wuffsky - Tumblr blog

[wuffsky]

I made a Mimikyu tonight as a Christmas present for one of my cousins. I'm proud of it, but stitching it together had me wondering if I might share some similarities with this Pokemon.

It wears a disguise. I don't necessarily disguise myself in my day-to-day, but my identity has been shifting for a while. I really find a lot of joy working with youth, and I know this is what I want to do. I'm enthusiastic when I speak with them. I find myself genuinely inquiring about how their day has been, and I follow up with the things I know are happening for them. So much so, that one of the people I shadow commented on how they with they find it hard to connect with the youth outside of one on one conversations because they're more introverted. They meant this as a comment on how much I talk with the youth and join in on their activities. I've always considered myself introverted, and it was so odd to have someone talk to me about being introverted as if I had no idea. I've also been doing really well with school. I'm sitting at about 90% in my practicum right now, and I might even get a job out of it.

I know that seasonal depression is hitting me hard right now. I know it will pass. But especially being awake and alone on my nights off, they don't feel like nights off. They feel lonely. I finished my Mimikyu, which was a beast of a project, and I should be happy. But I look at this thing and I have every critique. How will my family judge me for gifting a creepy-looking thing to a young child?

I'm tired, but when I do rest, I just feel depressed. I have a number of projects to finish, both school and crochet, and those take up my time. I want a weekend. One where I can be on a day schedule. I'm done on the 19th, but do I want to be done? Do I have energy for my family? Mike's chosen family? It's hard to say.

All I know is that I'm tired, enthusiastic, fighting depression, and pining for a job in my field that may very well overwhelm me next semester. This is a fun roller coaster ride.

[wuffsky]

It's getting hard to get out of bed again.

It's been a while, depression. I know how to fight you this time, but it's getting harder. I don't fear that I'll fall prey to you, but it is a burden on the soul. You have me performing weaker. You have me falling behind. I need to catch up. You have me making excuses to not be at my best. The brain fog is thick, but I'm doing my best to stumble through.

Why are you doing this?

Nothing is wrong. Not wrong enough to justify being depressed. Just the same old monetary shit. My practicum is going well. My Christmas gifts are coming along. I got 90% on my first practicum assignment. Things are in place for me to start working in January. I'm working hard and I'm achieving. But still, you poke and prod.

I haven't talked to Mike about this because he's been stressed and so tired lately. He needs to rest, and I don't want to complain, especially when I can't explain why my mental health is down. There's no reason. You just are and I have to swim through it. I don't want to bother him. I know he would tell me that's ridiculous, and he might even get upset that I haven't said anything, but I just can't bring myself to tell him about this struggle.

I set my alarm for 9am this morning because I knew you'd fight me. It's 12pm now. I have shit to do. I'm getting up.

You can't stop me now.

[wuffsky]

2 Years Ago Today

2 years ago today, Jared and I broke up. It's so bizarre. It feels like a lifetime ago, and yet reading through my Facebook memories still stung more than I anticipated. I changed my profile picture to one without him in it, with the most meaningful song lyrics I've ever attached to a photo, and posted a status about needing help moving from Burnaby to Richmond. 2 years tomorrow, I was moving back in with my mom. Then the grieving began.

How can that only be 2 years ago? My life has changed so drastically. It feels like I've known Mike forever. He feels like home. Time is such an odd construct.

[wuffsky]

Mental illness

It's a funny thing.

Things are so amazing for me right now, and should be for the foreseeable future. I have my personal version of a fairytale. Fairy tales, to me, are not about perfection. It's about the things you don't think are possible. There are obstacles and hardships, but you always figure it out.

When I became sexually active, it was never about love. I didn't even really like the first person I consensually slept with. I slept with him because I hated being asked if I was a virgin. I knew I didn't have to be honest, but it was brought up so often that I was constantly reliving trauma. I just wanted to be able to say 'no', and leave it at that. What a mountain of a molehill that turned into.

When I was 16, I probably slept with a new guy every week. It was so easy, and it was easy gratification. I was hurting immensely, I was no longer receiving counseling, and my 2 friends and I were smoking a lot of pot, among other things. Sure, it was risky and I could be dead right now due to the way I did it, but I have to look back on it now and know that I learned a lot about men. Just nothing that I put to any good use in the years immediately following 16.

