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.

Internet Mask

Here’s the thing…

You have no idea who I am. You see such a small part of me.

And I may try to tell you, but that’s not right either. Even if you hear me, even if you listen openly, all I can share is my own interpretation. And you, you will take my words and stretch them and push them and try to fit them into some form that works for you. Then you will say that I am perfect or that I am garbage, but it won’t be me. It will be your projection.

And we run this risk even in person, but over a long distance, the difference is extreme. I know this, I know this, yet I still try to form bonds. I cannot resist the urge, as I see so much in you and want to know more. I want to be there, I want to see you, know you, admire you, cherish you.

But you have no idea.

You don’t know that even just the part I see makes you so important to me.

And it hurts. And it’s exhausting. And though logic says others may feel the same about me, experience says that they prefer their projections. Reality is too real. It’s too intense, too meaningful. If they get too close, they have to care, and caring takes effort that they just are not willing to give.

It’s okay. I get it.

So they keep saying “I’m here, I care!” and I keep smiling and nodding and thanking them for their falsehood. They feel good for their offer and are happy to not have to follow through. I feel…

Alone.

Always alone.

But it’s okay! It’s okay, I’m fine! I’ll be back to myself in no time! Really, everything is good! Because if it’s not, then they feel bad, and we can’t have that! I smile and laugh and joke and they don’t see through it, because they don’t want to. We part and all is well.

For them.

But eventually, the mask starts to crack. I panic, and my fear is performed as resentment for having to wear it at all. This is not understood – of course it’s not, how could it be? – and what they see is unwarranted aggression. I cannot blame them. I don’t want to hurt them. I love them.

So I hide. I hide until I can put my”self” back together. I hide until I can fix the false face I will forever hide behind. I hide and my soul cries out for someone to notice, for someone to genuinely care, for someone to offer more than empty words. I turn up the music to drown out the aggressive silence. I lay in darkness and listen to lyrics of what I will never have, and am happy to know that others get to experience that which I long for.

Through this vicarious love, I will heal.

And I will be back to love you. I will wear my mask enthusiastically for you all. I will offer genuine affection, I will show the part of my heart that is full and bright and truly present for you. The honest positivity will shine, hiding the pain from view, and all will be well.

For a while.

But the mask doesn’t last as long as it used to. Sometimes I wonder how long it will be until I have to disappear for good.

But it’s okay! It’s okay, I’m fine! I’ll be back to myself in no time! Really, everything is good!

It has to be.

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.

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.” 😂

***

Dear Life,

We need to talk. The way things are… it’s just not working out.

I try to take a break to clear my head and you come back with more intensity than ever, which makes me distant again, which makes you intense, and on and on…

I can’t do this anymore.

I’m not saying I want to give up. Despite what I may say in the heat of the moment, I truly love you. I do. I wouldn’t trade you in for all the money and success in the world.

But this is getting way too hard. Something needs to change.

I’m not trying to throw blame. We’re in this together. All I can say is what I need from you, and what I can offer in return.

So here it is.

I need you to lighten my load a bit. I feel overwhelmed as things are, and it’s difficult to want to hold everything together when I can’t take it anywhere. I need to be able to move forward, and I just don’t think I can when everything is so heavy.

In return, I promise to be more present, the way I used to be. I’ll appreciate you more, and the journey we’re on together, even when it’s a bit rocky. I’ll stop looking behind me with a sore heart, and only look back with clear eyes and mind, learning from our traveled path in order to aid in the road ahead.

I will smile more and sing again.

Can we do this? Can we agree to stop making things harder on each other and make our walk a great deal lighter?

I want to continue this journey with you for as long as possible. Please help me make this happen.

With Love,

Ducky.

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.

Broken Strength

I’m trying my best to not be broken. I try to be a person and I stall. I feel… unwell. I was hoping this wouldn’t come back. I was hoping that my life would fight it off. It is a lot less extreme than usual, but it is still there. It does disappear for a time, when someone breaks through. They are my happiness. Sometimes I am too broken, I don’t want to let them. I’m afraid it won’t work. I’m afraid this will stay.

I feel anxious and brokenhearted. I have no reason for this. My life is complicated, messy, and difficult, but it is also unbelievably beautiful. I am happy, even in my bouts of depression. I hear the saying, “She carries the weight of the world on her shoulders,” and I’ve always felt it arrogant to claim this about myself, but I feel the heaviness. I never thought it to be so literal, yet I can hardly stand under the burden.

But I would not change it.

I want to feel it. I need it. I can’t be disconnected. If I don’t bear the weight, then I don’t understand the heaviness, and if I don’t understand, then I don’t see clearly. So I’ll take it all. I’ll take it and let it show me truth, so that I may speak it to others.

Right now, I hardly have the energy to speak. But this is the time when I can focus; feel it, see it, know it, so I may speak of it in the future. It hurts. Sometimes I feel it is too much to take. Sometimes I want to scream. Sometimes I want to run away from the ones I love, so they don’t have to see my struggle. In the past, I wanted to end it all, remove myself from this world, so I no longer had to face it, face myself and my inability to be the hero I long to be. But now… Now I hold it. Now, as my weakened legs wobble, I shrug and keep holding on. Now it is done because it needs to be done, and I recognize it as my duty.

My present life is my strength. My hope for the future is my endurance. My love is the reason I am breathing. As long as these things remain, I know that I will always be okay. What I have, what I am now, is enough. Though I may not always do so with a smile, I can take it. All of it. And it will only get better from here.

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.