Wasted


Trigger warnings: this one is a bit dark, and very dreary and depression, mostly because I’m talking about depression. Enter at your own risk. If you do decide to read it and it hurts, then I am very sorry. I hope I’ll be okay, and I hope that you will too.

***

My head is a weird place to live.

Last night was very difficult. In retrospect, I should have seen last night coming, because the whole day was leading up to it.

Sorry, I’m being cryptic. What I’m talking about is my depression. My depression which as I’ve said before manifests as intense loneliness, and it just follows me around throughout the day. I was actually going to write a blog post last night about “Grey Days,” which was a possible word I was thinking of to describe the kind of day where my depression is having a “flare up.” This is something that’s really been happening all my life. When I was a little kid, it wasn’t so much a feeling of loneliness as it was an intense nostalgia, longing for a past time when I felt safe or comfortable or happy. This affected my OCD and caused me to spend a lot of time playing video games and watching TV to try and recreate a moment when I had felt safe. And then in turn I’d try to recreate that feeling later on, leading to me doing a whole lot of playing video games and listening to television and not a whole lot of anything else.

And you know, I wish that I had known then, back when I was twelve, spending all my time staring at screens, that it was a very unproductive use of my time. Granted, my life was not easy when I was twelve. I was raised by an emotionally abusive mother and I needed whatever moments of peace I could get. But I wish I had found peace in walking around outside or reading books more often than video games, because ultimately, as much as I love video games, it kind of saps all the creativity out of me and leaves me kind of zombified. Sometimes that’s nice, but to spend the majority of all your free time that way isn’t exactly healthy.

And really, I think a lot of my problems are due to unhealthy habits. I never learned to eat properly, I never learned to play any sports, I never learned how to interact with people my age, I never learned to drive or do my taxes or deal with the responsibility and stress of working a job. I never learned to manage money, I never had a supportive family who could comfort me when I was lonely or heartbroken, I had to do everything by myself. I had to raise myself. Emotionally, at least. And well, a kid doesn’t know how to raise himself.

I’m rambling today and I guess that’s just gonna be what today’s post is. It’s important that I write every day just to exercise, another thing I need to work on. I want to go back to the gym. I’d like to do so today. But today is another Grey Day where everything is just HEAVY.

I carry the loneliness and the depression around like a very heavy blanket over my shoulders. It’s like a blanket in a lot of ways, it comforts me and keeps me safe when I’m alone, but it’s also hard to carry around, and it keeps me from breathing unfettered.

I was determined that today, I would not let the depression keep me from being productive. I was going to get up, take my computer, and go out into the daylight, sit down at the coffee shop and write, apply for college, work on job applications, and try to make the most of the day. And I’m doing that. But it would be accurate to say that the simple effort to just sit here, out in public, and do something so simple, is so draining that my whole body is weak and I almost feel like I could pass out from it. I’m not really panicked or anxious right now. My current meds have traded panic attacks for deeper depression. It’s time I asked my doctor to change them. I don’t know what the next ones will be like.

I’m horny all the time. I always have been, I’m hypersexual. But this summer, I indulged way too much, and I had a lot of unsatisfactory hookups that ultimately amounted to self-harming. I was shattering my spirit every time I did it, to the point that I didn’t even enjoy hooking up anymore. I was even a little grossed out by it. This is not something I’m used to feeling. Usually, sexuality is so powerful that it consumes me, and even if things don’t work out with the person I’m having sex with, at least I had fun having sex. But now even that has vanished. And the loss of my sexual appetite (and inability to stay hard at important moments, again due to the medication) has really affected my sense of identity. Sexuality is such a part of who I am that I don’t know who I am without it.

A Youtuber who I like, called Contrapoints, said that when she transitioned and no longer had to deal with having so much testosterone running through her, she felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, like she’d been released from the curse of having a man’s body, the need to have an orgasm every day, to have sex frequently in relationships. I admit that I thought it sounded nice. I thought, it would be good not to have this throbbing thing between my legs dictating my bodily needs, demanding attention before everything else, to the point where orgasms didn’t even feel that good anymore. I usually cum more than four times a day. And this is me ON ANTIDEPRESSANTS, we won’t even go into what it was like before I had medication. Suffice it to say my sexual appetite is huge. And I guess that’s a natural part of being a male in my twenties, but combined with my recent struggles with such intense loneliness, it makes for a dangerous combination.

