An Open Letter

Kinda funny how that’s inherently ironic. I’m feeling bad again and I think I’m putting too much expectation on Emma. This is one of those things I need to be brave about and accept, because running from it would only confirm its existence. But I also wonder what it could look like to feel hot. Or wanted. Like someone wanted to put their hands on me. Or saw me, past just promises of it. I keep having this hope but I’m afraid that it’s a repeat of a big promise and a let down. Then the hope rides onto the next promise.

She said she wanted something and so I looked into it and ordered it immediately for her. She wouldn’t do the same for me or close to it, and maybe that’s a good thing. But I realize how it hurts feeling one sided like this. Part of me falls for this idea that if I do enough then I’ll receive more. But that’s also not really true is it? People aren’t aware of other people and I’m the same so it’s not something I can fault. So I guess I’m just sad at the universe, circumstance, myself, or whatever other target you prefer to choose. I’m breathing out sighs of relief at the bare minimum sometimes. And then I’m stressing about meeting her bar. And I’m not listening to her either there. I set myself up for these traps and then I blame others for not noticing and saving me. Who do I have to blame but myself?

I don’t like feeling this way, I feel like I’m expecting too much but also like I’m doing too much for what I’m getting back. And I know this is something I’ve talked about with my therapist, because I’m very aware emotionally I think I’m very good nvm she’s here

Just got back from reaper. Going to pass out. Life is good.

God I l-word her so much.

I setup a gamenight with friends online and it was a nice time, but I also shut down pretty fast. I feel like every time I do these party games I get tired and then I feel slightly ignored and then I shut down. It’s a shame how I was more excited before it than I actually was during.

N made a joke yesterday that didn’t feel like a joke and was hurtful to me, and I sent them a text saying I’d appreciate if they didn’t make that kind of joke in the future. They called me and spent like 15 minutes losing it and saying pretty stupid things. Oh well lmao.

Then me S and T tried out a new game which was fire, and then afterwards spent like 10 minutes using the emotes to make our characters do naughty things to eachother. Was a good night. It can be that easy.

I think I just keep finding myself sad, and I wield it like a gun; I point it at anything that moves. Yesterday it was me not feeling wanted, and today it’s me feeling neglected. I just aim and fire blindly till I find the source, but I’m never aiming where I should be.

I guess I kinda did have expectations and circumstance led them to fail. I want to feel like I matter, and not just when I’m withdrawn. It feels like I only get care when someone sees me in pain. I think I’m an incredibly difficult person, since I’m so complex. I want E to care about my pleasure, and I want it to not be something I feel like I have to beg for. It feels so sad to have to ask someone to care about you in the way you want, and for that to not happen.

It’s official! On 9/20 E became my girlfriend. She’s right now getting ready for bed, and I’ve been somewhat spiraling. I know I’m spiraling and it’s rough but damn. For the first time ever I think I may not be the wealthiest one, and it’s by a far shot. She talks about how she wanted to go to an exclusive 8 course meal for her birthday, and how her family would also pay for me. And how her family would happily treat me and pay for me, even talking about a trip to Hawaii that her brother’s girlfriend has been joining them for the last 7 or so years. I realized I almost feel nauseous at the thought. Let alone a fancy meal, how am I supposed to just accept gifts like that? I don’t owe anyone anything, and I always pay more than I owe. How could I possibly be in debt to someone like that? And then I started to feel it.

