Refresh. Regroup. Return.
A place to put my thoughts -- the ramblings of a scattered mind.
--------------------------------
the good stuff: written / pictorial
"do more things your child self would be in awe of"
This should be enough.
This has, at the core, been my guiding light over the past couple of months since I was laid off again.
I find myself desperate to build a life divorced from "success" -- what my previous self thought that meant, what my family and friends think that means, what the spector of peer pressure from earlier days that continues to haunt me insists it means. I'm likewise desperate to avoid landing in the same position yet again of feeling like I've sold myself into slavery, leading to severe burnout and deepening depression. I'm more desperate still to gain momentum in finally getting a handle on the health issues that have cropped up in recent years & gone largely ignored because employment took priority (and was often directly at odds with my well-being).
Instead: I am using the tools at my disposal to slow down, and I am finally trying to enjoy the ride without agonizing & strategizing & optimizing every second of every day while simultaneously feeling paralyzed by possibilities & doubt.
I am getting a handle on my diet. I'm exploring ways to calm my (completely shot) nervous system. I am getting whatever rest my body & brain need while they continue to heal themselves. I'm taking baby steps towards getting back into shape despite ME/CFS. I'm seriously considering returning to school. I have the opportunity to finally coordinate big ticket things for my home & just need the bandwidth to coordinate it, depending on the success of the aforementioned endeavors.
All of this falls on deaf ears, though.
I'm daring to envision a life for myself where I am deeply satisfied -- bordering on fulfilled -- and seeking out challenges without being forced into overwhelm. Ryan opened all of these doors for me, mentally & emotionally, and this is my time to explore the proverbial castle of what could be a beautiful future. It's possible for me to establish and run my own business. It's possible to become a mother someday, despite what I feel are my myriad limitations. It's enough to just be loved by him everyday, truthfully. Getting the chance to share a life with him, travel together, cook together, learn together, laugh together, and treat each other with kindness is enough.
These are the things my child self would be in awe of -- not employment. Not jet setting. Not an HGTV-ready house or an influencer-grade lifestyle. Being loved and supported by someone wonderful while finally learning to show up for myself is exactly what Child Me envisioned.
These are the things that keep you up at night; that drift into your mind when you are idle and stay there, causing an intense sensation of dread that grips the mind and confuses the body, blending reality with the hallucinogenic terror of a nightmare. The implication of the thing is so immense, so frightening, that no matter how many times you turn it over trying to find a solution -- you realize there is none. It would cause a paradigm shift that would change the course of your life, and you would never be the same again. It has not concretely happened and there may not even be signs that it is anywhere on the horizon... but somehow, it's as if your body already knows and is bracing for impact. No amount of rationalization helps to soothe this, outside of blatant denial.
But then it comes.
You receive confirmation that what you've suspected -- what you, for however long, desperately tried to convince yourself wasn't the case -- has come to fruition. Perhaps you or others constructed elaborate narratives to justify the belief that it wasn't possible, chalking up your somatic precognizance to mere paranoia. After all, most people believe in basing all decisions and actions in concrete reality, and you've worried yourself sick over a silly little suspicion.
But then it comes.
You feel like a wrecking ball was swung against your stomach; like all the air has left your lungs, like your intestines have been pulverized, like you are now a pile of bone fragments and liquefied meat that is going to be expected to get right up, brush yourself off, and move forward with grace. The one-two punch of your fear materializing and the immediate dismissal of it leaves you disoriented. You can't tell which direction is up, much less peel yourself off of the floor and walk.
But then it comes.
The same people who told you there was no wrecking ball, that it was nowhere near you and couldn't hurt you, now tell you matter-of-factly that you should've seen it coming and you shouldn't have been standing where you were. They will tell you that nothing matters besides getting up and moving on -- that's life, after all, just nonstop wrecking balls around every corner.
There is no space, no consideration, for your grief. Move it along. If you were anticipating this, haven't you already grieved it in a sense? Was that not how you spent the sleepless nights and days fraught with fear?
You have no choice but to face reality head-on -- alone -- and rely on your own wisdom to navigate your new world.
I have some vague familiarity with the waters close to shore, but I'm setting sail and heading out to sea without a map in hand. I've heard tales of monsters wandering the depths; of waves as tall as skyscrapers that would shatter my ship in an instant; of how vast, empty, and lonely it can be to venture alone. I don't care.
I feel called to it. I have spent a lifetime standing on the beach, toes in the sand, purportedly where I was meant to be -- still I'd look out and wonder: Is the key to everything out there, yet to be discovered? Do these waves lapping at the shore hold the answer to my prayers? The only way to find out is to go and live it for myself.
Loved ones tried to dissuade me, saying it was too dangerous to sail on my own; that I would only meet certain death out at sea. They think themselves to be wise, living lives devoid of exploration. They don't understand the pull, the call, the spiritual imperative to do this. Risking it all in the hopes of finding happiness is my only real option.
We instantly sank into a rhythm where we'd be comfortable with one another,
yet we didn't.
I noted every accidental touch
I noted the purposeful touches
I noted every time I wanted to reach out and touch you but didn't, due to prior experiences and feeling afraid of sparking the subtle but inevitable downfall of what this could be
-----
The elation in learning you wanted more,
The revelation that you see and understand me more concretely than most care to,
The exaltation in discovering that you are willing to meet me halfway,
I feel completed in this moment and joyful to discover what happens next.
-----
I think I caught a glimpse of myself in you, but
like catching one's reflection in an ornate mirror,
I find myself more interested in admiring you than my own image.
Where were you made? Who carved you? Tell me about all of the places you've been rolled around to. How did your various dents, dings, and scratches come about? You're beautifully worn, yet still fully functional. Intact and doing exactly what you're intended to do.
How do I keep you?
-----
I need to know what I can add to your life.
I need to know that I am simply wanted, if not truly needed.
I will feel like a burden and spin my wheels like a tanker truck stuck in the mud, trying to get out of the feeling, unable to gain traction, just driving myself further into the muck. I'm carrying a heavy and hazardous load which cannot be permitted to spill -- I just need you to be the board to get me out of it.
-----
Three lines in the straw that I will draw regarding our relationship dynamic, respective of us both:
1) Jealousy
2) Possessiveness
3) Entitlement
-----
You carry such presence with you;
I cannot express with words how much it means to enjoy the silence alongside you and simply bask in the world for a while, though I suppose "bliss" might do the trick;
I found myself melting in your gaze and opening with your touch;
your scent, your voice, your heartbeat calmed me so;
you allow me to be a different version of myself -- one I lost a very long time ago and didn't believe I could ever find and embody again, one that's truer and kinder and more patient by way of not actively raging and thrashing against the external world;
again, I ask: How do I keep you?
-----
I wonder sometimes, what do we have to offer to one another? What can we provide that is healing, or that fills in the gaps in our respective lives and within ourselves?
I don't venture to guess what that is for me within you. Frankly, it's none of my business and it would be foolish to offer something that you're not interested in receiving.
But I've realized what it is for you within me -- as time goes by, you're giving me a kind of courage that I didn't expect to spring up within myself. I am stepping up and releasing myself from the cage that I've locked myself into, feeling emboldened to exist in the world as my authentic self again. You give me the space that's needed for such a reemergence, and I'm incredibly grateful to you for that.
Can I keep you?
-----
I would like to spend whatever's left of my lifetime giving you everything.
-----
Your presence lingered -- an energetic imprint left in the place where you rested, like a footprint in the sand.
How long until the tide comes in and washes it away?
-----
I awoke with such an intense aching for you that I wept, begging my heart to stop thrashing against my ribs and be still.
I want to grow old with you -- I don't know how much longer I can pretend that this isn't the case. I have enjoyed your company and getting to know you so thoroughly, the only word that's ever on my mind now is "Forever?"
Please, may I give you everything??