Last night, I gave up on writing a blog post, packed my computer up and drove home. I’d gone to Starbucks, which is my preferred place to hang out and write, mostly because they always have incredibly fast and reliable WiFi. I spoke to the manager earlier this week about a job and she was very nice to me, and I honestly got really excited. I called her a couple of days later and she assured me she hadn’t forgotten about me. I came in today and asked if she was there, but she’d already gone home. I’m hoping she’ll call me back. I’d always kind of worried about what working in a coffee shop would be like for me, being stuck behind a counter with long lines and potentially feeling really hot and overwhelmed, but for some reason I now really want to give it a try. I think I’d be a good fit. I hear they pay their employees really well.

You see, I don’t have any idea what I was going to talk about when I started this, it’s all very stream of consciousness today because there’s just so much I have to say. I’ve been working on writing a song, and every day I spent at least twenty minutes or so playing it and throwing around ideas. It’s progressing very slowly. I’ve been keeping track of my ideas for stories and blogs. And I made myself some lunch this afternoon instead of buying it, and that always feel better than eating processed food.

I wish I had any fucking clue how to do any of this. It’s awful to be twenty-eight and have no idea how to be a grownup. I feel so embarassed and humiliated, like this big child who doesn’t know what the hell I’m doing. And mostly, the only real emotion I’ve been feeling lately is desperate, cloying loneliness, which doesn’t exactly make online dating easy, because I’m either upset at all the rejection or I’m coming on to people way too strong.

I guess I’ve gotten over being ghosted a couple weeks ago. But I haven’t forgotten about it, and I haven’t stopped being angry. Another guy has put off seeing me three times now and vanished without responding to messages. I don’t know why people are so unreliable. I even asked him last night to promise he wouldn’t disappear on me. But he did anyway.

What I feel today is hopelessness. The effort to sit here is overwhelming. Just driving around, being out in the world, it’s enough to make me swoon with sadness. I walk through the day, on the verge of tears at all times, and the worst thing is I don’t know if it’s for a legitimate reason or if it’s just my stupid brain chemistry not doing what it’s supposed to.

I’m getting old. I’m not actually getting old but I can feel myself aging, turning into an actual adult, and I’ve missed so much. I didn’t go to college, and even if I start soon, I’ll never know what it’s like to be twenty-four in college. When I think back on my life, I ask myself, is there any time I would go back to and live again if I could travel into the past? And aside from my visits with Matthew last year and Jacob this year, the answer is no. I hate my childhood, I hate my teenage years, I hate my early twenties. When I look back on my life, I don’t see a collection of lived experiences and a life full of interesting thought and contemplation and expression of my talent, I see wasted potential, I see the person I currently am: a fat, diabetic, alternate-timeline version of the real me, the one who went to school and made friends and had lovers and felt things, felt life, actually FELT everything. But this version of me? It’s a bad dream. One where you wake up and think “I’m so glad I’m not actually in my late twenties, I’m so glad I haven’t sat around and wasted my life playing video games. I’m so glad I didn’t turn into my older brother, sitting on my ass playing games all day while a woman takes care of me.”

But in my case, I don’t wake up, I don’t look down to discover I’m still spry and energetic and hopeful and sexual. I realize that I’m twenty-eight, but I look like I’m twenty and I feel like I’m forty. And I’ve spent so much time doing absolutely nothing, and I regret.

I regret. So. Much.

I think I’m going to go home, and save the college application for later. I’m going to crawl into bed with the dog and the cat, and I’m going to curl up and maybe cry, maybe listen to ASMR videos, maybe browse through the fifteen open Pornhub tabs on my phone, maybe fantasize about my novel that probably isn’t actually any good, and has gone stale and old and lost it’s spark and it’s magic, and will probably never be written. I’m a good writer, but not good enough to write a book. I’m a good musician, but not good enough to make an album. I’m a good lover, but not good enough to make someone feel a genuine connection with me. Except for Jacob, of course. I still love him. And a few other people, but most of them live far away.

I didn’t mean for this to be so sad. But this is what it’s like inside me, walking around inside my sad little body. You can’t really explain it to people like my mom who don’t have a conception of what it’s like to be constantly in pain, constantly hurting, constantly alone, constantly on the edge of tears. To live your life with your emotions just laying gently on a razorblade, and any bit of pressure will bare down on you and it will cut you. To feel sick, and depraved, and like everyone who’s ever met you was mistaken when they saw your kind voice and your compassionate heart and your articulate way of speaking, and they didn’t see that inside you’re a creep. Everybody loves that stupid Radiohead song, “I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.” But they don’t really believe it when they sing it, or identify with it. They don’t really know what it’s like to be a weirdo. They don’t know what it’s like to learn with surprise that your other gay friends DON’T peek at the urinal every time, that they DON’T find themselves fantasizing about fucking every cute guy they see, that they DON’T immediately wonder what someone’s penis looks like when they talk to you, that they DON’T see the world through a hypsexual fog that increases the color of everything like a television turning up the saturation, but that only gives you an exaggerated version of reality, and it’s pretty but it still isn’t real.