I hope that I’m enough, I worry that I can’t live up to these standards that she has never said, and even gone on the record disagreeing with. But my fear is how many things are done out of consolation? It’s funny because I use her own script against her, all without her knowing. She talks about how I’m too good for her, and how she doesn’t understand what she sees in me. And how even when I know that I have all the things she said she feels bad about, I then feel like shit. Like I just worry that I’m not enough to love, and that it’s not enough to make up for the short parts of who I am. I worry about how depressed I get, and how it’s not her fault at all and even the healthiest way I know to handle it, of taking space, would still put a burden on her. She started to ask “how am I feeling” and I acted like I didn’t hear her. It felt like a lie, and so the next time she asked again I told her “don’t worry about it”. I just don’t want her to feel like she can see the burden on me. And so I just sit here crushed by my own stone, and I refuse to ask for help because I fear being too much. I’m nt afraid of the help itself, I’m more afraid of the being seen as too much. And that thought terrifies me. Like I’d love to talk about it but not when it feels like this is a every day thing, and then it’s something that I can deal with and I feel sorry that she has to deal with me enough as is. And I know that I’m spiraling here, but hats all I really know how to do. She talks about birthday dinners and fancy things, while I mention how my parents forgot my birthday. I almost started crying remembering the small fist-full of birthdates that I had. I worry that I am too much, and that is all that I can be. THat’s what my fear is. And so I sit kinda quietly here and hope that I’m not too difficult to be around. Because then I want to hide. I was so anxious in the shower afterwards because I had that same crash which I guess doesn’t come from sex, but rather just the feeling of being alone while next to someone. Not because they don’t want you there, but because you’re afraid to be there. Everything looks like a red flag when you grew up in a burning house. I can’t stress how much I want to be enough, which I know is stupid. She literally tells me how she has the same issue, and how she is afraid that she’s not enough for me. And the funny thing is I get it, because it’s not like it’s her money, and if we compare each other directly I get why she would be intimidated or insecure about that. But then when I compare myself to the life that she was given, I feel like I can’t match up, and it’s one of those asymmetrical things where we can both be right and also wrong at the same time. I fear the fact that I feel different from her. I feel different in such a fundamental way that I am scared that she can never understand me and I can never be like what she thinks of me. How can she understand what it’s like to be so low and have to fight for every happy experience. She said she’s a pretty generally happy person, and then I realize that there are so many different levels to the things I work hard for. I think I’m successful until she tells me about the lifestyle she casually is used to. It’s such a weird thing to be on both sides of the same issue, it’s such a genuine thing to both think it’s silly about how “hey look you have so much of a good thing, and that’s your issue! Just enjoy it!” But also feeling the same dread and the feeling of expectation back on something you can’t deliver. And I get scared and sad because I think I can give reassurance in a way that she can’t. I have the ability to say what needs to be heard in a way that she somewhat lacks, and so I end up feeling worried because she says what’s to me the wrong thing. And then I wonder how I can even be enough. Falling upwards, and hitting the ceiling hard.

I titled the post this because I wanted to believe in the fact that I could be enough. This thought has such sharp teeth, and the potential to shred me, and I want to be able to put my guard down enough to listen to the animal’s promises. I can be courageous, or at least that’s what I tell myself. I want to trust in something with teeth.

She’s coming back after 2 weeks. We had a fight but we communicated so well and it’s solved. All green flags. Can’t wait oh my god.