I lived in a fantasy world where I told myself lust = love. I had a lot of friends that I shared a mutual lust with, but it was never love. Until Jared, anyway. I knew relatively quickly that his lifestyle wasn't for me, but I ignored those thoughts because I loved the person he was when he was sober and we were alone. It was a real love. To me, anyway. I still don't know what he was thinking, try as I did. Being with him also kept me from moving back in with my mom. I thought about leaving him for months before he left me. I hated the lying and the cheating, and I only stayed during the last leg because I didn't want to go back. It was a horrible place to remain stuck. Being thrown out and (temporarily) banished from the furry community taught me a lot, too, and that was what ultimately set me on getting my shit together.

I'll admit, after Jared, I went back to my old ways. I hooked up with a guy that treated me like shit. I'd sneak out in the middle of the night, spend maybe 2-5am at his place, then he'd drive me back on his way to work. He treated me like a ragdoll, and not just in his apartment. He played a lot of games with me. I can't describe how lonely it felt when I was already grieving another relationship. I decided within a month that I wanted to give him up, but I needed a replacement dick first. 🤷‍♀️

Enter, Mike. His email to me was detailed. He wrote me a small novel, and it had good grammar to boot! It was the biggest turn-on. I met him, and we talked about bands of all things. He told me I'd forgotten to send me a picture of myself, and has since never let me forget it. Thankfully, the attraction was there (like, really there) and we got to it. We did things pretty backwards. We were only ever meant to be fuck buddies. Both of us were hurt and damaged beyond what we thought could be repaired. But, we kept seeing each other, and confiding in one another, and generally enjoying each others company.

It was a slow build. I hated it. I hated that I liked him. I wanted to break my pattern with this one. Hindsight is 20/20, as they say.

I recall thinking out loud once, during those early stages. I asked him, theoretically, if it would be weird if we dated, since we have 13 years between us. He said that he didn't think so, but that I'd have to come to terms with that if we did. I didn't ask him on a date until about 3 weeks after that, and we spent probably another 2 months courting each other before deciding that we wanted to be together. Here we are, 2 years later, with rings on our fingers. What a story.

2 years in, and we're always learning more about each other. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure that he's a real person. Like anyone, he can be a grump sometimes, and I'm sure I can, too, but we never fight. We understand each other. We understand trauma can be a lot, and that a lot is a gross understatement. To grossly simplify it, his trauma is his parents passing away, and my trauma is men. I could call my trauma rape, but I've come to terms over the last little while that I'm jumpy and untrusting of almost all men. I'm on high alert when I have to interact with men. I'm more judgemental. I don't necessarily like this, but I don't see any other way to be in this world, based on my experiences.

I spoke with his best friend's mom today. We helped his friend and her fiance move, and her mom was down from Prince Rupert. She's a 'Green Witch', as she puts it, and we 'get along famously', as Mike put it. She told me lots about his parents and his younger days, all the shenanigans he and Holly got into. We bonded over gingerbread spiced rum and the sounds of Holly's baby crying for hours. At the end of the night, she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, and told me how good I am for Mike, and how glad she is that Mike has me to take care of him. It was very heartwarming.

Despite these warm, happy feelings, and all the success I've been having with school and practicum lately, my mental health still acts up. My brain fog is so bad some days. I often have to fight to find any words to use, never mind the right ones. It makes writing assignments and learning everything from my practicum site difficult. I've been chewing my fingers to the point where I've been in so much pain that I haven't been able to sleep, and this has been mostly automatic damage, as in it's part of a nervous habit I don't even realize I'm doing. Why have I been doing this? I have no idea. I'm not that stressed. I should be able to control it. But alas, my fingertips look like a war zone. I even started using a fidget spinner that Mike found hidden in the car, which surprisingly does help a little bit.

I get real moody sometimes, too. It's not as often anymore, but sometimes I have to force myself to leave the house when I have shit to do. I almost have to be two people. The adult pushing myself out of the house and into my responsibilities, and the adult struggling with depression and anxiety. Stopping is not an option. Not going is not an option. I set a high standard and I have to achieve it. I have to prove that I'm not just a high school dropout. I have to prove that I'm worthy of the life I'm living and creating. I have to be the best version of myself.