I’m ashamed. I’m lonely. And I don’t think that I’m really worthy of love. Because I know that I’m too much work. My heart is a tangled web of veins and arteries and muscles, and to actually get to anything worthwhile, you have to go cutting through the vines and searching for something hidden deep within. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I’m clingy and emotional, but at the same time I’m shut off, I can’t really express love or actually enjoy a connection. I’m so many contradictions in one person, and it tears my spirit into pieces when all the different parts of me are running in different directions and leaving me in the center, being pulled and pulled while the fabric begins to tear.

I’m not going to hurt myself. I certainly don’t want to hurt anyone else. My version of being suicidal is not actually attempting to kill myself because I don’t truly want to die, it’s a feeling of giving up all hope. It feels good to let go of hope, because it’s not the answer you want but it IS AN ANSWER. If you pray and God answers, “No,” well at least he spoke to you. That’s what giving up is like. It’s like trying to stay alive in the ocean but making the decision to unbuckle the life vest and sink, because now you’ve made a CHOICE, now the power is back in your hands, and even the ocean can’t take that from you.

I hope that tomorrow I feel better. I hope that tomorrow I find the love of my life. I hope that tomorrow I laugh. I hope that tomorrow I never have to feel the way I feel when I’m around my mother. I hope that tomorrow I’ll be a little bit better of a person than I was today, and I won’t feel so incredibly wasted.

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“And Protect Yourself With Fire”

Content warning for some explicit sexual content

I think I’m beginning to develop trust issues.

I’ve had… one of the weirdest couple of weeks of my life. And frankly, it’s all starting to wear on me.

When I tell people about the things that happen to me, they often respond by saying I have such an interesting life, or they say “How are you meeting so many people?” or “I wish I could meet guys like you can.” Well, it isn’t really like that.

I don’t know where to begin, so I’ll start about a week or so ago. The story is very detailed and complicated but to wrap it all up in a brief summary, I had a hookup with a guy in the middle of the night who was drunk and acting incredibly strange. At one point he asked me how much money I had in my wallet, then when I told him I was uncomfortable with that question and I’m going to leave if he keeps talking that way, he laughed at me and said “You really think you can leave? I’m very strong.” That’s probably the most horrific thing anyone has ever said to me. It occurred to me in that moment that the people killed by Jeffrey Dahmer probably also had a similar moment of realization that they were in serious danger.

Despite his creepy behavior, and for whatever reason, I actually ended up staying so that we could finish fooling around because it was late and I was worked up. He did another incredibly weird thing, which is that he found a zit on my back and then BIT IT OPEN, causing me to start bleeding everywhere. Weirdly, I did still stay until we finished, and then left soon after. That night, I went to Waffle House around 4AM to try and get some food and calm down, feeling really dirty and gross. When I went back to my car, I was sitting there looking at my phone and a drunk lady opened my passenger door and sat down in my car, resulting in me calling the cops to get her to leave, which she did, she hopped in her own car and drove away.

A few days later, after spending a day at a friends house more or less recovering from all the strangeness, I got a message from a guy on Grindr who wanted to hook up. When we met, we had a lot in common, and for some reason that I still don’t understand I just started to fall for this guy very quickly. He was charming and cute, and he was affectionate and understanding and very intelligent and well-spoken. He invited me to spend the next day with him while he worked from home, even told me to go home and get my computer and then come back, but later on after I left, he completely “ghosted” me, and never responded to any messages.

Next, another guy who I’d met through Tinder asked to come spend some time with me. He knew I wasn’t feeling well but he wanted to come anyway, and he actually drove two hours to get here. He was in his early twenties, but acted like a teenager and we had nothing in common. He was very rude to me, refusing to look up from his phone, playing on Instagram instead of paying attention to me, and when I tried to liven things up by playing piano for him, he was checking his Grindr instead of listening to me. He started playing piano for me and was doing pretty well, but he kept going on about how his favorite musicians were Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift and Selena Gomez and honestly I just couldn’t believe how awful his taste in music was, especially for someone with some level of musical ability.

