I have not been “active” in... well, a minute, at least. My current favorite thing is to grossly underestimate time. It amuses me. Perhaps it will amuse you.
I don’t know who I am writing this message to. Perhaps it’s to you. Perhaps it’s to me. But I think I need to write it, as a favor for myself, and perhaps to let you all know that I am indeed alive and existing.
I ended a relationship last week. This is very strange to me. I have not been by myself for a while. I have lost touch with myself. I lost myself in taking care of someone to the point that it hurt me. I sacrificed my own happiness, independence, social circle, and sense of security because I did not know how to love myself, so I was willing to accept things that hurt me.
At this point in my life, I am sitting down and looking at all of the things I used to be. I used to wear bright colors, flowers, and eccentric jewelry. I used to have fun, androgynous hair. I used to experiment with fun makeup. I used to be confident in the way I spoke, and how I thought, and how I perceived the world. I remember being this way. I remember it in the way you might recall how you were before puberty - some character that used to be you, but isn’t you, now, that you reflect on with some nostalgia and sadness.
This relationship dimmed me. I can say this, now that I am out of it. I can say that I stopped wearing bright things, that I started covering myself up more, that I hid behind neutral colors and plain panes of color without pattern. I took out my interesting jewelry. I dyed my hair a natural color. I let it grow. I stopped wearing makeup. I started to stammer when I spoke. I started to believe that I did not see the world properly, that I was not intelligent, that I was not talented, not worthwhile, not worthy. I became some withered little thing that couldn’t think on its own, that jumped at strange sounds, that stayed up until the sun came up because the only time I felt safe was when I was completely alone, unbothered.
I love my ex-partner. Allow me to say this. I do love him. But it was not good for me. It was not good for him. I allowed him to cut off the entire world around me, to leave me isolated and scared and trapped, because I was desperate to be protected and liked. He did this because this was what he knew of love - that it hurts you, again and again, and makes sure that the doors only lock from the outside. This is not his fault. We did not know better. But I will know better, now.
Reflecting on these things, I understand why I wrote BGBS the way I did it. All along, I wrote Kurogane as my partner’s surrogate - a nervous, isolated man who grew up without parents capable of loving him right, who compensated by compulsive cleaning and a difficulty in regulating his emotional state. It was not intentional, but was how I wrote Kurogane. This leads me to realize I had written myself as Far, inadvertently, with all of the traits I have that I hate, like my ability to be cold, my ability to hide, my ability to hurt, and my resentment to a life that leaves me trapped. Thinking of this helps me realize why I wrote them as I did, and what this meant about the state of my own relationship.
I am feeling emptied out and tired. I have spent time sitting silent in the city, watching people walk by. There is a couple I see, often, walking with their hands held together, talking comfortably. There is a professor I see, weekly, who is just seconds away from applauding with joy whenever he talks about his wife. These people feel far away from me, at times, because I want to be like them, and I don’t know how, yet.
For the first time in a long time, I do not want love in the way I used to. I used to crave romantic affection to the extent that it was pathological at best, and only led to me being exploited. I would take anything, so long as it looked like it could cover me up from the cold, or make sure no strangers’ eyes looked at me too long. But that is not love. I am realizing that. I just wanted to feel that someone could protect me, or that someone would at least try. And I thought that was what I had had. I think he tried.
We loved each other in the only way we knew how to. So we did it wrong.
Now, I find myself only wishing for friendship, companionship, and meaning. I feel a big void in the center of me, the sort of thing I used to keep filled up with other people, or alcohol, or anything else that could keep my mind from recognizing that there was, indeed, a big void where meaning ought to be. I feel the void, and I dislike it, and I want to ask if others feel it, too.
This is just a rambling sort of thing - I think I will occasionally “journal” on here, if no one minds, but I will remain mostly inactive while I figure out how to handle my current circumstances. In the mean time, I wish you well, and ask you to take care of yourself.