-----
I fall asleep loving you. I wake up loving you. I live every moment of my life wishing to hold you in body and in spirit.
Is there -- can there really, deeply and truly be -- more to life than that?
-----
It feels far too soon to be questioning, "Did I dream you?"
In my self-punishing way, I have begun the process of eviscerating my own heart and callously gaslighting myself into believing that you were actually only in it for the sex, and I simply began to say progressively crazier & crazier things that made you cut me off.
That is easier.
I am so sorry for the love I spilled upon you that complicated everything. I'm sorry for insisting on (or at the very least encouraging) total honesty. I feel like this was all my fault.
-----
You've sunk your scorpionic hook into me.
I told myself (and everybody else) thus far that I safely had one foot out the door, and could exit this whenever it got too risky.
This is no longer true. You have captured me in my entirety, and I'm left paralyzed simply waiting to be devoured by you. I cannot and will not fight this any longer.
I've never wanted or needed anyone this badly. All of the prose I've ever written has merely been an exercise in preparation of this: the emotional apocalypse that has put all of my prepping to the test. My bug-out bag was ready, my execution was flawless, and I successfully kept myself alive.
What lies on the other side? What happens when you not only meet but transcend this certain kind of death?
Rebirth, obviously. My life, mind, & soul will be wholly different on the other side of this. I no longer have any choice but to embrace and follow this new reality.
-----
He says he wants forever with me,
he doesn't care about being married, but
he wants a child together someday, and he's here
now, in full, showing up every single day
morning, noon, and night.
He is Dependable.
He is Warm.
He is Supportive.
He is Wonderful.
I find it hard to allow myself to believe in good things,
to bet on the future. To believe in others,
when I'm all too familiar with wayward self-interest.
He speaks a language that I've only ever heard
in my own head and my own heart.
Though reserved, though restrained,
when he reveals himself to me, I see him completely.
I love him entirely.
He has dared me to dream again,
to write a new chapter in my own story,
to envision a future that I thought was long lost.
I found the greatest love of my life, and that scares me so terribly that I can't admit it to him, myself, or anybody else.
If I'm being honest, I'm not surprised that we've landed here. I came across something that I shouldn't have weeks ago, kept that from you in turn, and it helped to cushion the blow once you finally came clean. No other explanation made sense.
I can't help but wonder why you refrained from bringing it up. What did you really have to lose? This is so low-stakes for you, after all... Why bother concealing it, unless humiliating me further down the road was always part of the plan? I nevertheless commend you for finally growing a backbone and being forthcoming.
I don't intend to cast aspersions. I do believe that we've both been earnest in saying that we didn't expect to develop these kinds of feelings for one another. I understand if you were caught off-guard and it clouded your judgement. I might have done the same thing in another life.
With that in mind: this cannot be considered "ethical" non-monogamy. I have my own complicated history of lying by omission, and it doesn't sit right with me now -- especially in a context such as this. ENM requires acknowledgement and approval from all involved parties, and does not rest on one individual's insistence of "Trust me, bro, she's cool with it." As uncomfortable as it may be, I would need your wife's direct consent before we could say this is fully aboveboard. Anything less feels like cheating and I (however surprising it may be, even to myself) struggle to stomach the idea of knowingly being "the other woman", the side-piece, the whore, etc. I could handle dipping back into polyamory and being a secondary partner -- but this heavily relies on your behavior and your ability to be fully honest. Perhaps you have had these conversations with your wife, perhaps she has already granted permission, and perhaps it's a "don't ask, don't tell" situation. I can't possibly know that, though, and it will always quietly gnaw at me.
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II.
I don't know what my expectations are, at this point. I find myself just as relieved by this revelation as I am dismayed. I have always worried that I don't have enough to offer to keep a partner fully satisfied -- so being "part-time" so to speak might allow me to channel what little I can give into meaningful experiences. I know that I love you, admire you, and want to keep you in my life. I still find myself uninterested in exploring something lesser with someone else. I don't mind sharing you -- isn't that essentially what we all do with one another, in the grand scheme of things? When every friendship and relationship involves divvying ourselves up to allow other people to hold a piece of our souls?
At least for now, I can accept this. I don't believe that trying to anticipate (or fixating on) the future is healthy or productive, and I am happy & at peace with the present moment. Naturally, I'm curious to know more & seek to understand the full breadth of your existing relationship -- but if we're really keeping things more hands-off, I'm in no position to make demands.
It begins with the knowledge, the wisdom, that there is no greater feeling or experience on Earth than sex. I'm convinced that anyone who believes otherwise has simply not been blessed with good enough sex yet. Rationalists and their cohorts love to dispute the existence of "magic" wholesale, but there isn't a better explanation for the phenomenon of what occurs through sex -- what is created and what is destroyed, almost as if it's a form of alchemy in itself. It is, in and of itself, a source of infinite energy in that amorous & carnal feelings and power are pulled from the Ether, from "nothing", and used as fuel to propel (and then perpetuate) this rhythmic intertwining of bodies. The fact that it can take on so many forms and faces: it can be beautiful and artful, ugly and grotesque, fast, slow, right, wrong, prideful, sinful, open, private, and everything in between on each of these spectra. I believe it to be the ultimate expression of our humanity -- one of the rare things in life that cannot feasibly be intellectualized away or fully commodified. There will always, always be humans who are ready and eager to freely share this resource with others. ("Free Love" is a form of revolution in this way, and I hope to write on it further in the future.) Those who offer it imbued with love to those seeking something deeper, something that can in an instant mean both everything and absolutely nothing... These people are a gift, regardless of whether they are appropriately utilized or appreciated.
Chaotic Sexual Magnetism, channeled through The Feminine
So how do I wield this energy? By being raw, and disarmingly receptive to others' energetic fields. By making the conscious choice to tear down the walls that we all unconsciously construct as we go about our lives. By offering radical presence alongside this wanton vulnerability. By understanding that, at their core, despite whatever masks they adopt to seem aloof, ultra-logical and calculating, or stoic: most men are voyeurs and will look upon you with genuine curiosity when you reveal yourself to them in this way. It's exciting to be welcomed in. This is how all great love affairs begin, even if they ultimately end in their own uniquely tragic ways.
I assert that this form of attraction requires a high degree of so-called "chaos". You have to occupy a brainspace wherein each of these meetings holds equal importance -- In the moment that the two of you are sharing, it's vital to feel that this is The One; this is everything; I've waited my entire life to get to fuck this person; this is somehow nowhere and everywhere, never and always, yet entirely & unquestionably in-and-of the here and now. There is immense power in granting someone your undivided attention. You know that electricity is stored inside you, and every placement of your fingertips (intentional or otherwise) will give off sparks. You must want to touch and be touched, and remember that there is quite seriously no room for insecurities in this space. You need to be fearless, and you'll be progressively rewarded for each thing you could be afraid of but instead act in bold defiance of. You are there to both feed and be devoured, finally, and it will happen if you let it. The moment may not last forever & it may not happen ever again, so you need to fuck this person like your life depends on it & make it count. Actively write sense memories as you explore their body -- you'll be thankful later when you remember not how they looked, but how they smelled, how they tasted, how they TRULY felt... every bump, bristle, groove, and delicious little nook-and-cranny. Their body is a New World, and you're aiming to map it. Synchronize your frequencies and remain in harmony with one another as you're navigating across varying wavelengths together.
Above all: though love is not a prerequisite for great sex, you do need to express love in the moment with every molecule in your body. Radiate it. Show them tenderness, show them grace, show them that they are beautiful & deserve everything that life has to offer and more. If all of this is done (and done well), this person will not be leaving your encounter unchanged. It may still not be Love and things may not work out in the long run, but there's a guarantee that the sex will be utterly phenomenal so long as you're involved.
A retrospective, of sorts, exploring past relationships and reflecting on their true impact. I aimed for total accountability, heartfelt memories, and some humor. Please enjoy.
