Cry-Laughing But in Silence, Usually

[iwishtequilawasfree]

I don’t think I make you happy. I think the things I can do, and the things I have make you happy, but I don’t think presence makes you happy.

I can drive you around town, get you all the McDonalds, bend to every need, and forgive every mistake, but I will never make you happy.

But at least if you’re here, I won’t be alone. I won’t have look at myself and feel like no one will ever want me. FWIW, it sometimes it feels like you’re the embodiment of someone that doesn’t want me… and that I maintain you… what does that say about me?

TikTok says it means I don’t value myself. I’m inclined to agree. I thought the other day that this is probably all I’ll ever be worth. Like, that you are my worth, that all I’ve worked for has culminated in you.

I hate it here. I hate it here with them — with all of them. Derrick, Vic, Deshan, Gabby, that ugly trans girl, the old men who took advantage of you when you were too drunk to know the difference, Roger, Crystal… all of them. They’re always there, in the back of my mind. Always just waiting for you to not be with me, so they can what? Ha! Maybe they’ll do it better than me. Maybe they’re what you need. Maybe they make you happy.

I feel like a guest in our life, in our home (that I’ve tried to make a home for both of us).

I still feel single. You won’t walk next to me in public. Y’know, that really bugs me. I’ve always imagined I’d be with someone that takes pride in me.

Would my life be cheaper without you? Not really. Maybe? Unclear. Would be overall better? Maybe? Unclear. Eh, probably. There’d be one less thing to worry about, one less person to coordinate appointments around, one less reason to take off work, one less person to waste a car ride on, one less person I’d want to succeed, one less person I’d have to trust (who has repeatedly given me a reason not to trust them). I’d have 99 problems, but a bitch wouldn’t be one, as JayZ said, in that one song, from that one year.

I’m paralyzed by the thought of being like my mom, alone.

If I just do everything, I keep thinking you’ll see that I’m good. That’s what I tell myself. I know that’s the biggest lie I tell myself.

And then… I hear the whispered conversations that you have with your friends, and experience this fierce loneliness all the time (unless I’m laying next to you — and even then sometimes).

I know I’m good enough for someone, I don’t know where they are or if I’ll ever meet them, and I know (don’t) have you, even when you’re right here.

Maybe I’m that percentage of people that will end up alone forever, but fuck that’s sad. But also, maybe it’s better than being with you. Maybe that is better then the wish of “us”. Of the lie that I’ve created for us, of this wholesome thing that is really just me trying to build some home, and you wanting to live in the home, and not take any responsibility for it.

I think it’s over. I know it’s over. I’m almost there.

[iwishtequilawasfree]

Chipped

Kinda feels like that.

Like a pretty porcelain cup -- one of the ones with the little gold plated rim -- with a big ass chip in it.

On my best day, on my good side, I'm pretty and perfect. The handle is still good, the plating hasn't gone green, I'm even, and don't lean to the side on a perfectly flat service. I can hold my water (or my coffee or my tea) with no problem. I transfer heat well. I'm a good cup, one for nice tables, for people to see.

On my worst day... I'm a marred thing. Clearly broken, unkept, and damaged. I leak when I'm tipped further than should be allowed, and I'm a menace to an unwatched lip. I cut, and I can hurt, if you're not careful. The handle is strong, but the heat is hot where it shouldn't be because of the of constantly being handled, washing, and the scrubbing, and the soaps that deter me. I'm not useful or beautiful.

[iwishtequilawasfree]

[iwishtequilawasfree]

listening to the struggle of the youth

Like... you listen to them...

And then you think to yourself... was I like that?

And then you realize... you're much too skeptical for that shit.

Some combination of the pitch, syntax, and slur gives me one of those painless headaches. One of those... that like, it doesn't hurt, but like, it's annoying.

The realization that like... there are still people out there that are young enough and naive, and willing to consistently "give a chance", that are still hopeful about the world and the prospects in it... it's nice. Or maybe enlightening is the right word? Maybe?

Iunno.

I hate listening to overly agreeable people.

It feels mindless.

It feels inauthentic.

It feels like everything I never want to be. It's offensive.

I'm expectant, with an opinion -- it can surely be changed, but also, I have an opinion.

And... where I'm from, being honest, being authentic, being real, means I care -- that you mean enough that I have to think around you -- that you're worth my brain space.

Of course, I guess... the overly agreeable are just trying to be loved, to be accepted. I find the people that are FOR ME, are FOR ME AND MY OPINION, and that assuredly can't mean that I' for everyong.

Something something, I'm not everyone's triple americano, something something, but I'm someone's shot of Don Julio 1942, straight from the bottle.

[iwishtequilawasfree]

i went on a walk alone

That wasn't the original intent.

I thought I'd do a nice/good thing, and go on a walk with my person. I gave him a 30 min time warning. He said he wanted to do it -- it's way out of my comfort zone, but it's a good thing to do. It's good for me to walk, and hell, I'd been inside all day.

Well, fuck me for trying. He had just started a brilliant conversation that would not be interrupted. He would have been "rude" had he stayed on the walk, preferring his phone conversation.

