Hello there, Brooklyn @hellohellobrooklyn - Tumblr Blog

It’s been a while

Not long at all

28, employed, post-pandemic, loved, uncertain, in need of stimulation. On the clock I feel like a ghost. Rearranging furniture, repeating phrases no one seems to hear, feeling feelings no one will notice until I start howling. Can’t seem to see or appreciate anything new.

I had forgotten- genuinely forgotten- about the media and writings I had left on here. My heart swelled, I analyzed. I realized no one was reading and how freeing that is. No shame about the opinions that kept me isolated. I could have been doing this the whole time but alas, life gets in the way. Mental energies go elsewhere, an eye always on the bank account and the other searching for friendship.

Trying a game of Radical Honesty and seeing where that goes. Uninterested in dating, only in finding myself again.

kt came home after a date and some piece of brain that floated aimlessly in my skill slipped back into place. When I was alone I had the freedom to do whatever I desired, as chaotically as I wanted. Seeing her made the post-its appear again, the knowledge that I needed to keep things running smoothly. Or else. Not sure what the ‘else’ is. She doesn’t much care about the state of the house. Where the tools are or that my paints are organized. Why do I? Why is my time spent on these tasks rather than drawing, writing, building more rich inner worlds to explore? I feel like a ghost.

It’s just a sore tooth, but it makes me retreat to my cave

It’s just an upset stomach, but it made me wonder

It’s just pain, but it changes things.

I considered how I would react if i found out that I had cancer too. If I was given some kind of terminal or life-altering medical malady. If I was cursed with the pain and opiate addiction that runs through the family lineage.

The first answer, the only one that made the most sense, was suicide.

The urge to make it all go away wasn’t there- just a sense of responsibility. If I was going to die, or suffer more than not, I would want to end things myself. People might call me selfish, it might change the people I love, but I would rather die than become the monster that illness makes you. Giving in is not giving up, but it might seem like it to those on the outside.

Driving home from Syracuse one night, I had a swift and soul-crushing panic attack. Something that severe hasn’t happened to me in ages, where I could scream and tighten my fists and curse the world in nonsense tongues. My driving, it was steady. Noone driving on that road with me could have known the horrors flying through my mind then. I was reminded of the time Blake flipped his car. “Falling asleep at the wheel” that caused him a few broken ribs and a mouthful of shattered glass. At the height of my unrequited love for him, I was sure this was a suicide attempt. He often talked about how as a teen, that would be his preferred way to die. A note in his glovebox at the ready. He hasn’t had a car of his own since then, as far as I know.

I’ve never been wanted like this.

I’ve never had someone include me in their long-term goals, their life plans, their whole state of being dependant in part on my shoulders.

I’ve had generosity. and pity. and a sense of tense concern.

And in three weeks, partly out of necessity but moreso out of adoration, you want me to live with you in a city I have allowed myself to wish for in daydreams. In a place that seemed so easily tangible a few short years ago.

I have to believe this is the right thing to do. I have to believe that when I break apart, you will be there to hold me together. I have to believe that I can gather up the important parts and push them into this new life.

I have to believe you when you say you love... this.

Voyeur

A documentary on Netflix Xela reccommended to me,

And it seems like half the time we talk theres a pointedness to the conversation. I’m not used to people trying to impress me.

we watched a video on how to market yourself online and I was blown away by the level of ease it takes, the things I had wanted to do but they seemed cheap and unprofitable, but here were instagrammers doing it.

I really need to refuse when I’m offered weed, it fucks me out for the rest of the night

But he stayed a while, let me use his fancy new headphones. Half the things he does, it feels like a casual form of therapy. I hate loud music because I can’t hear what’s going on elsewhere, but he turns the volume up on such soothing music in my own little world so I don’t even have to worry about hearing a damn thing he and Blake are talking about. When I slipped one ear off to say something, he responded but lost momentum, then put it back on my ear for me. Even the little paranoid part of me wondered if they spoke of me while I was lost in the fugue state, sketching away. but there was part of me that also thought it was exciting. Sensory deprivation at its finest. it’s a tecnique I’ll have to employ more frequently. Permission to be present but mentally unavailable is a rare treasure, with or without drugs and alcohol.

I wondered what it would be like, to wear the headphones and hear the music and just feel someone, or have them feel me. Being blind is usually no problem, my eyes are closed half the time during sex anyway.

What prompted him to mention Voyeur was something - and this is why I really should stop getting high- to do with egg salad sandwiches and the serving thereof. If someone gets off to being subservient, why is that a problem? you’re consenting to be served, and they’re consenting to serve.