TW;SA
Kevin/Kim (Sept 2011 - Sept 2016)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
My first official relationship. We met on Reddit in a local R4R sub. We both enjoyed nature, Zen Buddhism, indie music, and a host of other things that made for a fast and deep connection. There were ten years between us (18 & 28) but it was never an issue in the slightest; they taught me a lot about life, and I believe I offered a wellspring of optimism that was greatly appreciated. It was seamless. We both felt out-of-place and like we didn't really belong in the present, and we expressed that through our art and various crafts. We traveled all across the state together and explored a mutual love of the outdoors by camping, kayaking, and occasionally fucking out in the wild. I bought us a 30-year-old RV, which we planned to live in full-time and travel the country camp-hosting in various state & national parks & forests. (The thing was a clunker though, and we made it as far as south-central Georgia before it shit the bed for good.) We did end up taking a singular camp-hosting gig for the summer before admitting defeat and returning to St. Pete with our tails between our legs. After that, we moved out of their parents' house where we'd spent two wonderful years together and into our first apartment. Kim began her transition at this time -- I supported her wholeheartedly and loved her to pieces. I never allowed myself to admit how much it hurt to lose "Kevin", though.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
We did begin to grow apart throughout her transition, and I felt somewhat stifled. This being my first relationship, I wanted to see "what else was out there". We opened the relationship, and I fucked around and ended up falling hard for a different jackass on this list. Takeaway: I am actually capable of being wholly loved, and the relationship's demise will likely always be my fault due to my wandering eye.
Alex (Aug 2014-June 2016)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
He was a neighbor in our first apartment complex. He like... emitted low self-esteem and softness, and I was really attracted to that. He was a little bit of an incel and generally unkind to women. We drank together a shit ton, partied too hard, and fell into a super dysfunctional romance. He liked that he could indulge in his romantic impulses with me without any deeper expectations; to some extent I liked being treated like shit and having my budding alcoholism fully supported.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
I ended this for the same reason (or really, person) as Kim. Alex wanted more of the romance over time... perhaps he genuinely did develop real & deep feelings for me over time. I'm sure he was crushed when Kim and I left him. He allowed me to shed the "good girl" complex that had plagued me entering adulthood, and ushered in the shameless hedonism that followed for years to come.
Riley (2014-2015)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
A coworker with an incredibly chill vibe and a compatible mind. He had an air of determination and self-assuredness that was really captivating. I loved talking with him and spending stolen moments together. He was different than anyone else I'd known up to that point, and he was direct in communicating what he liked about me and to what extent he wanted us to be friends. A healthy boundary-setter, I suppose.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
Once again, I started getting more serious and more wrapped-up in the person to come. (I think his on-again/off-again thing with his girl had picked back up, as well.) Riley did teach me that I valued having someone to just hang with and find a comfortable level of vulnerability & intimacy with, without it becoming an end-all-be-all thing.
James (late 2015-mid 2018)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
This was the one. As in, Thee One. I met him at work and became positively obsessed with him. His sense of humor, the way he navigated his sense of self through others around him, his shitty attitude that revealed a longing for more; for better. I had to have him in whatever regard I could get him. I still vividly remember our first date: one of the English bars in South Pasadena, where we talked both in a booth and at the bar (?) and shared our stories with one another, the attraction was there, and we ended up at his place. He was very intelligent and knew it, was deeply unhappy with himself and his surroundings, and liked me juuust enough to keep me hooked. I wanted everything with him -- to this day, he is still the only man I've envisioned having biological children with, the white picket fence, the whole nine yards. He was an alcoholic and a narcissist, but I had it BAD. My world began and ended with him. I asked Kim to please leave my life, I stopped associating with Alex, I no longer cared to know or see most other people that were not him... my every waking moment not spent at work was spent with him or to further my ability to see him again. Eventually I moved him in with me at the Tyrone apartment. This sparked a slow but positive change in him, and he began to focus on piecing a career together again. I was frustrated with retail, but couldn't make heads or tails of the world around me outside of him in order to get my footing anywhere else. We continued to drink too much and get into reckless bullshit together. It became apparent over time that our relationship was very one-sided, and he verbally admitted more than once that he wasn't "in" love with me & felt guilty for the ways he took advantage of my love. Not valuing myself in the slightest, I didn't care. I just had to be with him. Things gradually got worse. I started gaining weight, and we stopped being physically intimate. I would catch him talking with his friends on the phone (loudly & closely enough for me to definitely overhear) about how he wasn't attracted to me and wanted out. It was humiliating. Again, it wasn't enough to end things. The drinking and the resentment began to ramp up. Things were going badly enough that I finally did take action, quit my shitty job, and went back to school at this time -- positives that I centered around him, because of the way he spoke about wanting to be with someone more accomplished. He started stepping out -- he half-assedly attempted to cover his tracks, but it was clear that he began dating again while we were still sharing a bed and a one-bedroom apartment. When I confronted him about this, he would deny it but once again remind me that he wasn't happy and wanted to leave. Things escalated, I couldn't stand it anymore, and I got... violent, which is not part of my personality. It was a terrible few months until he finally left and rented a room from a stranger. It was another terrible few months, because he would reach out to me when he was in-between girlfriends and was bored. He knew I would always be available to him, would always pick up the phone, would always be pathetically ecstatic to fill any downtime.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
He met his now-wife. That's what finally ended the madness & the degrading bullshit. The more serious they got, the more he finally left me alone so I could possibly attempt to start healing. It took years, and in some ways I believe I am still healing from that relationship. I had wrapped so much of my personhood up in him that -- without him -- I had no self-esteem, no sense of direction, no clue who I was and what I liked or needed. All of that had been dictated by him for years. All events that transpired after this have been part of an earnest attempt at reclaiming what I had lost.
[Now, we get into the fun (and horrifying) stuff.]
Nathan (May 2018-Nov 2018)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
We met at our neighborhood bar, Abbey Road. I was there, drinking alone and trying to absorb -- as if through osmosis -- some vibes from those around me less rank than my own. I had half a beer left and needed to use the bathroom, so I turned to the stranger next to me and asked if he could watch my drink. He had his shoulder-length blond hair in a headband and a quiet but firm demeanor... something told me I could trust him. He agreed to. I left and came back, pleasantly surprised that he was actively guarding my drink. I took a chance on drinking the rest, doubting that he had spiked it but still reasonably paranoid. We got to talking the rest of the night, enough time passed that I became sure that he hadn't messed with it, and we ended up going back to his place shortly before final call to smoke a bowl and watch Planet Earth. He was such a chill guy and he made me feel safe during a time in my life when I was so proactively endangering myself. We ended up linking several times and I would often end up crashing at his place. He worked in a behavioral health facility, and had a kind heart. I liked him, but we never made anything more of it.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
I was out of control by this time, truthfully, and his firm demeanor didn't really allow for my brand of asinine horseshit. Leading up to me being banned from Abbey, we had started to catch each other less and less, and frankly he respected himself too much to get wrapped up in whatever I was doing. He reminded me that there was a world in which I could live without chaos -- and showed me the reality that I simply didn't care to pursue that.
Aidan (late 2016-early 2017)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
We met back in the glory days of OkCupid (back when it was easier to infuse your actual personality into your profile) during the brief period when James and I had broken up. Aidan was cool as fuck -- punk and poetic with a killer sense of humor that I really jived with. We went on a couple of dates, mostly at his stomping grounds: a kava bar, Bula On The Beach (and later, its city counterpart in Central St. Pete). He was gorgeous, had striking green eyes and a soft voice. His friends quietly revealed to me that he'd been gushing about me to them, and expressed their excitement at how great we seemed together. I was comfortable with him, and it felt like Something(TM).