I sat in the call for a bit with E, hearing her interactions with her family. She has so many good people around her and so much connection and security there. Must be nice. I know that I’m crashing and so I can’t hold anything I feel up to the light too much or it’d show up as just more faulty wiring. But fuck man, I think this is one of my red flags. The fact that it hurts to see people with good families. Or even families. It sucks to see people in relationships with their mothers, especially good ones. It’s weird healing and talking about this in therapy, because I then lose that sense of detachment from it. Before I’d hear someones mom on a call and think “aww thats sweet your relationship with your mom!” and there’s a disconnect between mother, and mother. One is something they have, and one is the thing that I won’t. And when I realize it, the bitterness seeps in and just coats every crevice of my mind. It’s a loathing that I almost don’t want to help. I wish you all knew how nice it was to be able to call your mom for help. Or to go to her when you’re hurting. Fuck you. Genuinely fuck all of you who have good relationships with your mothers. And parents. And siblings, and extended family and all of that. Fuck you for having something I never got to have. I can’t even think about what I’d give because I can’t think about how nice it would be to have a family. It’s not jealousy because I don’t have it. It’s envy, and it’s the color green. It’s a vibrant shade that paints everything and jars me out of whatever situation I’m in. That color isn’t meant to be there, and so neither am I. Fuck you. There’s so much bitterness in me in this situation that I don’t know what to do other than keep it to myself, where it festers. Fuck the people who go back and visit home. I’m 5 minutes away yet farther than they’ve ever been. I can’t get on a flight or call them because that house harbors someone so filled with poison that it kills anything it touches. I have this journal and it’s been cathartic since I can at least say something here. It hurts that E is able to vent to her mom. And I have digital bytes. The worst part is E hearing this would want to support me, and tell me that she is here for me. But I don’t want that pity. Yesterday I benched 255x2 and I wrote on my story that I just never wanted to be that weak again. I didn’t mean in strength. I meant being the fucking kid who got walked over and had no one there for him, who planned on killing himself too many times to count. That kid wasn’t strong enough to handle it, and unfortunately, he didn’t have support. And so I just struggled, drowning for 17 years before I could go to college and try to kill myself properly. I can’t stop mourning all of those years with no memories there. The only memories I have are horrible ones. My earliest memory is when I was in like third grade, and my sister had a jar of some chemical, like nail polish remover, and I asked what that was. She told me it was dangerous and if I drank it, it’d kill me. I couldn’t stop thinking about drinking it. And the memory changed, but it didn’t. I think about sitting in my closet crying on the floor so that no one could hear me, and writing my suicide note. I planned to hang myself over the balcony with a belt, so tomorrow morning my parents would come down and see my lifeless body. And then they’d realize that I deserved help. It’s painful to say “deserved help” like any kid doesn’t. I guess I want to see the best in everyone and think everyone deserves help, since maybe that would mean no matter what I would have then recieved it in my perfect world. But I didn’t, and it made me who I am. It’s a weird feeling when people tell me how kind I am or how good I am, since my first gut reaction is that I try so hard to be, but I still think I’m not. It sickens me that the things I try to do in private, and under any pressure, I bring them up like a receipt showing that I am good. I remember buying the homeless person a meal after six flags, and how I even journaled about it. And then I told N and D it was late at night when, during our conversation, they said “but you don’t buy homeless people food every time they’re at a fast food place”. I was aware I was leading the conversation in that direction. And then like an addict I jump to the needle. I tell them and I then feel that disgust of humility. I feel gross every time D tells others how I donated $50 to IRUSA in her story about M, since I then just confirm more and more than I did that so I could show others. What good do I do if I can’t do it quietly? I’m so desperate to be seen as something good, and something worth loving. Even when it’s not, I feel like it’s all I know how to do. I’m honestly just afraid of guilt. And god I feel guilty now. E is so sweet and they’ve done nothing wrong, they’re struggling even and I’m sitting here hurting because they have a family. Am I supposed to tell her about it? I don’t want her to walk on eggshells around me, but it feels like I’m disingenuous about it whenever I don’t mention it. But also I don’t know how you could possibly not feel guilt or try to hide it if she knew that it sometimes hurt me like this. And so I don’t know any other option other than to suck it the fuck up.

I fear that maybe the people I envy so much are people who somehow learned how to properly set boundaries. When their parents are bad, they can just step away and be safe. And then they can somehow reconcile it. My fear is maybe if they were put in my shoes, they would still have a mother. But I take some sort of shield in the fact that it’s on my parents to teach me and show me that. And fuck, how am I supposed to justify being ignored for months at a time for something I didn’t even do. Being ignored was what I learned growing up, and how to silently just accept what was happening. That wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. And that’s all I can really say. It feels so pathetic to write like this, but where else is this supposed to go? I feel better after writing like this, and so that’s what I’m hoping for in the back of my mind as I keep typing.

The wave of emotions has now somewhat passed, and I’m now just sad in the aftermath. It’s a tiring sadness, the kind that just weighs down my spine and my arms. I can type, but I can’t press the keys to stop the music I’m listening to. It’s this weird paralysis. Something between my eyes and the back of my head. I think I face things head-on mentally, but I still mentally detach from family stuff so quickly. It just comes so natural. I don’t want to face grief anymore, I want this dull ache to go away. I don’t know what it feels like to not be injured in this way, and honestly I’ve somewhat given up the hope that it will go away. It’s always just be at best a migraine haze where a family should have been in my mind. I can walk and stand and breathe as a man, just one with this part missing. Something purposefully obscured.