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.

Guess I should say something…

I feel like I should explain.. Like I have to justify my anger, my sadness, my time away. To be honest, I should not have to. Those who stand by me should understand… but who are those people anyway?

It’s been one sucker-punch after another. Just when I thought, for one second, that things were looking up – it all fell down. I had to take a few days to cope. Maybe I will need a few more.

Because the thing is, it is really difficult to go through this life alone. I know people are “there”… but they’re there for a quick vent, so we can go back to their problems. They’re there for gossip. They’re there to compete with me. They’re there for their own ulterior motives, and if anyone is actually there for me, I don’t know who they are.
And that’s not to say that no one cares. I have many who do. They have their own lives, their own problems, their own friends. They have no room to have me close. I don’t fit. And that is not their fault. I do no not hold that against them. It is just the way it is.

So I cry alone.

And during this time I’ve taken, I feel guilty. What if someone needs me? What if someone believes I’m unwilling or unable? But I don’t know how to rectify this, because how do you say

If you need me, I can be here.
If you want to be the one I need, I’m open.
But if you’re just going to throw meaningless bullshit my way, leave me the fuck alone.

When I dare to speak the truth, they think me hateful, cruel. They think me broken, damaged, unstable. But the truth is, I’m no more unstable than any one of them. I just don’t deny it. I don’t try to hide my mess in the shadows. It’s in the light for all to see. Because

I
Am
REAL.

But reality is far too much for many to handle. They shut it down, avoid it, tell themselves it’s something else. Whatever it takes to keep their worlds intact. And I don’t blame them.. I used to be one of them. I used to be able to numb myself and convince myself that it was okay. But that artificial life wasn’t enough for me. I had to break free of the robotic cage and allow myself to feel fully.

So here I am, feeling. And yes, it can be painful – even crippling at times – but when allowed, joy easily overpowers the pain, and the beauty of life is wonderous. Still, it is a lonely way of living. For one who loves so strongly, loneliness is a constant reminder of a purpose unlikely to ever be fulfilled. And surrounded by those I love, who cannot see the deep cuts from the shards of my shattered heart, the loneliness is overwhelming. So I must keep my distance as I heal, and remember that when I am ready, they will remember me.

Moody Bitch or Just Too Open?

I feel everything intensely… or I feel nothing. There is no in-between for me.

I can be hard to keep up with. I can be a lot to handle.

It would be easy for someone to thrust a label upon me. Some say I’m Bipolar, some say I’m severely depressed, some say I’m manic, some say I’m crazy.

In all honesty, I’m just…

Tired.

I’m tired of faking, of hiding, or holding back. I’m tired of letting opportunities slip by because I was too afraid to admit the truth. I’m tired of the mind games and the bullshit. I want to be open. I want to be honest. I want to be

Real.

So, here’s the truth:

I am afraid.

I’ve reached a point in my life where this huge move could change everything for me. It could be a legitimate future, instead of the usual “for now” that I always settle for. For the first time, it feels like I may be getting what I need most.

But

As usual, everything is crashing down on me. The pressure has tripled. Time is ticking away and the tasks required seem absolutely impossible. I don’t know the steps I need to be taking. All I know is that I need to make this work somehow. If I don’t… if I don’t, it might just kill me. Not physically, but I don’t know if this soul can take that failure. I have fought through way too much for such a silly thing to take me down, but it could. It could, because my whole heart is in this.

So, I hope the rest of my life will forgive me if I don’t give it the attention it deserves. I have to take care of this before I can be any good for anything else.

And love, if you’re out there… if the right one for me actually exists… Just hold on a little longer. Let me become myself again, so I can be what you deserve. I promise you a life of frustration and immeasurable joy. I promise you days that feel pulled straight from a movie and days of mellow contentment. I promise you a life of silliness and surprises and chaos. I promise you struggles, but rewards that are more than worth them. Most of all, I promise you love… love like you can’t even imagine.

I got this. I cannot fail. I have too much to look forward to.

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.

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.

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.