Later on with that same guy, things got sexual but he said he didn’t want to touch me at all. He didn’t mind me touching him, just didn’t want to touch me back. I was a little confused and thought that was selfish, but eventually without really any prodding from me, he DID start to touch me, and then stopped to ask me if I’d showered, and implied he didn’t want to go down on me because I smelled bad. Considering I had come home early from my job, where I’d been standing up in the heat all afternoon, and he hadn’t seen me take a shower, I thought he might have put together that I hadn’t taken a shower, but to outright insult me like that on top of everything was too much, and I made him leave.

I felt guilty for doing it, because the guy has Asbherger’s, and while that isn’t a free pass to be a dick to me, he honestly just looked so SCARED when I told him to get out, and shocked and confused, and I realized that maybe he hadn’t intended to be as rude as he was, and I felt awful at the idea that I might have made him feel unsafe. We spoke about it and I apologized, as did he, but the whole experience is still upsetting for me, mostly because I feel so terrible for even possibly making him feel unsafe. I was angry at him and cussed at him, but I didn’t want him to think I was going to HURT him. I just told him he had been incredibly rude and was being a bitch to me.

After all of this had happened, Gay Pride weekend started in Charlotte. I wanted to go but I kind of chickened out. I never went to the parade or the official celebration, but I did go to a gay bar. It’s a small bar that caters more toward bears and a wider range of guys than our local gay club, and has a better atmosphere. I felt a little out of place there, as the majority of men were large hairy guys in harnesses and kilts, or wrestling singlets. I mostly sat by the pool tables and played on my phone, ignoring the crowds. At one point I start to walk around outside, where people were moving in a line to get through the crowds, and I saw one guy who stood out from the others, but only from behind: he was a short guy with somewhat pale skin, wearing nothing but rainbow briefs and a harness, with blue glitter all over his body and in his hair. At one point he turned around and I saw his face and realized it was actually the guy from earlier in the week who had ghosted me after I had started to kind of fall for him.

I called out his name and said hello to him. He was very nice and easy to talk to. He told me he’s in a weird place right now and didn’t know what to say, and I told him that if he didn’t want me to talk to him it was okay, just to let me know, and he told me I hadn’t done anything wrong. But later on, after I tried to message him… once again, nothing. No response. Ghosted me again. I was feeling pretty down after the whole experience so I went home. I wasn’t fitting at the gay bar and generally just preferred to be at home with my video games and my library of Kate Bush music.

I got a message from a friend who I’ve spoken to online but never met in person that he was drunk and needed me to pick him up. I’d told him earlier on that I was willing to come get him if he needed anything, so I absolutely didn’t mind doing it. I brought him back to my house and we got in bed, started to snuggle, and one thing led to another and we ended up having sex. This was actually a very special experience for me, because the guy in question is transgender and I’ve never been with a trans guy before. As far as having sex with someone with a vagina, I’ve done that once, a very long time ago, with a girl I worked with, and it wasn’t a very enjoyable experience. I didn’t get to do a lot of the things I wanted to try, we had very little chemistry, and the whole thing was over quickly.

So this was really my first time being with someone who doesn’t have a penis, and there was so much I wanted to do and experiment with, and I was finally able to. I tasted and touched things I hadn’t before, and I felt new sensations. I felt like a virgin again. We fucked twice, kissing each time, holding each other close. I woke up in the middle of the night to us already making out, and he climbed on top of me and we fucked again.

In the morning, I tried to reach between his legs and he pulled away. Later on I asked if I could kiss him and he said “I’m good.” We had a good time going out to breakfast, and then I took him home. He didn’t ghost me afterward, but I’ve realized that most likely what we did only happened because he was feeling very uninhibited and excited. He assured me the night we did it that I wasn’t taking advantage of him, as even though he was feeling tipsy, he was still in control of himself, which was why he’d asked me to come and get him in the first place, because he’d been with a guy who was coming on to him too hard and wanted to get away from the situation but couldn’t drive himself.

But I realized that what we did probably didn’t mean very much to him. For me it was special, it was my first time with a trans guy, it was a new experience that I’ve wanted to have for a long time, and it was beautiful. But for him… well, it probably wasn’t that important. And that’s okay, but after everything that’s happened, I just wish it hadn’t have ended that way. I don’t mean that we should have become boyfriends or anything, but getting rejected by him right after we’d had such chemistry hurt.

The next night, I was laying in bed when a guy on Grindr told me he was homeless, his boyfriend had dropped him off earlier in the day and never come back. I knew it was a dangerous idea to invite him over to my house, but I wanted to help, so I picked him up and took him to McDonalds, then to the gas station to get him some water and snacks to take with him. The next day he found somewhere to go, an ex of his came and picked him up. This story doesn’t actually end with sex or rejection or anything, but it was an odd experience to happen in an already eventful week.