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
Getting back together with James was one of the greatest mistakes of my life. I really liked Aidan, but could not break free from the pull of my sick relationship with James. Aidan was very hurt, and (UNDERSTANDABLY) did not speak to me for a year or so after I shrewdly tossed him aside. After things finally ended with James for good, I spent too much time reminiscing about Aidan and awkwardly -- embarassingly -- tried to rekindle things & pick up where we left off... but he had already moved on. We hung out a few more times and went to see Hozier together when he came to town, but it was clear that we would not be together going forward. Disappointed and hurt, this was somehow the first time I'd realized that you can't treat people like shit and still expect things to work out in your favor. When you harm other people, they have every right to resent and avoid you.
Warren (off and on late 2016-mid 2020)
[This one is painful for me to recount. I'm also struggling to decide if this belongs here or further along timeline-wise, but it shares a thread with my takeaway on Aidan -- so here goes.]
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
Warren was... a toy to me. That's as bluntly as I can put it. We met at work. He was younger, gave off a very intense energy despite being extremely quiet and outwardly chill, and had great taste in music. He would steal glances at me in a way that betrayed his interest, and I was curious to give him a try. We started talking, stealing away for little lunch dates during our shifts, and I grew to like him. He was remarkably wise for someone so young and saw the world in a complex way similar to myself [a fellow Aquarian]. We could talk about absolutely anything and understood each other deeply. He was always down for adventures and became my go-to co-explorer around the city. He was a safe sounding board for my chaos, and I always felt like I took advantage of him in this way; he made it easy for me to seek reassurance and attention from him.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
I split off from him literally any time someone who held even the slightest bit more allure came into my sight. I abandoned him many times over, and always expected him to be there when I was done. And he was. Faithfully. Over the years, he grew resentful of this and started becoming all too comfortable with calling me out on my bullshit. Warranted, to an extent, but it was unsettling how much he seemed to relish in verbally accosting me. I didn't understand why someone that hurt by my actions would continue welcoming me back... a sadomasochistic dynamic definitely crept into our relationship by this time. Amidst the other relationships listed here, I'd hit up Warren any time I'd get drunk and vulnerable and he'd be there.
I was in bad shape, had started blacking out nightly, and wasn't remembering much of what happened during my late-night escapades. I would be aghast to wake up in the mornings, pussy sore with a used condom in the trash, and have no recollection of the sex. This became so common and deeply disturbing that I begged him to please stop having sex with me, because if I wasn't conscious at the time, then I wasn't really consenting. He would smirk and brush it off. Then he continued doing it, along with violating my body in other ways that I very much remembered because they'd be in the daytime when I was sober. It got to be too much, I broke it off for good, and blocked his number.
Cut to a few months later. There were two open units directly adjacent to mine in my apartment complex. One day, a UHaul truck pulls up out front, and who hops out? The ex I haven't spoken a word to in half a year, who I would've been very content to have never laid eyes on again. Moving. In. I panicked so badly. I lost control. I went on a bender that I didn't pull myself out of for many months after, when I'd long moved and resettled in Illinois. The handful of months between when he moved in and when I left were some of the darkest of my life. We became intertwined again during that time, and it resulted in injuries -- both physical and psychological -- that I don't have the stomach to recount here. The takeaway? I guess it finally laid my nonsense to rest. I would never, ever again take advantage of someone the way I did him, knowing that it opens the door to them inflicting worse damage back onto you, perhaps justifiably.
Austin (June/July 2019)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
"My little Canadian". How we connected is lost to time, but this was a random dude on facebook who I started talking to and cosplayed some bizarre long-distance relationship with. He was an addict from North Battleford, Saskatchewan who had an endearingly weird sense of humor and no boundaries. We would text and video chat at length, and I suppose he gave me some kind of attention and approval that I wasn't receiving IRL.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
He was mentally unstable, and I quickly got tired of the whiplash between when he would viciously insult me/my body/my personality and then act like everything was good and normal again. This interaction was probably the one that taught me that LDRs would never be valid, in my eyes.
Tim (late 2018?-July 2019)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
As with Austin: I don't recall how we began speaking, but it was also through facebook. He would send me dick pics and videos of him jerking off at work, which I enjoyed and encouraged. He would request certain pictures and videos from me, I would oblige (mostly for fun or out of boredom/just wanting approval), and he would pay me for them. We also remained friendly, would talk about our lives and partners, shared music, etc. It was a decent arrangement while it lasted.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
It ended shortly after I met Ricky for reasons I'll get into later. Once that relationship ended, we never got back into the swing of things. My time knowing Tim set an unusual precedent in my life of enjoying a relationship that blurred the lines of friendship and prostitution with no real material consequences.
Cody (May-June 2019)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
Yet another facebook dude -- this time, however, I remember exactly how I found him. He ran a meme page called sadboi.exe and I was hooked. Very cute, a little trashy, very e-boy-coded. We flirted for a bit while I was regaining my footing self-esteem-wise and it gave me a mostly harmless but still objectively unhealthy outlet for unresolved feelings.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
He was talking to other girls and got bored with me. I was also ramping up on my psycho bullshit again and knew I was being annoying. I'm mostly including him because I believe he was a spiritual predecessor to Andy -- Cody lived in Illinois as well, and it was the first time I'd really stopped to consider: "Would I move halfway across the country to be with someone if the situation felt right?"
Shay (June 2019)
[Understand that I am panting like a horny cartoon wolf and fighting to keep myself from imploding while writing this one.]
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
To this day, Shay is one of the most attractive human beings I've ever laid eyes on. He was a student on my college campus, and I would positively die every time he walked through the doors of my bookstore. He had swagger and unparalleled confidence as he moved; gorgeous sandy-brown hair that fell perfectly around his face; eyes so penetrating that my heart would stop when we interacted; and an unintentional flirtation in his voice that was as intimidating as it was inviting. [As I write this now, I'm wondering for the very first time: did I actually want to fuck him, or did I really just want to BE him? Much to consider.] He lived on a boat harbored out at the beach, and had the air of a well-off sailboat dude who really understands and lives life differently than the rest of us landlubbers. The stars aligned one night when I was drunk and brazen enough to shoot my shot, I DM'd him on instagram with a link to Liz Phair's song "Flower" and the message "spitroast me [skull emoji]". It worked. We chatted back and forth for the next week, and by the following weekend, we had made plans for him to come over so I could "help him with his pre-calc homework". I was so fucking geeked leading up to that night, I couldn't keep my head straight. I spent the evening before he arrived excitedly chatting with my neighbor-friends and getting white-girl wasted on white zin. He arrived, I invited him in, and after distractedly muttering a few pleasantries, he ripped my clothes off and led me to my own bed like he owned the place. Between the headrush of what was happening, being physically intimate with this (THIS) man, and the wine -- I couldn't even tell what direction was up. He flipped me around on my bed so many times, trying positions that I would say were impossible if we weren't actively doing them, and he freely explored my body in a way that nobody else had ever had the confidence to. The thing is? He never penetrated me. He got off with me blowing him (for which he expressed shockingly sincere gratitude??), and once we cleaned up and caught our breath... he legitimately walked over to the backpack that he'd brought, got out his laptop and textbook, and immediately tried to get my help with his pre-calculus. I was taken aback, having assumed that was part of the ruse that we all come up with when making plans to hook up. He was serious, and seemed a little irritated himself when I blathered about how long it'd been since I took that subject and how I was rusty... in reality, I was fucking drunk and had just performed bedroom acrobatics, and couldn't even begin to focus on math. He left shortly thereafter, and we never hung out again.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
It was a one-time thing, despite my best efforts. I did try to make the spitroast happen, but it simply never materialized. He always had way more going on in his life that he would never divulge. I eventually got to the point where I no longer nearly passed out (from the blood rush to my pussy) anytime I saw him. All said and done: I will always be grateful for the self-esteem boost that fucking him gave me. If I could hook THAT, I could essentially expect to hook literally anyone I wanted if I just embodied real confidence. For better or worse, that was my takeaway.
