Honesty

It’s been a while. I stopped posting because I promised myself that I wouldn’t put anything on here if I started choosing my words based on the readers’ feelings. I don’t know where the worry came from or why, but it was there. It was there and that meant that whatever I said wouldn’t be what I really wanted to say.

Well, fuck that. Hiding never got me anywhere.

So here’s the ugly truth: It all hurts a little right now. I feel so stupid for feeling this way. My life is pretty damn great and a lot of my hardships are my own doing… But there’s a heaviness in my chest and it’s making me less than my best. I don’t want anyone to see it. I don’t want anyone to see my weakness.

Why do I keep forgetting that there’s strength in weakness? That there can be no courage without fear?

So yes, it hurts. I’ve frozen. I’m not taking care of the things I need to be taking care of. There are too many, I can’t focus enough to see priority, and so I
just
stand
still.

And there’s nothing I hate more. Being stuck, making no progress, I cannot stand it! Absentmindedly, I scratch and claw at my own skin, as if trying to dig to the part of me that gets shit done.

Which, of course, just creates more problems.

I’m trying to fix it, but I’m just treating the symptoms, not the disease. I could get help, I know I could, but I don’t want to burden anyone. I exaggerate and joke about more entertaining, less significant flaws, using misdirection to take focus off the things I don’t want noticed.

And it works (mostly).
But I hate it.

So, here I am, saying what I don’t want to say. I’ve stopped typing more times than I can count, distracted myself, trying to escape the discomfort, giving myself an out. You’re reading this, so obviously I didn’t take it.

Hey, that’s a little progress itself.

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.

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.

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.

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.

 

A Whole Lot of Nothing

I feel like I should say something
But I don’t know what.

The world is in chaos. COVID-19 has killed over half a million. The “Black Lives Matter” movement has the country in an uproar. These (and less major current events) have brought out the selfish, the hateful, the bitter. Humanity is heartbreaking.

But there’s nothing I can say to make a difference in any of that.

It’s 2 am and my heart is racing. This has nothing to do with the events of society, however. Every year, when the weather warms, anxiety hits. I also get weak, dizzy, and nauseous if I do not have enough cool air blowing directly on me. I cannot eat much, because all but a few items leave me in pain and/or vomiting uncontrollably.

But I am dealing well with it.

I am stuck, unable to move to a place where I can have freedom, friends, a life. All projects I was previously working on, have halted. I have withdrawn from friends, preferring to isolate myself in order to prevent mood swings.
I am alone.

But I am okay.

So what is there to say?

I suppose my best-case scenario is that I will come out of this Summer understanding myself a little better. I feel this has already begun.
I have realized that Summer and all of the physical/emotional issues it brings have always caused me to latch onto something. Usually this is a person who has shown interest in me, someone I otherwise would not involve myself with. These relationships are never healthy, yet I stubbornly, desperately cling to them. For months, these people steal my money, my things, and my sense of self. Somehow, I am always shocked by these results.

But this year is different. This year, I’m holding onto me.

I’m not going anywhere new. I’m not doing anything great. But at least I can be a better me.

That’s something, right?