And then we reach today. Yet another guy from Grindr (I’m starting to see a pattern here…) asked me to hang out. We’d spoken before. He’s polyamorous and married, and we’ve exchanged photos and generally been sexual with one another. So he invited me over to watch a movie and have dinner. He ordered pizza and he gave me alcohol. We actually spoke for about an hour beforehand and we were getting along well, he seemed like an interesting guy and we had things in common. But about fifteen minutes after we’d eaten and we were just starting the movie, he stood up and started walking around his house, and when I followed him to ask if everything was alright, he told me he needed to get started on homework. I was a little confused that he would ask me to leave right after giving me alcohol, as in addition to being strange and sending me mixed signals, it was also an irresponsible and potentially dangerous thing to do to me. I hadn’t actually come on to him apart from earlier when we sat on the couch and I gave his back a quick scratch and asked if he’d like come and cuddle with me while he watched the movie, to which he said no and just kept his face turned away from me.

After I left, feeling utterly hurt and disappointed, he told me that he was uncomfortable because he could smell something weird in his house that smelled like a combination of cat poop and body odor. I hadn’t noticed it, but his house did smell like cats in general because they’re fostering a bunch of kittens, and it hadn’t bothered me. But he also made a comment that made me feel even more hurt, he said he couldn’t tell if the smell was “Your feet, my work clothes, or cat shit under the carpet.” Wait did you just imply that my feet stank too? That’s the second time this week someone’s made a weirdly disparaging comment about how I smell! I literally had just taken a shower, what the hell?

And now here I am at home, genuinely starting to wonder if I can trust people. I told this guy about my experience earlier in the week being ghosted, and then told him that if he wanted me to just leave him alone all he had to do was tell me. I couldn’t have possibly made it any easier for him, but he continued to be evasive and not tell me the whole story, because his behavior was still incredibly strange and I don’t think I understand it completely.

I know what some of you are thinking: stop going on Grindr. It’s probably good advice. But the thing is, dating apps are the ONLY way to meet people, especially if you live in the South and there isn’t a very accessible gay community. I don’t have much choice when it comes to meeting other guys, and after deciding recently that I might even be open the idea of finding a partner, or someone who might become a partner, I can’t very well just delete all ways of doing that from phone.

I don’t know. Right now I feel crappy, and I feel unwanted, and I feel lonely. Like always.

 

Currently listening to…

Lily
Kate Bush
Before The Dawn

“Oh Here I Go, Don’t Let Me Go”

Today is a day of many emotions.

Well really, yesterday was the day with all the emotions, but today is the resolution of those emotions.

The story actually begins two nights ago. I was hanging out at home and got a message from a guy on Grindr who I’d seen around and thought was pretty cute. I’d actually messaged him before but never got a response. He messaged back to say he was sorry for not responding, which I suspect had less to do with him not seeing my previous message and a lot more to do with my profile picture changing to a much cuter picture of me with a new haircut. Which is fine, no shame on him.

All I really knew about him was that he was cute, he had “f-holes” tattooed on his arms, which if you didn’t know (because I didn’t) are those holes on the sides of a violin that the sound comes out of, and that he played oboe and bassoon. Naturally I was interested. I’m going to give a quick little content warning here because we’re going to get into the details of what happened, which range from explicitly sexual to upsettingly emotional.

I came to meet him. He lived in a very nice apartment with a roommate, and when I met him I noticed two things about him. The first is that he’s shorter than me, which I found pretty adorable, and that he was even cuter than his pictures had led me to believe. The second was that he spoke in an eloquent voice and had no trace of a southern accent. This reminded me a lot of myself, because I also don’t speak with a southern accent and people are often surprised to learn that I’m from the south. My family all have accents, I just don’t. I had one as a kid, it went away on it’s own as I grew up. It sounds condescending, but honestly the more I learned to read and write, the less I spoke with a southern accent. I’m not saying there’s a correlation there, but you are free to postulate your own conclusions.

We went upstairs to his room and had some white wine. We chatted about music, about our past relationships, about being gay in the south. We found out that we went to the same high school, he started the year after I graduated. We both have prematurely grey hair and as it happens we had the exact same haircut. I was a vers top and he was a vers bottom. I’m submissive in relationships but dominant in bed, he’s dominant in relationships but submissive in bed. When we finally kissed, we were both pleasantly surprised at the chemistry we had. Sometimes you have a lot in common but no sexual chemistry. This wasn’t an issue for us. He had recently had a Prince Albert piercing so I was careful to be gentle with his cock and to lick it rather than suck it. We got off together and then spent the rest of the night cuddling close. He fit so perfectly in my arms, and he liked to kiss and be affectionate as much as I did. When he held me he’d plant little kisses on my forehead for no reason which is essentially a quick way to make me fall in love with you.