Ricky (July 2019-Dec 2019)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
The Meet-Cute. I was feeling myself extra hard one day, exploring downtown with a fresh haircut and a killer outfit. I stopped in at one of my favorite bars and was enjoying a drink out on the patio alone when he approached me. He gave me some brief background on why he was asking (I didn't care), but was there someplace nearby that I would recommend to grab a bite? I pointed over my shoulder to the Mexican restaurant the next block over, he thanked me and left, and I returned to my beer and people-watching. He reappeared minutes later, offering to share his food with me. Both touched and amused, I invited him to sit down and we started talking. He met my energy, which was unusual and refreshing. He was funny, and seemed incredibly smart with a wealth of knowledge and an ability to keep up conversationally with my 5D headass. We spent the rest of the afternoon together, then the evening, and then the night. I violated my own newly-formed boundaries every step of the way because I was having so much fun, which set an unfortunate precedent for the rest of the relationship. He was a shorter guy, and absolutely overcompensated by being a literal animal in the bedroom. This gave me immediate insight into the way he felt like I was his property and his plaything, which I was too stupid and careless to heed from the jump.
Things were really cool at first. We spent a ton of time together, which was fine for the month or so between semesters at school, and we talked constantly. We would bar/brewery-hop, visit art galleries, go to poetry readings, and share our passions with ease.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
It's difficult for me to even think of him nowadays without spitting and cursing his name, calling him a "sniveling little shitweasel". Things went south after my classes restarted, as I was in my final semester taking 15 credits and he demanded just as much of my time and attention as before. He was deeply insecure and jealous, and made that my problem. Any (and I mean ANY) free time I had was owed to him, in his eyes. I stopped being allowed to do things on my own & I wasn't able to hang out with my friends without him getting shitty about it (or worse, him showing up uninvited and unannounced to spoil things and "reclaim" me). Every other word out of his mouth was an accusation of me cheating, despite the fact that I never once came remotely close to doing so. We would get in very public fights. It was exhausting. I made the mistake of taking him with me to visit my dad that Thanksgiving, where he insisted on fucking me and seemed proud when he made me bleed on the sheets of the guest bed. I held on out of stupidity and insecurity until he started aggressively insisting that we move in together & that I meet his family. I'd had enough and did NOT want to become any further intertwined with this person. I ended things. He acted like a pissy little shitbaby and kept whining and moaning about how "used" he felt. This relationship taught me that I could not -- under any circumstance -- EVER deal with a jealous partner again, and to be wary of jumping into anything with both feet.
Derek (off and on Dec 2019-Apr 2020)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
The Situationship. Having recently graduated and being newly single after the shitstorm that was Ricky, I was feeling directionless in life and started drinking heavily again. The girls at Abbey Road had seemingly forgotten about banning me the year before, and I found myself spending more and more time there. This is where I met Derek. That night is pretty hazy in my memory, but I recall sitting next to one another at the bar, making small talk, buying another round before last call, walking outside and spilling my full beer on the ground, him laughing, and us heading back to my place. He stayed over, told me in the morning that he'd had a lot of fun, and -- according to a memory I recently dug up -- we saw each other for the next four days straight. We had fun, the sex was great, and we were instantly surprisingly comfortable with each other. He had a sweetness about him but was clear from the jump that he wasn't looking for anything serious, and I was down with that at first. Over the following weeks, though, I began to enjoy his company a little too much and started to catch feelings. It got very frustrating very fast and I lost control.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
Our on-again/off-again ordeal finally ended for good when I told him I couldn't handle it anymore, after having had my heart mangled by Jon (story soon to come). What we were doing made me feel hollow. I wanted love, he wasn't ready or willing to provide that then, and I needed to finally live in a way that felt right to me; that felt a little more like self-respect. He understood, and we parted ways but remained friends. He still messages me to check in every so often, and I finally got a confession out of him in the year of our Lord 2025 that he did in fact want a relationship back then. We would probably be giving it a try now, if there wasn't half a continent between us.
Zack (Jan 2020-May 2020)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
This is the connection I'm most ashamed of. He was my upstairs neighbor Jenna's live-in boyfriend. We'd hung out as a group, being silly, and somewhere along the line Jenna revealed that Zack had asked her if they could have a threesome with me. I was surprised and played that off (as it sounded potentially messy and I was struggling with Derek at the time), but a seed was planted. This guy wanted me. The first night we hooked up was the night of my first date with Jon; I had a lot of pent-up energy that I needed to release (I'll explain why shortly), and Zack happened to be home alone. He invited me upstairs and I blew him on their couch. He liked it, I was satiated, and we vowed to not speak of it to anyone. We linked a few times after that, usually when I was wrecked and feeling extra dysfunctional. His dick was satisfactory and I secretly liked sneaking around and feeling far more like a whore than ever before; I certainly enjoyed doing these things with zero emotions, just bros bein' pals and helping each other out.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
All the while, Jenna (correctly) suspected that Zack was cheating and asked me to be on-the-lookout for any funny business while she was gone at work. He did in fact have other girls over and had been cheating long before I got involved with him. I dutifully reported on the other girls and neglected to mention my own treachery. Jenna and I ended up having a heart-to-heart a few months later, and I finally admitted what I'd done. When confronted, Zack first tried to say I was lying, then pulled the "She's a crazy nympho" card to discredit and blame me. Jenna never forgave me or spoke to me again, understandably. I'm leaving out the fact that he was a registered sex offender on house arrest. This was an awful situation that showed me just how far I'd go to try to fill the void with sex & that I was not unwilling to play the role of a mistress.
Jon (Jan 2020-Mar 2020)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
Jon... was the culmination of everything I'd dealt with between James and that moment, I think. It was certainly the first time I'd wanted something real again. We met on Tinder. He was very charming, devilishly handsome, hilarious, respectful, and seemed to check just about every other box of mine. He was a fantastic communicator. Also liked to talk all day every day, but would never get shitty if I took a while to respond and was super supportive about literally anything I had going on. He respected the fact that I was my own person. We texted back and forth for a few weeks leading up to our first date. We decided on a bar downtown (Red Rooster?), I suited up in my best outfit with hair & makeup on fleek, and I headed eastward. When we met up, he was visibly nervous (adorably so). I felt at ease enough to gently command the conversation and help him relax. Being close to him, even without touching, was electrifying. After a few drinks, we headed downstairs where they were doing Disney karaoke. We stood by for a while in the crowded room, neither of us feeling up for joining, and there was a moment where I tried to get my balance and placed my hand in the center of his back. He later explained that this was the most intense sensation he could remember feeling; I remember it being the moment I realized I wanted him for as long as I could have him. Later on, he drove me home. I was fully prepared to take him inside and hook up, but he claimed to be a little more old-fashioned and didn't want to ruin what had been a fantastic date. He gave me a hug and was on his way.
(This is the moment that my first encounter with Zack occurred. I wanted Jon so badly, was honestly confused and very frustrated by his insistence on being "decent" and "normal", and immediately went and blew someone else while thinking of him. Unhinged behavior that has unfortunately not left me to this day.)
Jon and I never went on another proper date. He instead started coming over to my place and would bring takeout, smoke hella weed, fuck me, then sleep. I guess that was his idea of familiarity.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
Things became increasingly unpleasant when he came over. He would criticize my drinking literally while he was rolling and smoking a blunt. He thoughtlessly recounted traumatic and violent stories from earlier in his life that were very disturbing, triggered me, and then he looked down on me and told me I was "broken" for getting upset. Things were already fizzling out by the time the Covid lockdown hit and he became preoccupied with other things. My desperation to keep it going was objectively pathetic. He was not kind by the end. I spiraled anyway. TAKEAWAY: I can be so fucking blind to obvious signs when I want, need something to work out. Jon insisted that I view relationships as they really are rather than through rose-colored glasses, and that's been a really tough lesson to internalize as a dreamer.