Watching Voyeur, I took a little offense initially, because that Nel voice says “Look at this disgusting old man- is that what I am? A perverted, mentally checked-out old crone who leers over women while they sleep? Is that what you think of me??”

And of course, it’s not. I don’t leer, I don’t hurt anyone. I say dumb things sometimes, and masturbate where I shouldn’t, but c’est la vi.

See, I don’t feel like a voyeur. I have a strong urge to be included, at any cost, but if I was completely invisible and generally knew the plan I’d be much happier. I fantasize about having sex out in the open, publically, unashamedly, because I’m so ashamed to reach out and hold a hand when the occasion calls for it. I’m afraid of being clingy or needy so I pretend that I am never in need. Instead I entertain in the theatre of my mind.

You want to live a WHAT life now?

I want to make my bed every morning

I want to have a fish or a houseplant that doesn’t die after a month

I want to pick a project and stick to it for the few days, or heaven forbid, weeks that it takes to finish it completely

I want to be clinically Not Depressed for more than a week a month

I want to be inspired by the people who love me, instead of wondering what guilt trip they had to suffer to endure me.

I want to clean up the files on my computer

I want to take some old ideas and refine them in whatever medium I so desire

I want to learn how to drive

I want to buy my first car and drive it to and from wherever I damn well please, not have to worry about begging for rides from whoever

I want to not be stressed out by the world of possibilities I’ll open up for myself

I want to say meaningful things to the people I love without crying

I want The Release to be pleasurable, to mean something more than muscle contractions

I want to be queer enough

I want to let go of jealousy for my queerer, more depressed yet more successful friends

I want to know what it’s like to not just use someone for their body

I want to talk to someone every damn day and enjoy it

I want to ask for more hours at work

I want to finish this damn project I’m getting paid for

I want to spend time with my family without gritting my teeth and being sarcastic

Just a caterpillar

It started as a caterpillar. Simple and cute, inoffensive to any potential jobs even on a forearm.

Eventually, I put it inside a lightbulb.

KT and Railey told me not to put it in there

Trapped. Not a cocoon. I never thought of it as a cocoon either. Thats just the excuse I gave.

Really, I chose caterpillar because my mother is afraid of them. One of those cute, irrational fears just below the concept of alligators.

She's so afraid, constantly, hiding behind business and bravado.

So manic yet so moody. Dragging everyone along with her mood swings, needing to be a part of everyone's experience because she was the middle child and couldn't live for herself. Wanting love from emotionally distant male figures, needing emotional fulfilment, and so... Pops out a kid. The one thing that can love you unconditionally, right?

So she pops it out and wants to keep it safe. Safe from the predators that preyed on her as a kid, she feed it buttered noodles until it was about to burst. Gave it everything it wanted because saying 'no' was stressful. This kid was stressful. It was defective somehow, wouldnt fit in with friends, wouldn't try at school. Even its cousins thought it wasn't fun to play with half the time. This mom, she wants to do everything right so she's not afraid to ask if she is.

But how do you answer the question "am I a good mother?"

"Do you love me?"

How do you answer that without breaking her heart?

Heaven forbid I was born a boy. All that toxic masculinity might have killed us.

crypticdatesuggestions

Date the person that exists in the middle. They drift between both worlds, witnessing all, reaching out to both sides and guiding one to the other with soft gentleness. Date the person who sits and softly ponders in the twilight. Loving the flowers as they grow and die and come back anew. Caring for the newborns and comforting the passing ones. Kissing them is like touching your lips to smooth velvet. Holding them is like caressing a tree that reaches over your shoulder and beyond toward the sky whilst rooted deep under your feet. Date the one that exists, but not. They will be here for you too. Whether you know or not.

A fantasy, improved

In a sex-positive society, I am one of many bodies paid, volunteered, or encouraged to improve the daily commute by fucking busy citygoers while they wait for buses and trains, on lunch breaks, or whenever the mood strikes. Most of the girls (some synthetic androids, mostly real people) are suspended by straps or trapped in walls. Others are standing, left over from the night shift and dripping cum with every shaky step. The men that are seated in chairs so that they may be used as chairs will have something silicone and vibrating up their ass. If not seated, they are bent over with ass on display and cock between pressed thighs. Next to each vessel, there is a list of what can and can’t be done to them. If they wish to be talked to, if they have cum today, where to cum, and what to do afterwards.

My favorite place is a busy street, where many girls, boys, and in-betweens are lined up on park benches and bent over, some stacked or bent facing eachother to watch their faces or kiss.