He invited me to stay the night if I wanted to, and I took him up on the offer. We stayed up all night discussing Final Fantasy, which we discovered we have a mutual interest in. We talked about wanting to create video games: I’m an ideas guy, he’s a coding and building guy. We didn’t get much sleep, but he told me that getting him off twice in one night was a feat few had accomplished and naturally I felt pretty proud of myself. When I told him I was a little self-conscious about my chubby body he assured me he found me very attractive. The next morning he woke up for work, but he works from home and he told me I was welcome to stay over and hang out while he worked. I said I wished I had thought to bring my computer, and he said I was welcome to go get it and come back, which I did.

Well… I guess it shouldn’t be hard to guess what was going on with me. I fell head over heels for this guy. And that’s honestly not something that happens a lot. Even on a hookup where I find a guy interesting, I tend to just hope for the best and go on with my life. But… something about him just felt like “This is it. This is the guy.” I had made the decision a few days ago that I was ready to start looking for a partner, and here is this guy who seems to fit every criterion I’d want in a partner. Now, there were some conflicts. For one thing, he identifies as Christian, although he doesn’t like organized religion, and I don’t begrudge him his beliefs. In fact I confessed that I still pray a lot, even though (and he doesn’t really know this about me) being anti-Christian is a hue part of my identity. He also prefers to be monogamous and has had a bad experience with polyamory, and that’s totally fair. I told him I might be willing to try monogamy if the right guy came along. These two things were definitely red flags for me, not that there was anything wrong with him in particular, but that we might have some conflicts in what we were looking for, but I overlooked them.

I don’t really know what got into me. I think it’s that someone finally showed me love and affection, for the first time since Jake left. We slept so little so he took a nap with me in the afternoon on his lunch hour, and he slept on my chest. We were laying there naked, and he was breathing gently while I held him with my right arm, and I felt so content, so complete. When we kissed it was gentle and simple and I loved the way he tasted and the way his breath smelled. Our legs intertwined when we faced each other and he touched my body in ways I wanted to be touched, not just sexually but gently running fingers along my back. I kept stroking his face and admiring how beautiful he was. During the night we spent together, I looked up at him while I laid on his chest and I could see his face in the moonlight and I was shocked at how much I could forget how beautiful he was when I looked away. Every time I saw him it was like seeing him for the first time.

Within one day, this guy had become my whole world. I wrote three poems about him while I was driving. I was listening to Hounds Of Love by Kate Bush and I finally got the song, about running away from love and it finding you and hunting you down, and being ready to accept love. I felt conflict about the things we differ on, and the fact that I didn’t know him that well yet, but I just had a great feeling about him. He told me up front that he isn’t sure what he wants right now, he isn’t sure he’s looking for a relationship, he’s just letting things happen on their own, and that’s fair.

When I got home, I was still swimming. But I’d sent him a simple text message and he hadn’t responded. I was a bit disheartened. I sent him another a couple of hours later and didn’t hear back from him. I started to have a sinking feeling that I wasn’t allowing myself to accept. I laid in bed thinking about him, crying and shivering. I talked to some friends who tried to help me calm down. I took one of my anxiety pills and finally felt tired enough to go to sleep soon. I lay there thinking about him, missing him, wanting him, feeling deprived of him being away from him. My heart was there in his hands and it had happened so unexpectedly. I don’t usually do this, I don’t fall for someone so quickly. I was thinking about silly love songs and making a future and all those ridiculous things you should not be thinking on a first date, or even worse, a hookup, even a hookup where the guy invites you to come back over after you go fetch your laptop.

At the door, we had a slow, long kiss. It was gentle and wonderful. I told him I hoped I’d get to hang out with him again some time, and he said he thinks that’s a good possibility. I told him to text me when he got home later that night after rehearsal so I’d know he was home safe. Upon later reflection that might have been a bit much, but then, everything about me was a bit much that day.

I woke up this morning. He did not text me back.

I don’t know if he’s ghosting me, or if he needs space, or even if he’s just been legitimately busy. But I thank whatever gods I don’t necessarily really believe in that I woke up feeling better. My head is back together. Yesterday his attention and affection cracked my silly little broken heart open and I was bleeding all over the floor and nothing was going to make it better. Today I had healed a little, and was feeling whole again. I admit to a feeling of disappointment, along with another feeling of relief. It was a lot of emotion to process so quickly. It isn’t healthy to get so attached so quickly. I don’t know if it was because of anything he did or if it was because of where I am: recovering from a string of emotionless hookups and deciding to start looking for someone I can build a relationship with. And he’s not in the best place either: he’s recovering from an upsetting breakup with a guy who mistreated him. Neither of us are our best selves right now.