Cristian (off and on late-2019 thru early 2020)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
Cristian was a sweet guy who would come into my bookstore and chat with me, bringing me little gifts now and then, just to make me smile. He was younger, tall, slender, shy and a little awkward, but all-in-all would be a force to be reckoned with once he came into himself. Great taste in music, and definitely had a romantic side. I didn't want to hurt him (knowing what kind of full-tilt chaos I was dealing with in my life), so I did my best to indulge his interest while keeping him at arm's length. We went on one date and had a nice conversation, refraining from hooking up until weeks later. It was his first time, and he got attached. My life was a mess and I couldn't handle it (plus, his cock was enormous and quite literally impossible for me to handle in any of my orifices), so I pulled away and we remained friendly. Flash forward to a few months later: the Covid lockdowns hit, we start talking and hanging out more often (as I desperately needed the company), and things went sideways.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
I was in a very vulnerable and dark place by this point. He would (apologetically, but nevertheless) start to get clingy and handsy and insistent, and I found myself deeply uncomfortable but allowing it to happen most of the time. He was my source of toilet paper, after all, and I otherwise just didn't have the heart to tell him no. He eventually took notice of my issue and backed way off. We remained friends until I moved to Illinois, and didn't really speak until 2025 when he reached out to fully & formally apologize for his actions. Water under the bridge, by then, and all was forgiven. The takeaway: This interaction did make me wary of "friendships" from there on out and I find myself questioning others' motivations far more than I ever did prior, since I felt so taken advantage of & for once didn't feel like I actually did him any harm.
Andy (April 2020-June 2024)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
The Escape Pod. In light of the lockdowns, being furloughed from work, and just generally losing the plot of normal life: this is when I got into folk punk. I joined a handful of facebook groups (most of them shitposting), and started talking to a couple of guys in the scene. Andy was one of these. We hit it off immediately and, like those who came before him, we talked constantly by text, phone, and video chat. I'd never really known anyone from the rural Midwest, and his life seemed different and funny. He similarly had nothing going on and had unemployment money burning a hole in his pocket, so he flew to see me for a week. We managed to have fun, despite the circumstances; drank a ton together without anything problematic transpiring; and afterwards mutually agreed that we'd like to make it a long-term thing. When the question arose as to who would relocate where, I firmly insisted that I'd move to Illinois sight-unseen. This was my chance to finally get the fuck out of fascist-ass Florida and leave behind all of the trauma that I've recounted above. He was cool with that, since his family all lives here -- so I started making plans, booked the rental truck, packed, and was gone when my lease ended in August. I experienced major culture shock, but did my best while starting from zero yet again. Andy took care of me as best he could throughout all of this. We drank a fuck-ton, but actually still got out and did a lot of fun things during our first two years together. Throughout the relationship, we did care for and mutually support each other as we clawed our way out of awful dead-end jobs and made enough money combined for us to experience a bit of comfort for the first time in our respective lives.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
It upsets me to say that I never loved him. Not deeply, not passionately. The little things that I tried to brush off over the years just piled up, and I developed some underlying disdain for him that I drank to bury away. The sex was always incredible (even when he was much heavier), but that ceased to act as a bandage for the seeping, festering wound that was our relationship by the end. The chronic health issues I'd developed in early 2022 made a huge impact on things, as well -- I was physically unable to contribute as much around the house (but did so financially), he had to pick up the slack in addition to his physically-demanding job, and it caused an irreparable rift. Coupled with the facts that he stopped drinking (and I didn't), got on medication and started hitting the gym (and I didn't), and wanted sex even more than before (when I physically couldn't) -- the relationship was doomed. We dragged it out far past its natural expiration date.
Nth (name withheld by request) (early 2025)
What was this person to me? What place did they hold in my life?
Beautiful, messy little boy. He was a coworker who I always felt drawn to; wild at heart, whip-smart, funny as fuck, and an all-around joy to know. He was one of the only people in that workplace that I felt I could connect with on a personal level, and one of the very few who consistently cared to be considerate of my health issues (which meant the world, after it'd become such a point of contention with Andy). It was only after I was furloughed from that job that Nth and I started talking, then talking more, and evermore. It started off swimmingly: we both agreed that we'd like to explore the limits of friendship with each other (since we shared a mutual hatred of boundaries and societal norms) and we shifted into this liminal space where nobody but us really existed. As I am wont to do, we were eventually talking all day every day, into the night, deeply exploring our shared psyche.
Why did it end, and what takeaway(s) was I left with?
It turned sexual (virtually, that is) and went from 0-120 in about two seconds flat. It was a thrill, as neither of us were previously aware of the mutual and very intense attraction, and we were both primed to take it way beyond reason. The issue was that he's happily married, had a baby due a month from the time this transpired (big oopsie on my part for forgetting this fact), and that I was unfortunately catching feelings. With the nature of our connection, he accurately called me out on the latter when I'd been denying it even to myself, and it yanked me out of the fun with a disorienting jolt. I had a come-to-Jesus meeting with myself, began to examine why I would let devastating aspects of previous relationships unfold once more, and embarked on writing this.
The final takeaway? I don't want to keep making ugly, destructive mistakes in relationships anymore. I know that I want love, and devotion -- I've experienced it now and again, sure, but I want to find a way to finally keep it. I deeply desire something real. As I navigate relationships going forward, I'm going to have to regularly assess whether a connection just feels thrilling & fulfilling in the moment or if it actually aligns with where I see my life going. It's a crossroads, of sorts: I can either choose to spend the remainder of my life being a non-committal sidepiece, or finally allow myself to believe in forever and bravely seek it out.
With the state of the world, things feel a lot more... ambiguous. I have been doing right by myself, not causing anybody harm, not getting into any real trouble, and adhering to my morals.
And yet -- I have found myself in a complicated situation.
Things quickly evolved with a newer friend. This person is "not available", but has wholly been available to me. He has insisted on making himself as such. Lines have been blurred. The attraction is strong, and the respect and deference are... still there.
I don't know what this is, but I really like it.
I'm trying to keep my heart out of it & convince myself that it's just a fantastic friendship that I'm very fortunate to have found at this stage in my life. That's all I want it to be & all it can be. And yet,
It's so fucking intimate. How on earth can something be so impossibly intimate with the condition of nothing material ever transpiring? To find someone ready and willing to test the limits of intimacy, swimming in the brackish waters of radical honesty and unimpeded freedom; someone willing to float in the same messy soup of truths, the obfuscation thereof, the impulse to cast those aside, and the call to constantly reevaluate all of the above.
The sad truth is that, if he were "available", none of this would be happening. My own history and my psyche demand that anything I pursue be "unavailable". It both presents a challenge and serves as a reminder that I deserve nothing in life. I do not deserve to be happy or fulfilled, and these things must be acquired through unconventional means.
It is convenient that I've been utterly broken in terms of love, so I'm not recognizing this relationship or these feelings AS "love", though it is objectively so.
I have an incredibly tender heart. Everything hurts me. I love everybody, or at least have the capacity to love and understand every living person, and have an impossible desire to do exactly that. To meet someone is to fall in love with them, to continue knowing them is to remain in love, and to no longer know them is to yearn for them for the remainder of my days. I continue to carry a flame for every person I've ever had a connection with, as bright as the day it first caught fire. I champion their successes, provide support whenever & however I can, and mourn their personal losses alongside them.
If you said this is an impossible way to live, you're right. The immensity of this love makes it impossible to function. I have had to put up such walls -- there is a carefully constructed labyrinth around my heart that I've filled with traps and monsters to keep it locked away, hidden & rendered useless. I elected to have Intellect take its place, believing that surely would utilize the same universality and good will, while also allowing for more practicality in day-to-day-life. This has been a foolish and devastating pursuit, however. The Intellect is only able to match with its kind, and is notably limited in its application. There is no room for love in the spaces where The Intellect, my ego, reigns.