I guess, I'm thankful for the honestly. A walk with him, would have frustrated me. It would have defeated the whole purpose. It would have left me complete unfulfilled, and feeling like some afterthought. Some *thing* that doesn't warrant regarding.

# # # #

I know that's dramatic. I know. But I just feel... uncared for. I know I shouldn't take in personally. But, I'm actually struggling, and I kind of needed this. Whatever.

No, not whatever. He mentioned going to the farmer's market, but I'm COMPLETELY tapped. There's no money anywhere, on any card. I can't go to the farmer's market, because that costs money. I've got a week until payday, and I'm not one of his little part-time friends that live in a room, or a dumpy apartment.

I wanted this to be a thing we could do for free -- something he literally does every other day, with other people, since all we'd done in stay in the house (the CA heat tho!).

I feel poor. I feel tapped. I feel alone, and to boot, this added not good enough to go on a walk.

Now, it's whatever. Dumb.

No wait, in his words, "stupid".

# # # #

The walk wasn't for me, so I suggested we turn around. I walk back, let him in the house, and then decide, FUCK IT. I'm going on this walk.

It's 9:00pm, and 92 degrees out. There's a little breeze, and it's not *too* dark out. It's actually very CA nice, lol. (IYKYK)

I reminded myself that yes, I can take a walk by myself, and that walking is good. It reminded me that I'm capable.

Would I have liked for him to come with me? Sure.

Do I need him to come with me? No.

Will I do more walks alone? Likely. Will I always invite him? Yes.

[iwishtequilawasfree]

[iwishtequilawasfree]

go ahead put anything

That's what the header says, when you put your cursor in box. What I want to put in the box feels almost too awful to say. Too much of a realization, too much of an anything. I rolled over this morning and though of this, like it was something a normal person goes over in their head.

I feel like a monster.

He says, sex is transactional, fine. It's been that way for me most of my life. Such is the way of the gay. It has its moment, but it's usually about getting off.

Last night, he said, Deshawn smells, his place is a mess, and that Deshawn basically forces himself on him.

I assumed -- but didn't know -- he and Deshawn were still having sex, even after I asked, directly, and was told no. Deshawn doesn't use protection. Deshawn probably doesn't use (enough) lube.

Our sex life hasn't dwindled, but comes in bursts. We transact as much is necessary, generally.

The realization is that... I've been fucking him, after he's been fucked, and he just.. takes it. The pain... I know that pain. What is that sense of helplessness, of service, of degradation. He's probably ruined down there, and... fuck.

I'm a monster. I feel predatory. I feel like a loser.

So he lets this other person who "accepts" him fuck him because he feel he owes him this, and then comes home and does the same thing with me...

I shouldn't be having sex with this man.

Fuck.

[iwishtequilawasfree]

hard

It’s especially hard seeing the person you love completely bamboozeled by their own mental health.

It’s like a come to Jesus moment on steroids.

It’s sitting in the room and listening to insurmountable odds and not being able to say anything.

It’s listening to the conflict too big to sit in the body of such a small person, of the outburst of honesty and pain.

And all I can think about is…

# # # #

I know he’s going to sleep with Deshawn.

Because I know that’s what he’s been doing - because he’s said as much during this agonizing eruption of truth. I’ve always known. The catch in the back of my throat tho, always catches.

But my eyes remain straight. My gaze, number over. My breath unchanged. I’ve mastered the response.

I’m proud and disgusted at myself at who I’ve become.

# # # #

It was the drugs. It was the over 100mg of unprescribed Adderall giving to him by a man he calls a friend that I’ve never seen. Derek.

I hate Derek. My gut is, he's a drug dealer, and/or probably has too much money.

I hate the addiction to “dopamine”. And his inability to combat it.

I hate that he feels broken now. How he feels like he’s regressed months, how he can’t do anything right, how the whole world is against him, how his family has left him for dead.

It’s sad. It’s the drugs.

Maybe he’ll get better. Maybe he won’t. Maybe I’ll be there. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I want to be there. Maybe I don’t.

Too many maybes.

Too much sad.

Too many drugs.

Too much love.

[iwishtequilawasfree]

x.com

[iwishtequilawasfree]

ומזעיק (invisible)

[I chose Yiddish. I don't know why. I just kinda wanted something different. Like, at one point in my life, finding words in different languages was a thing for me. Specially, in re: character names.]

It's interesting when you listen to people when they talk to other people. It tells you a lot about a person.

Language is precise. It's a science. It's a direct channel to what you want people to know.

What you say, and how you say it -- it paints the picture.

Even if you fuck up what you mean, don't know what you mean or have a poor handle on the English langauge, what you say still does the same thing.

So when you have a person... a person you say you love, you should refer to them as such.

Maybe I just want to hear it.

I think I just want the acknowledgment from them. The ever resolute "them". I hate *them*. I always will. I'll always save face, and I'll always be kind. I have home training, I'm respectful. I'll always play the game. I feel like they're all clawing at the (our) door, waiting for me to fail. Waiting for us to fail.

They all think they can do better. I hear the way they refer to me, how they go silent.

Thing is...