We both needed someone to cuddle, to kiss, to feel safe with. And he gave me that. I am very grateful that happened. I sent him one final text (or rather, a series of short texts) apologizing for being so clingy yesterday, and that I understand he isn’t sure where he’s at right now and neither am I, and that I hope to talk to him again sometime. I don’t know if he will respond. It’s okay if he doesn’t. I’ve accepted that.

Yesterday was difficult. Terribly, terribly difficult. Part of it was that I’d had almost no sleep and I was extra vulnerable. Part of it was that I so rarely find someone who gives me what I truly need, which is tender affection and a feeling of security. Part of it was that he was so attractive and we just SEEMED to be so perfect for one another, even despite a couple of important differences. In the light of this morning, I see that I was looking past things that could be problems in the hopes that I might have found someone to fall in love. I was emotionally desperate for someone to love, but that isn’t exactly the healthiest way to get into a relationship.

Today I’m going back to work to do some more computer training, and back to real life I guess. But I have wonderful memories of yesterday and the night before, and I have this blog post where I wrote it all down. If I hadn’t have written it today the feelings would have been lost. And I have the poetry. I’m going to post the three that I wrote yesterday right after this post, but here are some that I wrote this morning.

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He found all the right strings and pulled them

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And even if you disappear you gave me something beautiful
Thank you for reminding me my heart is still capable
For healing me and kissing all the places I was hurting
You gave me a brief respite from pain, and I’ll always treasure that
You made me feel beautiful again

 

Currently listening to…
Hounds of Love – Kate Bush, Hounds of Love

“This House Is Full Of M-M-Madness”

Apparently I’m in a Kate Bush phase.

I go through a lot of phases, especially with music. Part of why I so often bemoan the fact that I haven’t been blogging is that I always want to talk and/or write about what I’m listening to, and I’ve discovered I have to write about it when it’s fresh, instead of doing what I’ve been doing and taking notes to review an album later on, and never doing it because the inspiration is gone. I don’t like writing without inspiration.

My life has been strange lately. I mean, I say that a lot, but it has been pretty strange for the past few years. Today, my brain’s natural “I am miserable and lonely and life is meaningless” processes are fighting against the “HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY” processes that the antidepressants are shooting into it, leaving me FEELING happy and, well not exactly THINKING negatively, but I’m aware that it’s there in the back of my mind.

My best friend Jacob lived with me for about two months earlier this year. I woke up next to him every morning and went to sleep by him every night. We spent our days driving around, going to the mountains, looking around stores, talking and singing and playing music and having sex. It was a wonderful, wonderful experience. He had to go back home, though, for work, and has been there for the summer. He had the opportunity to move in with his dad and hopefully be in a better situation than where he was living, and I was happy to hear it, although sad that he isn’t coming back to me at the summer’s end. But then, I’m not sure what I can give him to come back to.

I’ve only just recently found another job. I had a long stretch of unemployment when I quit my last job after my stepfather died. It wasn’t actually his death that prompted it as much as my anxiety about working and the fact that I’d been sick going on a month. When I found out Jacob could move in and I didn’t have to pay rent I basically threw my hands up and decided I didn’t care about working right now, and that’s what I did.

Getting back out in the world has been difficult. When Jacob left I felt so empty, and dealt with the depression the best I could. I thought the worst of it was over, but it turns out my grieving process for Jacob leaving just moved into a different phase that FELT like normalcy, but was actually self-destruction. I’ve never been the kind of depressed person who physically self-harms; for one thing I have an incredibly low pain threshold and I don’t like the sight of blood, so cutting myself has never been an option. I know that a lot of depressed people feel relief after harming themselves, so I don’t have that outlet and my depression builds and builds.

My depression primarily manifests as intense loneliness, and it has strange physical effects on me. I start to walk incredibly slowly, all of my hand motions and mannerisms slow down, I have a look of exhaustion on my face, and generally just feel incredibly heavy. Usually I fall into bed and listen to some music and curl into a ball and cry, shivers running up and down my back, and I stare in awe at the depth of the sadness within me, so inexpressible by words or by music or poetry. I’ve found certain metaphors that describe it, but never perfectly, and besides it changes form.