I do not know how to free my heart from that labyrinth. I misplaced the map and, while I do know some shortcuts and how to vanquish the monsters, I still get lost in the maze myself. When the rest of the world -- life -- is out there, this is not an appealing endeavor to undertake. There are millions of easier, more accessible hearts to pursue.
There is someone out there for whom this will be worthwhile. To have intimate access to such pure, unconditional love would be akin to finding the fountain of youth, the Garden of Eden, or Atlantis. To be loved for everything that you are, have been, will be, and ever possibly could be; to be free to express your soul and your absolute truth, and know that you will be loved, supported, and encouraged in every step, every breath; to feel held and protected in both body & spirit.
The greatest struggle here? Reciprocity. Whoever takes on this challenge and succeeds must have something to give in return. Someone who also has a raw, throbbing, bleeding heart, who loves so easily & readily (rejecting the shrewd notion of "too easily"), and shares in the immensity & overwhelm of that love. Someone who is ready & eager to be consumed: not only by their partner, but by the entire world -- and similarly carries that with them every moment of every day. Someone who believes in transmuting mediocrity into the divine. Someone who believes that this love, all-encompassing love between two individuals, can in fact heal the world.
I recently stumbled across a tweet that read, "Who up being a shell of the former shell of a person they used to be?" I chuckled, but paused as it struck me that this is the exact feeling I've been struggling to identify or address for the past several weeks.
I was laid off from my job at the end of February and spent the entirety of March floating in a murky soup of physical and mental exhaustion, guilt for not taking charge and making the most of my temporary freedom, and apprehension towards what lies ahead in the coming months. My self-esteem -- already dire -- took an even deeper plunge and I fell into my old habit of comparing myself not to those around me, but to former versions of myself, and coming up short. This sparked an ongoing battle fought on several fronts:
my newly-adopted profound self-love vs. my deeply entrenched self-loathing,
accurate criticisms of my wildly inappropriate self-destructive past behavior vs. my intense compassion for my previous experiences,
and myriad other skirmishes between my higher mind and my social conditioning regarding body image and relationships.
I haven't been able to wrap my head around why I'm chasing the idea of who I was prior to my cross-country move, despite knowing fully well that girl was a trainwreck. I've grown so much in the years since and far surpassed her in many ways, but I still feel far behind and in her shadow. There's an envy there that I can't quite pinpoint. Was it merely the near-total freedom that I embodied then? My openness and willingness to throw myself into whatever and whoever came along that promised even a glimmer of happiness or fulfillment? That I whittled myself into an acceptable enough husk for others to sometimes -- momentarily -- desire and embrace me?
I no longer have these things, nor do I believe that I want them. So where does the envy lie? That girl would kill to be me. Stable and affordable housing, personal transportation, and opportunities were at the top of her list of desires, and I now have them. She might be disheartened to find that future her is now ten pounds heavier than she was at her biggest (and developed a life-altering chronic illness, to boot); she is more alone than ever; and she would lose the perceived "easy access" to music, scenery, world-class art, culture, and community with like-minded folks. In my mind, she would still take the trade-off in a heartbeat.
Maybe my dissatisfaction is rooted in my own current thinking that there was a trade-off at all. If I run my deranged cost-benefit analyses and factor in the time and effort it often took to reach these "easily accessible" amenities, I start to see that effort contributed most to that access. If I lived then as I do now, I wouldn't have experienced a fraction of what I did that became such cherished and enviable memories. And that girl was broken!!! How did she manage it?!
Therein lies the envy, the real war being waged, the mourning. This current iteration of myself does not have it all figured out, and I somehow can't forgive myself for that. I feel betrayed. What happened? I loved and lost, yet again. I am far less willing to trust other people, and thus am worse at reaching out for help than ever. The aforementioned debilitating chronic illness set in. Managing my energy seems to be all that life is anymore, and I'm not doing a great job at it. I had hoped to finally go back to school for my bachelor's. I'm still holding onto hope of developing a relationship that isn't built on dysfunction.
I know that this isn't the end of the road. This isn't all there is. The way out of this war is to somehow bridge the divide. I must understand and incorporate the idea that these two versions of myself need one another, and they need to cooperate. They need to trade, so to speak. My past self gains the knowledge and assurance that all her sacrifices and struggle paid off in the end, and my current self needs to borrow some inspiration and devil-may-care attitude from the past. I need to trust that what worked very well before may work again; less "I caught lightning in a bottle" and more "I was able to harness and develop electricity, and can continue to perfect it".
I can simply affirm that I will no longer be a shell.
You are not okay. This is somehow surprising to you, at least the extent of it, because you have been deeply in denial. You have gone through the motions for so long that you forgot that there were even things for you to deny.
You are lonesome. Painfully so. You have spent months feebly hyping yourself up by repeating the chorus of "I'm not the same person I used to be. I'm different now. I'm not self-sabotaging like I used to." You have just discovered that these were complete and total lies, and you are in shock. You are dismayed. You are crumbling, and whatever confidence you had in your current self has been annihilated. You have never felt like more of a fuck-up, more broken, or more diseased. You have begun to see the truth about where you stand now.
Now: the real healing can begin.
You are already aware of the dramatic transformation that will be required for you to finally become your real self. This has terrified you, and is exactly why you constructed your outer shell and lived in this denial for so long. You simply could not accept the changes that needed to take place. You've been sniffing around for a while now, catching whiffs of your future and running from them at every turn. You are afraid of yourself for reasons you do not understand.
This is your moment. For once, you need to embrace this and step across the threshold of this entryway. This is indeed a kind of death, and you need to -- for once -- not be afraid. Please do not be afraid of yourself any longer. You hold so much power and have done so much damage by attempting to constrain it for others' benefit. These people are no longer here, and the bold truth is that they never were. You have imagined every relationship and built it up to mean more, be more, have more impact than it ever truly held. This, and this alone, has been the mark of your mental illness. Your anxiety, depression, and schizoaffective imagination were never the things driving you to be unwell --- it was your misperception of every relationship.
You have never been able to communicate with these people for this very reason. Every time you have felt misunderstood was for this reason. These were not people who were meant to be in your life. You were meant to reject them and move on and grow, and instead you desperately clung to them. Why? You were afraid of what that might mean. Your fear and unwillingness to discover your genuine self has dictated your entire life. It has steered you wrong and landed you where you are now.
Please take this next step. Please have faith in yourself, in your strength, and in your ability to finally ascend into your true power.
In order to do this: You need to release the pain. You need to release... everything. You needed to be freed of your unnecessary and counterproductive attachments, and your actions alone will dictate your future. You are aware of what these actions are, and you must do them. Please. Be fearless, and trust yourself above everything and everybody else. Do not concede this power ever, ever again.
The love you seek is inside of you, and has been all along. Please reach into yourself, take your own hand, and walk forward with pride and radical self-directed compassion. This is the secret that will unlock everything.
Release your pain once and for all. You are almost there -- you are catching glimpses of the future and the truth, it is more beautiful than you could ever have imagined, and it is yours. Do not cower away this time.
Although I'm not shy about it, my struggles with Long Covid are somewhat of an open secret. Those who do not wish to know about it purposefully do not inquire further and go about their lives as if nothing has changed. Even my family and oldest friends get caught in the same cycle: they pop up periodically, excitedly ask me what kind of awesome things I'm up to these days, I tell them "Not much, anymore" and mention my chronic fatigue, they respond with "Ohh okay, hope you feel better soon!", disappear for a few months back to their own lives, and then rinse/repeat. For most of these individuals, I have not parsed out exactly where their unwillingness to learn lies -- I only know that it manifests in the same way: denial, disregard, and defensiveness regarding their own behaviors.