It's a lot to bear. I carry my trauma in a backpack every day. It weighs me down and I trudge onwards. I don't think any amount of therapy could lighten the load now, and I just have to deal with it. But I have an unbreakable support system in my partner, and that's more than I ever dreamed I would have. I'm happy enough as long as I have him.

[wuffsky]

Intrapersonal goals

I want to be warm and receptive to strangers. I want to willingly engage in conversation with my classmates. I want to be liked by people I don't know, but I want to remember that standing up for myself and standing my ground is the most important thing I've ever learned. Self-respect and self-preservation were what saved me from continuing on my path of depression, but the latter is what's keeping me from being the person I want to be.

I keep conversations with strangers and classmates very limited. I know being too friendly with men puts me in a bad spot, and I hate that. I'd love to have male friends that don't see me as a walking pair of boobs. It used to be all I knew. Upon becoming monogamous, I learned who my real friends were. I lost almost all of my male friends. I can think of 2 that still talk to me, but even with them, the conversations tend to circle around asking me for advice on their relationships.

So tell me, dear brain, why do we care about someone who abandoned us as soon as we stopped partying and sleeping with them? Why do we feel stronger about protecting them than believing their victims? It's been so conflicting that I've chosen inaction over anything else, but this worrying and longing isn't doing anyone any good. I believe his victims. I believe they're telling the truth. I can't hate him, though. I can't join the riots exclaiming justice for all the things he's done. There have been so many people in my life that have treated me like shit, but Alex was never one of them. He helped me through so much and we were so close for years. We knew each other's moms. We had each other's backs. But I know that can't mean much to him, now. I can't help but miss him as a friend, and my heart truly goes out to both him and his alleged victims. It's hard. I hope you're doing okay and that you do the right thing, Alex.

Yesterday was extra hard. I had all of that on my mind, as well as it being the nine year anniversary of my rape. One year shy of a decade now. I'm still unlearning the behaviours that trauma and insufficient support taught me. I had trouble eating yesterday, and today I feel so nauseous. I know its not because of the exam I have in 10 minutes.

One more exam tomorrow and I'm off to Youth Justice in September. I expect a lot of soul searching to happen there, as I'll be learning all about statistics and different responses to trauma. Maybe I'll learn to understand more of my own.

[wuffsky]

Academic insanity?

I don't know what it is lately, but background TV and radio noise drives me absolutely bonkers. It makes me feel like I have a stampede living in my head. I can't think over it. I've always had trouble writing with any kind of noise, though. Maybe it's the absurd amount of papers I've written this semester that have made it worse. I'm really tired of writing academic shit. The research is interesting, but formal papers are not my fortè. I'll get high mark's on them, because I know what the professors want, but its exhausting. It's rigid. It sucks the life out of juicy research topics like serial killers and psychology. I love writing, but the writing I love is the kind that comes from my brain and doesn't require a formal structure aside from grammar and syntax.

I'm anxious. The paper anxiety has been really getting to me and it's hard to be present when I'm out these days. My cousins were just down from Quebec, and one of them is FtM. He's starting testosterone in a month. He was using his female name and female pronouns while present with the family, and it broke my heart. It broke my heart because my queer heart knows what he's going through, and I want to be there to help. Our grandfather is very closed-minded and it makes me want to scream sometimes. He pushed me away and he pushed him away. I wonder if his dad did the same, if and when he found out that he had a son instead of a daughter. I don't know why people have to be assholes to anyone that's different from them.

I'm anxious that Mike will get hurt at his new job. He's grown and he knows what he's doing, but I worry. I worry that he doesn't get enough sleep. I worry that hes too reckless with himself. And he's already got the work banter about girlfriends and whatnot with coworkers on day one. He knows his coworker's wife is pansexual and shops at Forever Yours. How does that come up among men when you've just met someone? It's so stupid, but it gave me flashbacks to Scott's coworkers, all those years ago. They knew everything about what I did in the bedroom. My age. 17. My submission. He flashed me like a trophy wife because I didn't know how to stand up for myself back then, and Scott knew that I'd never tell them that his biggest fetish was dressing up in women's clothing and being pegged. He knew I'd never tell them that he begged me to order him to go out and suck a guy's dick. I wish I'd told them about how he was a pedophile. It's doubtful they would have believed what I had to say though, anyway.