Early morning, everyone is in a rush. Business folk with stiff cocks barely shoving themselves into hot, tight holes before waves of cum get released. Some of the row get fucked consistently, repeatedly, roughly. Some are left wanting, wet and ready but untouched except for the occasional passing slap to ass or face. Boys in cock rings struggle against their bondage as they are used as fidget toys while waiting for the train. Stray thumbs find their way to the frenulum or clitoris while staring down at their watch, ticking by the extra minutes before heading into the building. They are planning ahead, warming up their intended toy for a midday break.

Impulse

Blame it on impulse.

When there’s too much or not enough or you’re being too social or too reclusive, blame it on impulse.

When I’m alone in a safe space, that’s where I lose my control.

All the day’s stresses and joys simmer inside me, and even though the heat between my legs doesn’t demand it, something else in me needs a spazmodic contraction of muscle.

The desire won’t even be strong, but I’ll have a thought, or pattern of thought, and if I didn’t chase that orgasmic high it’d be the horniest I’d be all day. In school I could fantasize all damn day and couldn’t do anything about it. Get home and have to wait till bedtime before getting my fix.

Damn, what was I doing? I had a plan, a process to follow before turning over and writing about those bad habits, effectively solidifying them in the story of my life.

A puppy, I was going to draw a puppy.

That sounds much nicer

Awake

There is a double-edged sword to sleeping 10 hours a night, plus a half-hour of hitting snooze.

On the one hand, I never catch a cold. My jaw is not so wire-tight anymore and the paranoia builds considerably less. When I am awake for too long (see: 12 hours or more), the narration in my head takes over and its like everything I can or will ever do is the wrong move.

"My gut hurts, what is up with that? Are my kidneys failing? Gotta quit eating so many sweets and cigarettes, my teeth feel loose. They'd be stronger if you brushed them once in a fucking while, you irresponsible ass. How are you even still alive? Go ahead, drink and smoke and have some Molly once in a while until your wisdom teeth crack. Get an infection and see if you really want to die then. Your body is probably rebelling against you for that one way-too-hype awkward conversation you had about racism 3 years ago- yeah those people you havnt seen since probably still think you're a tool. Where's that rolodex of nausea-inducing decisions youve made? Ooh, heres one from just an hour ago with your housemate! Isn't that embarrassing? Wait, someone is talking to us, how would a human respond? BZZZZT, WRONG. Add it to the rolodex you sparkly piece of garbage."

When I'm asleep for nearly half the cycle, its a lot easier to jump to attention and do something, even if I'm late doing it.

No preparation, no preamble, just bra, shirt, shoes, out the door. Deal with the consequences of not thinking it all through later.

BUT HERES THE THING: BEING AWAKE IS FUCKING GLORIOUS.

Dreams can't organize your desk or make plans with friends. Sleep can't make you coffee and lunch with enough time left over for sketching. Sure, you're alone and don't have to do much but think of what you can accomplish when you are awake and others are not!

Its possible to sit with yourself and not want to die. The night is endless but early mornings are a breeze. Keep trying.

hellohellobrooklyn

Children's Illustration is not so kid-friendly.

I love my Children’s Illustration class. Only partially due to the fact that I only have one assignment the entire semester and that is to make a children’s book. It’s gonna be like over 30 colored illustrations, but whatthefuckever, it’s still a story and I get to draw it and yay.

What I mostly love is the fact that there is the HOTTEST Transman in my class, and we hit it off immediately by drawing things in the dust on the table. I felt like a complete dweeb basically waiting for him after class when he told the teacher his name was really ‘Jose’ (pronounced Joh-es) and not the feminine name on the list.

I saw him again helping out with a streetside sale of pet beta fish and cacti for people’s dorms, and got one for myself completely unrelated to the fact that he was there. Honestly. I named it Narada cause it looked like the ship from Star Trek. But holy fuck do I have a huge crush. ugh. It’s a little disgusting seeing as I’ve only met him twice. But I bought my cactus and walked to the mail room and had to pass the streetside sale again and on my way he winked at me. If I was in a RomCom or Anime I’m pretty sure I would’ve tripped.

hellohellobrooklyn

Pre-gaming with my roomies in prep for Hookah night.

I’m trying to quit cigarettes, but… drinking always makes me want them.

I was going crazy and jumped down all 8 flights of stairs with the intent of just going and buying a damn pack already, but I saw my friend Sierra (who has a pack of American Spirit menthols- and I don’t normally like Menthols but Spirit makes them so good and not too minty and mmm) so I paid her a dollar and got one from her to quell my nerves. It was like a sign from the universe telling me “no, you don’t need this right now. When you smoke habitually you feel like crap and you’re always chasing an impossible perfect post-cig high that happens like once a month if you’re lucky. Shhh. Here, have a pacifier. You’re gonna be okay.”

so thank you Sierra and The Universe. I needed that.

hellohellobrooklyn

Being responsible is weird

Instead of just breezing over the reading assignments, I’m actively looking at them and taking notes.

