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.

Delete Delete Delete

I am finally, after 34 years, at a point where I am truly myself. No masking, no diluting, no persona to take control. And I want to show that, I want to help people see the real me… but there’s only so much they want to see. It differs with every person and it can be difficult to find the line.

Open up
Delete delete
Spill my guts
Delete delete delete
Say hi
Delete

I don’t know how to interact with people.

But I’m lucky, you know? I’m lucky because I found a few whom I truly fit with. Who, even when they don’t completely understand me, accept me. Adore me, even.

I don’t have to delete anymore.

And I guess that’s really what I need to follow. Not the ones who make me feel like there’s something wrong with me. Not the ones who make me wonder what they think or feel. Not the ones who keep me at arm’s length. The ones who show me that if I were gone, my absence would be felt.

Those are my people.

Those are the ones I won’t leave. I’d walk through Hell with them, without even being asked.

For the rest, I’ll simply fade away.

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.

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.

Friends.

My friends are my everything.

The people I know I can reach out to, to talk shit, get my mind off shit, or ask for help dealing with shit.
I may not always do it. I’m a loner and am not good at reaching out. But I know they are there.

The people who appreciate me.
They call it out or keep it silent, but I know they do. I know that my absence would be felt, that my presence makes a difference.

The people who check up on me.
When they notice some negativity, silence, or distant behavior, they reach out. They check in. They make sure all is well. Not with ulterior motives, but honestly FOR ME.

When you grow up surrounded by hatred, it can be difficult to accept love. It feels uncomfortable, disingenuous. Even if you do your best to be a kind and true friend, it doesn’t seem possible for others to be the same.

BULLSHIT!

Bitter, broken assholes have lied to you! The “nobody would care if you died” and “you are the most worthless thing” and “no one’s gonna love you; they’ll just lie to get something out of you” are nothing but PURE BULLSHIT.
YOU ARE NOT UNLOVABLE.

YOU
ARE
NOT
UNLOVABLE.

True Love exists, platonic and romantic. It’s out there, yours for the taking.
And I know this may be hard to accept, but

YOU FUCKING
DESERVE IT.
💜

I wouldn’t say I’m doing “well.” Things are rough. I’m having a hard time coping. But it’s a lot easier when you know your friends have your back.

 

⇐◊⇒

 

And I know some people see things like this and think, “Ugh, this emotional shit again.”
This is who I am. If you haven’t made peace with it by now, I doubt you ever will.
Don’t let me bring you down, just let go of me and move on.
I will not be offended. I love who I am, but I’m not for everybody.

And I absolutely will NOT
mute
dilute
change,
or
be untrue to myself
for anyone.

 

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.

 

“Why?”

I don’t remember how we got on the subject. My 9 year old and I both have ADD, so the topic of conversation kept morphing. Somehow, we got to the subject of “Why,” and why it matters.

Oh, I remember how. But that’s not important.

 

Why Talk to Him About It?

First, let me tell a little about my relationship with my children.

My oldest son is 15. He is intelligent, charming, and compassionate. He is also Autistic. People often notice that he rarely speaks and immediately decide to write him off. I do not do this, but I understand who he is and how he uses his significant brainpower. Therefore, I do not have conversations of this nature with him.

My youngest is 9. He is a humanitarian in the making. When he speaks (constantly), his whole heart is in it. Ever since he was very young, I noticed the strength of love he has for others and I spoke to him often of things that would facilitate this quality. When I still had contact with my family, my sister once told me, “You put too much on him.”

I disagree.

My son is still very much a kid. Despite poverty and other struggles, he has a wonderful childhood. It is silly and fun, but also full of love and empathy. The way I raise my children is customized to who they are, not what other people tell me is “the right way.”

(You keep it up with your “Facebook-perfect” family, sis. But I’m going another way.)

When discussing differences in people and why we should appreciate them, I told my son that one of the things I adore most about him is the interest and attention he shows when we have these in-depth conversations.

“Really?”

“Yes! I’ve talked to parents of kids who are your age or older and they can’t imagine their kids having conversations like this. In fact, I have known many adults who don’t have the focus or willingness to learn and grow like you do. You understand things that so many people out there never will. And as you get older, you will learn how to understand more and more. The people out there, the ones so filled with hate? They don’t understand others. A lot of them don’t even understand themselves. And there’s one way to make sure that you continue to grow. All it takes is one word.”

“What?! One word?”

“Yep. ‘Why?'”

 

Example One

I began explaining with an example of “let’s say… you were angry at me for not letting you talk on the phone to ________.
How can you learn from this situation? Ask, ‘why?'”