I don’t think of my depression as a virus living inside me, more like a very somber friend. Last night I thought about personifying it as a character, I’m not sure what he would look like. I already have a few characters that live in my head, two of which were my imaginary best friends as a teenager and one of which is kind of like an angry alter-ego. I started listening to the song Get Out Of My House by Kate Bush obsessively last night, it’s so incredibly powerful, and describes what it’s like to feel invaded within your own head, fighting against something that’s trying to break into you. I don’t know that I can say the depression feels like it’s trying to break in, but it is apt in a certain way, because I could imagine it growing in my heart and then trying to break into my head. Like moving from my emotions to my choices, and affecting me.

I digress.

My depression moved into a self-destructive phase, and my form of self-harm was hooking up with strangers on dating apps. While a few of these encounters were actually pretty positive and I had a good time, many of them just left me feeling dirty and lonely. Not dirty because I think sex is dirty or wrong, or that sex with a stranger is wrong. Sex with strangers can be fun and exciting and even fulfilling. But for me, I started to lose myself, all that I did was send messages to people on Grindr. I neglected eating or showering or even things I normally do for fun like playing video games, and it started to consume me. I could write here the number of men I hooked up with over the last few months, or at least an estimation, but I’m not going to. Suffice it to say it was enough to leave me feeling even more depressed.

I’ve had a couple of depressive episodes that were as bad as anything that happened back when my depression was at it’s worst a few years ago. I don’t know that I’ve ever truly thought about committing suicide in any serious fashion, but I have felt a longing for death, which is odd because mentally I am afraid of death, but there are times when emotionally I find the release attractive. People always shame others for wallowing in self-pity, but I think that the reason people wallow in self-pity so often is that it’s a natural and possibly even healthy part of processing emotion.

I finally made the decision that I’m not going to be having any more random hookups with strangers, or that at least I’ll try to do something in the context of a date, rather than just appearing at someone’s house for sex and never speaking again. I put myself in a lot of potentially dangerous situations hooking up, one of which involved a guy who more or less threatened to kill and rob me as some kind of weird “joke,” and strangely I stayed there and finished fooling around with him before leaving. I think that maybe a subconscious part of me was choosing to put myself in those dangerous situations because I couldn’t deal with the loneliness. I don’t really know why I would do that. Maybe it was so that I could reach a low point and realize that I needed to change my pattern of behavior.

A part of moving on is finding a job and getting my life together, and starting school too. I haven’t made much progress yet on school, but I did get a new job as a pharmacy technician, which is a career path I’ve wanted to at least try out for a while. I’m not particularly interested in the medical field, but it’s always seemed like a comfortable environment to work in. Not as comfortable as being in an office, but at least they get to wear scrubs and stay behind the counter in their own area. I had a nine-hour first day on the job where I was trained on a few areas, and I felt that I understood what I was doing pretty well and picked it up easily enough. I do worry about how I’ll react when there’s a line, or when I’m stuck in one area not able to leave to go to the bathroom or hide anywhere. But at least right now I have some medication that can help me calm down in the case of a panic attack. I’m hoping that the anxiety I feel around going to work will subside soon.

Working has always been difficult for me. I usually dread going, and have a difficult time feeling safe or confident when I know that I’m working that day. It’s because I’m preparing for a battle, and I know I have to be strong because I have to go to work soon, and I can’t allow myself to feel depressed or scared, I have to try and be strong. As a result, the emotional toll is incredibly taxing and difficult, and I often come home completely exhausted. This is just how going out in public is for me, it’s a part of my anxiety. It’s something that I live with.

I’ve been writing a lot of poetry lately and I think that I’m in a good place with it, a lot of it is coming out really well and I feel very proud of these brief little poems. I’m hoping they’ll work their way into lyrics for songs. I’d like to make beautiful albums like Kate Bush some day. Here are some poems I’ve written recently. I’m going to be posting some more after this post as well. Hope you enjoy.

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We’re playing God and God isn’t playing fair
I’m coming in to burn you all
My skin begins itching soon, try to contain the flash
No weight can hold me back
Tell them to run while they can
I will live forever, the sun will die before my light is quenched
Don’t breathe, just run
Feed me with life until I am everything

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Running through the veins of love
Come on let the sunshine in
It’s finally gonna happen
You can’t even guess at how it feels
And when you hear them singing
You know they’re only trying
To say something that can’t be said

Come on out of the catacombs baby
Everyone’s been waiting
And in the middle of the circle stands
The fruit you eat daily
The water you drink
You heat that keeps your heart beating
Freedom waits for no one

 

Currently obsessed with…
Get Out Of My House – Kate Bush, The Dreaming