I just ordered $30 worth of printer ink so I can print out my assignments and hand them in all nice-like.

I called my Gyno with questions about my birth control and refills.

I do this all because I can’t rely on my mom anymore. I’m 20 years old, and she’s sick, and I’m sick of her taking care of me when she can barely do that for herself. I love my mom, of course, but getting her to stop fixing everything for me is like pulling teeth. These are little things, but in comparison to mom micromanaging for 20 years, it’s a big step for me. Even when I lived in apartments, she would bring me groceries, take my laundry, remind me of assignments, do anything I never asked her to do.

I want to take responsibility for my life, and if I fail, I want to know it was because I was the one that made the wrong decision.

hellohellobrooklyn

Working, Water, and Wbirth control

For my job, I have to wake up at 6:15AM to catch the G train by 7, to get into Manhattan by 7:45 to get to Pratt Manhattan at 8.

But I am literally getting paid $9/hour to sit around and Tumbl do homework all day. My responsibilities so far have been

Unlock some doors

press some buttons

sit on my ass and say hello

if shit goes wrong- instant message people who can actually do something about it.

hellohellobrooklyn

another eventful weekend

Is this what college is supposed to be like for normal people? Hanging out every weekend getting stoned and making poor romantic decisions?

Dude why the fuck did I not start doing this from the beginning?

Of course, my work is starting to pile because all the free time I have during the week is spent running to things like Pharmacies and my work/study job in Manhattan. On the weekends I just want to be around people.

There’s an encroaching sadness I get if I’m by myself. The feeling like I’m wasting away, loneliness, futility, the urge to puke without the nausea- if that makes any sense.

I’m just too confused to make this post accurately right now. Call it preemptive burnout, call it a hangover, call it both, but all I know is I’m sleeping. Like Now.

hellohellobrooklyn

I needed that.

The strangest thing.

I was in my room, doing my homework on a Saturday night of all things, and generally enjoying myself. I had gotten out earlier, to Manhattan for my low-pressure job for a few hours. Went to Trader Joe’s and spent the last of my money on some cookies just because. I got home, drank some tea, took a nap, and went to hit the books, watching some of my favorite TV while doing so. Around 1am, I started crying. Part of it links to the now very clear fact that I have depression and an anxiety disorder that was passed down to me from my mom, and her mom before that.

I was feeling like shit for a good hour and a half, crying and trying to continue with my work but not getting anywhere.

I needed a cigarette.

The thing was, I was still crying and couldn’t stop. One of those things where you wipe the tears away and see yourself in the mirror to check if you’re presentable to the public and another leaks out. I stuffed my keys and tissues into my pocket, thinking noone would be around to see me at 2am.

As soon as I step out of the building, a guy who I spoke to for a total of 20 seconds in an elevator weeks ago is passing by with a gaggle of friends, clearly coming back from a bar or something. He notices me, and says hello. I don’t look like I’ve been crying anymore, so it’s not even out of pity. He gives me a hug. We traded names for a second time, his name is Robbie.

He leaves with his friends and I’m left with a huge stupid grin, glowing and nearly crying again from the little bit of kindness.

I think it was just a fluke. A lucky happening. I was happy with that for the night, and sit down on the benches with my smoke.

Three seconds after I light up, a pretty girl sits across from me and says hello. She complains about her job, a babysitter for a model and she was supposed to get back home at midnight, but here it is, 2am. She says she’s been sitting and just watching TV for the past 5 hours. She talks to me about her Polish family, and how she loves Brooklyn, even though she’s lived here for over 10 years. Her name is Natalia.

We have 3 cigarettes together, and we talk about the intimate pains in our lives and families the way you can only talk about to a stranger.

When we finally leave eachother in the elevator, she says “Don’t be a stranger!"

And I say thank you. Thank you because I needed this tonight.

See you around.

hellohellobrooklyn

some things are permanent

One day, I will be in a job. And that job might never change or fire me for my entire life.

I might find someone. Someone not familiar from somewhere other than my home town and be with them for a long, long time. I might not even remember a time when we weren’t romantically connected.

I might live somewhere, somewhere like here, where it’s all strange and foreign all the time, and I’m there forever.

I might go back to my home town and find noone there. Anyone I grew up with, people who liked me, bullied me, kissed me, fucked me, they will all be gone.

I might wake up and touch the back of my neck, where my tattoo is, and wish I could do that again.

One day, I might never be able to pick up and move on, and when I’m done, return to the familiar.

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Hello there, Brooklyn