“Why…?”

“Why would you be angry?”

“Because he’s my best friend.”

“Why is he your best friend?”

(A bunch of cute reasons followed.)

“Okay, so for all of those reasons, talking to him makes you happy, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, broken down, we understand that you’re angry because I won’t let you do something that makes you happy. A bit obvious to begin with, but you understand your reasons a little more fully. Now, to better understand others, we have to look at the other side. Why wouldn’t I let you talk to him?
Let’s say… you didn’t clean your room. Why would I want you to clean your room?”

“Because I could get hurt stepping on the toys and they are in the way of getting to the windows in case of a fire.”

“So, to keep you safe.”

“Yes.”

“Now we understand both sides. This will help us make a decision.”

“Huh?”

“We both need something. You need this thing that makes you happy. I need you to be safe. So we look at our needs and find out which should be more important. Is this one phone call worth risking your safety?”

“No!”

“So after thinking through the whole situation, and deciding that safety is more important, do you think you would still be mad at me?”

“No, but I would feel bad.”

“This is how we grow. Instead of feeling something negative and just holding onto it, we look at all the ‘whys’ to see if we can fix it. You wouldn’t be angry that I wanted you to be safe. You might feel sad about the missed phone call or about not cleaning your room, but you can fix those by cleaning it.”

 

Example Two

“Now, let’s make it a little more serious. You know how race is a big issue right now, right? Let’s say you were talking to a friend and you said a word that seemed perfectly harmless to you, but your friend seemed heartbroken, or even betrayed. You could get mad, or you could try to understand by asking…”

“Why?”

“Why is she upset? She may need time to calm down, but when she’s ready, you should ask. Let’s say that she said a word was a racist term. Would you say it again?”

“NO! I would NEVER say it again.”

“That’s right, because you understand why she’s upset. Some people would stop there. They’d either just stop saying it, or they might be jerks and say something like, ‘It’s just a word! It’s only racist because you make it racist!’ The jerks refuse to learn, refuse to to try to understand and grow. But you’re not like that. You can just stop saying that word, but what if you took it a step further? What if you asked your friend ‘why?'”

“Why what?”

“Why the word is racist. Let’s say she told you that it was a word that slave-owners used to call their slaves. You would understand that using that word made her feel like you were treating her like a slave. You would make absolutely certain that you never said it again. But you could change things for others, too.”

“I could?”

“Well, if you had stopped at ‘It’s racist,’ then you would tell anyone who said it that it’s racist, right?”

“Yes! I would not want other people to say it.”

“Okay, but what if they said it’s not racist and kept saying it anyway? Now, because you asked ‘why,’ you have a reason that it’s racist. If they still say it, they are racist and you stay away from them. But they could learn from it and never say it again. And you know what? Your friend and that person are not the only ones you helped by doing this.”

“They’re not?”

“Nope. Think about how many people have heard you speak during your life. 9 years of talking.”

“Sooooo many.”

“Yeah, you talk a lot. Thousands and thousands have heard you in these 9 years. The rest of your life is even longer. So think about how many people would have heard that one word that hurts them. You stopped saying it, so all those people in the future will have a little bit of a better day because you won’t say that word. And it’s the same with every person you convince to stop. All of the people who would have heard them say it, won’t. Those days will be a little better for them because of you. This is why we stand up for others. You’d be a superhero! You’d save thousands of people that little bit of pain. All because you asked, ‘why?'”

“That’s a little scary, but also really cool.”

“It really is.”

 

Why I Decided to Post This

It’s been hours since this conversation was had, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m so proud of my boy. As energetic and fidgety as he is, he really pays attention. He makes sure he understands, because he wants to learn. “It’s kind of funny that I’m growing, but not on the outside,” he said today. I told him his body will take care of the outside, but it’s my job to make sure he grows on the inside. It’s my job to make sure he grows into a good man.

I wish that parents were less afraid to have these conversations. Our kids understand so much more than we think. Let them ask questions! Let them decide how deep they’re willing to go. It’s not going to steal their childhood. It will enhance it.

Let’s stop stifling their whys! Yes, we all have moments of “can you just do it?” or “just listen,” but for the most part, we need to let them ask. We need to let them learn. Our children will shape the future. They will pass on what they’ve learned, so their children can do the same. It will go on and on. Forever.

This is on us.  Parent or not, you can teach and inspire others. Those people can do the same. But we can’t do any of it until we learn, ourselves. So, do me a favor?

It’s super easy.

Just one little word.

Just ask

“Why?”

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?