things they tore me down for, were the things that made me kind, selfless, loyal, and true. The things they hated so much in me were the things they weren’t, themselves.

I removed them from my life. All of them. Every single person who tried to break me, who tried to turn me into one of the bitter, hateful crowd.

And I felt lighter.

No longer did I have to carry their hatred. No longer did I have to withstand the blows of misplaced anger. I was free.

Alone, but free.

And the more time I spent alone, the more I realized that I love who I am. Surface to core, I am good. I am true to myself. I am unique and weird, compassionate and loving, intelligent and open-minded, passionate and spirited, strong and independent. I am disabled and ill, but that’s just my body. It’s just one more thing I have to fight. And I can take it.

I’m not perfect, and I don’t want to be. I am a worrier as much as a warrior. I am anxious. I am awkward. I struggle with depression. I get reclusive. I am impulsive. I sometimes hit an unreasonable level of anger. Fear occasionally rules me. Darkness washes over me.

But I love it all. I love the clean and dirty, the dark and light. I am always changing, adapting, growing, improving, and I love that most of all.

I will always have flaws. But I love myself unconditionally.

Maybe one day, someone else will, too.

 

Your Life

How are you spending your life?

Are you tirelessly working toward a future? Are you relaxing, with the intention of getting your shit together later?
Are you angry? Stressed? Bitter? Are you apathetic? Are you happy?

There it is: If you are truly honest with yourself… Are you happy?

They tell you to live like there’s no tomorrow. They tell you to stop screwing around and plan for the future. They tell you to pay attention to current events. They tell you to worry about your life, nothing else. They tell you to be serious, to have fun, to be sensible, to follow your dreams, to rely on no one, to ask for help, to-

FUCK WHAT THEY SAY

Who are they to tell you shit? They’re not you. They haven’t live your life, felt your feelings, thought your thoughts. Fuck ’em all.

What’s Right For You?

My life needs something/someone stable, but I need to be spontaneous, adventurous, creative, a free spirit. I need to take risks, make memories. I need to follow my heart, my passion, wherever it may lead. I need to love with my whole heart.

Many people have told me that I need to settle down. They’ve told me I can’t give so much of myself. They’ve told me I need to stop taking risks, that I need to think things through.

Fuck ’em.

I tried to live that life. I tried to mute myself, to put down roots, to calm myself and make choices based on logic.

I was miserable.
I sank into depression so deep I thought I’d never find my way out.
I didn’t want to exist anymore.

HOW IS THAT BETTER FOR ME?

Fuck that.

So, am I happy now? I’m getting there.

I am still in the process of returning to the life I need. I can’t do that in my current location, so I’m playing the waiting game while others once again try to tell me how to live.
Everything’s up in the air, people’s motives are cloudy, and I feel I’m stumbling around, blind.

But it’s okay. I’m excited.

But I’m getting there.

…

Wherever you’re at in life, whatever you’re doing… Be happy.

It’s just not worth it, otherwise.

Can’t Sleep? Write. (+voice)

I’ve gotten very little sleep lately. I am averaging around 2-3 hours a night. For someone with Narcolepsy, this is highly abnormal.

Today I made a couple of voice recordings. It was the only way I could get things out, and I needed to. I’m told my voice doesn’t sound like this IRL and God, I hope it doesn’t.

I’m not going to listen first. I’m not going to talk myself out of it. I’m just going to let it be.

I have been working on a specific blog entry for about 2 weeks now. I know it won’t matter to most people, but it is something I felt I needed to do. I think it needs to be finished tonight, but it is not as important as whatever this is about to become.

I need to get my head straight.

I have said it many times and will say it many more: I AM emotion. I am. For this reason, I make a lot of… let’s say… impulsive decisions. I follow my heart, always, because I must be true to myself.

I had a plan for this upcoming move, but I don’t trust that plan anymore. And now everything is up in the air.
I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what to do. And I’m waiting for a sign. I’m worried I’m trying too hard to see it. I’m worried I’m not in a state of mind where I can see it. I’m worried about worrying.

Funny thing… I am not the only one in this situation right now. One person is in a somewhat similar situation, and another… he spoke my heart tonight. He bared his soul and it matched mine and I cried. Actual tears streamed down. And I want to somehow make him see that I understand perfectly, but he is not one who knows me. He does not know to trust me.

But maybe that’s how it is meant to be. Maybe all I can do is say “I get it” and it will mean nothing. Maybe this isn’t about that.

I have to be me. If I continue to be true to myself, things will work out the way they should.

And I have tears again, just thinking about this change I have felt the past few days. I don’t know completely what it is, but I know that it’s beautiful. I know I have to wait and let the next step come to me.

This is going to lead me somewhere, I feel it. I am ready to follow.

I am all in.

Standstill.

I feel stuck.

Is there a worse feeling?

Obstacles surround me and it is impossible to see past them.

But I can still dream.

I know what I want and I know how to get it, I just have to wait; wait for my stars to align, or my ducks to get in a row, or what have you. There is no guarantee that this will actually happen, but I will try my damnedest to make it so.

Until then, here I sit.

Meanwhile, I am being more social. This is healthy, I’m told.

You know what’s not healthy? What’s going to happen to these overeager guys if they don’t back the fuck off.

Yes, I’m single. This doesn’t mean I’m desperate.
I joke. Sometimes my jokes are sexual. When someone is obviously not enjoying this interaction, I STOP. I don’t push the issue. I don’t bring it up over and over, hoping to “wear them down.” And I absolutely, 100%, DO NOT get upset if someone doesn’t join in.

Because I’m an adult.

I am so grateful that I have been meeting awesome new people and talking more to my wonderful friends. (On the Internet, of course. No one talks to people IRL. Yuck.) They have been keeping me from writing off the human race completely.

I’m not even going to try to give this a good, meaningful ending. I’m just too tired.