This experience has been isolating, to say the least. The level of dismissal and delusion I've witnessed initially shocked me. I have tapered myself down to a kind of stasis while watching the world around me seemingly speed up, akin to an amusement park ride that has malfunctioned and is spinning wildly and dangerously out of control. The "New Normal" demands more risk-taking, outright disdain for others' well-being, and generally hedonistic & thoughtless actions than I thought most people were capable of.
Despite the immense challenge of adjusting to a new chronic illness, being forced by my own body and mind to slow down has been a blessing in its own right. It has led me to reevaluate everything: relationships, my place in the world and my intrinsic worth, consumption, the essence and proclivities of humanity, the past, the future, and the narratives that we unwittingly find ourselves mired in. Without the pressure to constantly be on-the-go and physically involved in things, I have had the time and space to further reflect on the systems and cultural norms around me. I've identified many inconsistencies between the values that others claim to uphold and their behaviors that reveal their true values. Those adept at abstract and critical thinking are less likely to be caught up in the pressure to conform, but humans are above all social beings and these individuals will still find themselves playing into some form of tribalism.
All of it is exhausting.
My choice to instead go inward has been my saving grace, and I say to myself that Covid brought about my salvation. After a decade of poor choices made for the sake of "living my life", pleasure-seeking, and desperate attempts at connection with others, I have finally righted the ship. I now prioritize rest above all (which in my view encapsulates sleep, mindfulness, safety, and so much more). I no longer do things at the behest of others or because of some nagging feeling that I "should". (Ridding oneself of FOMO once and for all is truly the first and biggest step.)
Now that I understand how interconnected my anxieties and compulsions are to my nervous system -- how nearly all of my thoughts, actions, and flare-ups were driven by being in a near-constant state of overstimulation -- it's so much easier to say NO.
"No thank you, I don't want to go."
"No thanks, I don't want to participate in that."
"I'm not interested, but I appreciate you thinking of me/reaching out."
It's a common misconception that individuals who still live with awareness of the ongoing pandemic are ""afraid"" and "living in fear" and "hiding in their houses" away from others. Many of us have simply embraced a new way of living, whether out of necessity or by choice, increasingly mindful of how our actions and attitudes affect those around us (and vice versa). The average person somehow convinced themselves that it was brave(?) and righteous to constantly be ill, to always be going somewhere and doing something, and to never think about how their behavior impacts the people (strangers and loved ones alike) or the world around them.
Many people in my life are surprised -- and sometimes insulted -- to discover that I do indeed still venture out occasionally for things beyond work, errands, and other mandatory activities. The things must simply be restful and not trigger my nervous system. (Chaotic getting to the venue, chaotic AT the venue, poor ventilation, overcrowding, etc are all disqualifying conditions.) People seem to get frustrated when their proposed activity doesn't meet this criteria and I decline, but "compromise" for me now only counts when equal effort is made from both parties. Gone are the days of being goaded into something by way of guilt for being "too picky", "too difficult", or "boring". Make the effort, or don't -- I genuinely do not care and will happily retreat into solitude.
I recently joked to one of my aforementioned old friends that I'm in my "monk era". I'm now single and live alone, which was terrifying/overwhelming/stressful at first as a relatively-new & clueless homeowner with precarious health. After several months though, I've come to relish the autonomy that comes with having near-total control of my circumstances, level of precautions, and what I do and focus on. Between my struggle with LC, my existing cPTSD, and the horrors of modern everyday life, adopting radical rest as a whole lifestyle is the path I've found to finally start healing.
If you've found this post and are yourself struggling with anything similar, I wish you well and hope you can get all the rest you need. Bless.
In my day to day life, I catch glimpses of the girls I used to be: I see them in the mirror some days, I feel them in a smile when I experience fleeting moments of joy, I hear them in my voice when I tell a corny joke or talk about my favorite things. They're still alive somewhere inside of me, like a collection of people I loved but didn't get to know for long. Isn't that strange? Some of us have wished at some time, in some capacity, that we could keep a collection of loved ones and our favorite memories stored somewhere to keep and consult as we please... so it's an odd realization to find that I have done just that, comprised solely of the past iterations of myself which I have always mourned and thought to have lost.
A not-insignificant cause of what ails me, this seems. I have felt rudderless for many years -- unable to cope with a lifetime of losing friends, homes, loves, an endless stream of livelihoods vanishing every time I blinked. I can see that I have shut myself down completely to make it stop. I have put a hold on every friendship, every opportunity to start again, every feeling that could possibly lead to my life taking another unexpected turn. We are told that this is simply the essence of life -- but I was unaware of this vault inside of me and how crowded it had become. The ongoing traumas prevented me from ever taking stock of who or what was in there; I just knew that it had become heavier and heavier until I could no longer carry it, then no longer drag it, then no longer budge it at all with all of my might. I had no choice but to sit with it and start the arduous process of sorting through it.
And I am still there, sorting. Grieving. Revelling. Discarding. Mending. Cherishing. The ugly bits tend to float to the top of the heap and are the first to be found when venturing inside, making the outset of this task extremely unpleasant. But root around long enough and by god, there are fantastic things to uncover. So much joy, so much hope, the reasons that we all carry at the heart of ourselves to keep pushing until our bodies and minds give out on us.
I have found the hope and love for myself (and every girl in that vault) that I had genuinely forgotten was there. It's as though one of them knew it was there, but the next iteration was... not informed of its presence, and no one since has gone looking until this gal bothered to ask where all this weight was coming from.
Now, where does this all lead? With this newfound genuine appreciation I hold for myself, how do I reconcile things with the people I placed on hold? Do I have to? Do I want to? How could I possibly? Do they need to understand? Will they care to? I am so confident in who I am and what I want from life, yet still so bruised and raw from the shit that all of these girls have taken for thirty years. There are many people who do not deserve forgiveness for what they have done, and the social web is precarious -- the connections shared with others who caused no harm are terribly tangled with those who did. It has been an exhausting mess to attempt to untangle these knots. Is it worth it? Where will this effort lead?
A strange belief I have adopted is that all people are entitled to a life without harm. Neverending trauma need not be the default, especially when there is zero care in place to allow individuals to stop and sort through their respective boxes as I have been lucky enough to do before I fatally harmed myself or anybody else.
We live in a world that is violently opposed to this ideology. There is too much power in convincing all people that torment is inevitable and violence in all forms is the natural way to express our humanity.
But I say I am opposed to this, and with whatever freedom I am granted in this lifetime, I will remain in opposition. I will no longer allow myself and these girls I carry to be subjugated and used as a means to an end. We deserve respect, we deserve peace, and we deserve love that genuinely looks and feels like love. Nobody is allowed to take that from me again -- and that is where the line shall be drawn. If I have but one life to live, I am entitled to my due diligence in ensuring that the individuals I share this life with will not cause me any further harm. There is simply no more room for it.
She continues to write of the things we used to share: isolation, beauty, peculiar comforts, pain, the ever present ache of not understanding our own place in the world, love.
She is still out there living a life parallel to mine, and my heart is finally thawing after the hard freeze of this life's longest winter with the notion that it is not alone after all;
an eternal spring rediscovered amidst the growth and decay trickling with hope long lost -- the best things in life are yet to be discovered; the best times are yet to pass, in years to continue anticipating; the best company to find its way back in due time with scars and stories and dreams to share in kind.
“There’s the story, then there’s the real story, then there’s the story of how the story came to be told. Then there’s what you leave out of the story. Which is part of the story too.”
“It’s not that students don’t “get” Kafka’s humor, but that we’ve taught them to see humor as something you get–the same way we’ve taught them that a self is something you just have. No wonder they cannot appreciate the really central Kafka joke: that the horrific struggle to establish a human self results in a self whose humanity is inseparable from that horrific struggle. That our endless and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home.”
— David Foster Wallace, “Some Remarks on Kafka’s Funniness”