None of them have put in the work. They're all just... there when it's good. When the meds are just right, when there's alcohol and the times are still good, when there are drugs, when he's pliable, when he's agreeable, when he's not in tears for no reason, when he's not pacing, when he's not having a full ass breakdown.

They're nowhere to be found at 7AM when he's walking into their home, when he's angry, when he's off his meds, when he's just sitting and crying, when he's berating his ability to father, after alcoholic euphoria when it's just sad drunk fuck, when the serotonin has sweat out, when there's nothing left but a puddle of depression and sadness.

He's been hard-launched in my circle.

And that changes things. Probably in a bad way for us. They will be there though. They'll be there, just on the other side of the (our) door.

[iwishtequilawasfree]

in case you care

I’ve been emotional. Like consciously holding back — forcing back — tears emotional.

They’re triggered moments, brought on by conversations I should maybe be weary of, but ones that I haven’t been able to easily avoid.

I’ve been thinking a lot about you relationship with her… and how you always have a space for her, and how she’ll always be able to squeeze you when you have nothing. How you’ll literally sell yourself to get what she needs.

I think about that in a lot of contexts, but one of those is how little you’ll do for me, and how I’ll always do for you.

Another is what she’s never been able to do for you, and where you might be if it was left to her.

Maybe that’s why I’m emotional.

I’ve thinking about my own experiences and how at my age, I’ve done this dumb shit, and now I don’t need to, because I have more I want to do.

I think about how you don’t seem to have goals. I think about how that bothers me.

I think about your friends that have very few goals, and/or are very far away from them. I think about my own friends, and how they’re moving successfully and tactfully, through the world.

I think about how I might leave here one day… I think about the day I’ll have to say bye to you, because you’re not where I need you to be, to be in a successful relationship in a new place.

I guess, in case you care, I want you to know that I’m thinking. Every day. I’m thinking about what I need. My space. My life. My future.

I think about how you fit into it, less, and less, if nothing changes.

I know, my heart might break. I know I’m not strong enough to do it.

I’m feeling my worth these days.

I need me.

[iwishtequilawasfree]

[iwishtequilawasfree]

no words

Reading is fundamental. Having the verbiage within one’s own mind to explain anything, is paramount.

It’s almost like you’re silent screaming. Like, people can’t hear the screams, but they can’t make sense of it. People hear the sadness and the rage, but don’t comprehend what it all means.

I guess this is all to say…

Education is important so that you can appropriately access the world, and the services that are provided.

[iwishtequilawasfree]

[op0ssumlord]

When I say autism is a spectrum I mean. Some autistic traits include:

Excessive talking - Non-verbal and no talking

Little to no eye contact - Excessive eye contact

Can’t read a person - Can over analyze a person

Socks 24/7 - No socks 24/7

Super high IQ - Below average IQ

Constantly under-stimulated - Constantly over-stimulated

Hyper-sexual - No sexual attraction at all

AUTISM IS A SPECTRUM NOT EVERYONE SHOWS THE SAME AUTISTIC TRAITS

[iwishtequilawasfree]

i told him you can't change your core

My friends -- my friend, and his husband, are getting a divorce. They love each other. They love each other enough to know that they don't want to resent each other. They've been together 10 years. I've known them for probably about half of that.

My friend told me they've tried therapy, but that every time they try to change, but that it always goes back to the same.

In all my clarity, as person with no problems in the world - did I mention I have no problems in the world? - what as I saying?

In all my clarity, I said, "your cores aren't compatible".

As I said the words, the way I hit myself in my own chest hurt.

I thought about myself, as I elegantly intertwined my verbiage, and watched my pauses and breaths between words. I thought... maybe our cores aren't compatible.

Maybe no matter how hard I try to be different, I'll never be. I'm hardened, and a body of assumptions. I'm indirect by nature. I have my own trauma that has never been worked through. I have experiences and lessons learned.

I just...

In moments of crisis I'm a man of many gifts. My work. My life. Everything. Everything lends me to being the best person to have near/with you during the shit hitting the fan. I demand consistent and accurate responses, and results. I require the fanfare that is common place in the neurotypical world because that's what I know.

It's just that...

None of that lends to being a particularly compassionate partner. I have expectations. I require, and I demand that these expectations be met because, I need measurements, and clarity of a job being done.

I just wonder if my core is compatible... with anyone...

And...

Try as I might to be different, to be softer, to not expect, or demand, it's not my core.

It's not my fucking core.

[iwishtequilawasfree]

i’m choosing not-me

I’m choosing the more difficult road. The road of servitude — the road in service of something bigger than me.

Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s not.

Whatever it is, is feels good until it hurts, until there’s the rage amidst the misunderstanding, and the mental anguish that is begotten from the mental instability.

Even in the multitude of imperfection, something there feels good.

It’s my own brokenness. My. Brokenness.

The broken, search for the more broken.

I’m broken.

Even now, as we near the end — because I feel I’m just hanging on to silk threads at this point.

Even now, it feels good.

Even it’s all pretend… you know what?

He chose me, and like… for whatever it’s worth, that means something to me. It’s fucked up.

I’m super fucked up.

I’m choosing him. I hope it pays off — which sounds painfully transactional, but I hope it’s all worth it, I guess.