I get anxious, because I don't know if the path I'm on is the right one. I believe it is, but theres no refund on my schooling and my time if it isn't. I'm anxious because I feel like my best friend can't be arsed to spend time with me and looks for excuses to not be present every time we hang out. I'm working so hard and I feel that I'm not enough.

I'm just really fucking exhausted of all these words bouncing around in my head.

[wuffsky]

Hypersexuality as a response to trauma.

I've been thinking a lot about a Facebook post I read not long ago. I always had a vague idea that my hypersexuality was linked to trauma. Not caring if I lived or died, mixed with a confusion between love and lust, but also feeling that I was never truly worthy of love even though I hungered for it... I gathered a gaggle of older men when I was 16, and it felt like what I needed in the moment. Validation, desire, being wanted, men not being able to keep their hands off of me... a lot of grubby hands have been where they shouldn't have been. I have enough weird and highly illegal stories to fill a book. This desire to be desired fueled me not only through my strictly sexual and romantic relationships, but also through my friendships. This used to lead me to being quick to say, "Oh, yeah, I've slept with most of my friends", as if it were something to be proud of.

These days, I barely have any drive at all. I have no interest in fetish events, or porn, or the real deal. I personally see no problem with this, and my partner hasn't complained. It's hard for me to bring it up when I have all these complex thoughts mucking about. My first fuck buddy ever, who I'm still friends with today, once said, "The libido doesn't go down with age, it only gets worse." I disagree, but I think about that a lot. I always think of him as some old guy, but he's the same age as my partner. Food for thought.

I don't know what it is about the 18 month mark in a relationship that can cause it to feel so off. It's ended my last 2 relationships, but I believe this one will be fine. I'm just working through things, as per usual.

[wuffsky]

Some days are still hard

It's never his fault. Truly. He's an amazing man and I know he cares for me through and through. I still get the urge to look through his phone and I always wonder what hes doing when he visits female friends. He's given me no reason not to trust him, but my past experiences always have me on alert. I wish I hadn't been treated like garbage by the last man I cared about.

I wonder all the time if we have sex enough, or if hes annoyed that we don't have sex often. I'm never in the mood anymore, but it isn't because I'm not attracted to him. I love him to pieces. It just feels like everything in my life has been about sex and it honestly makes me depressed. I'm worth more than just a good screw. It's been nice lately, not having sex... but it's hard to put that into words when you're talking to someone that hasn't really been through that.

I think a lot about what it would mean to me if I ever found out he was cheating on me. I don't think I'd ever trust a man again. I said that before meeting him, but he's one of a kind. There has been no one like him prior to meeting him, and there will never be anyone that means this much to me again.

[wuffsky]

Ramblings

It was quiet. The kind of quiet you feel when your thoughts are deafening and you know you need to move, but you can't. Not yet. He barely dared to breathe, and wondered if the silence would destroy him. What was he so afraid of?

She was not as strong, but she wanted to be. She didn't dare open her eyes, for she knew she would be terrified and defenceless. She knew he wanted her to. The voices in her head tried to trick her, to tell her it would all be over if she faced it. She knew better. She knew she had to bide her time and play her cards right.

She felt the wall. It was cold, wet, and uninviting. She wondered, for a brief moment, if the substance on the walls was blood or water, but she shook the thought as quickly as it came. It had to be water. Her sanity, and likely her survival, depended on it.

'You can't.'

She pushed his thoughts away with barely any acknowledgement. They couldn't stay here. It wasn't safe. She could feel that. They were alone, she was certain, somewhere dark and wet. She slowly stood up, dizzy but determined, her hand bracing the wall.

'They know you're here.'

She wished he'd stop reminding her. She knew he wanted to help in the only way he could, but she needed to focus.

[wuffsky]

Attacked by slumber

I don't miss you, and I'm not just saying that anymore. You were an asshole to me and that's that. I really loved you once, though. Upon a lot of self reflection, I've come to the realization that I never really loved Scott, I just wanted to fix him. I loved you, but it was my sense of naive admiration that drove me to stay while also wanting to fix you. Silly me should have known to work on myself first. Between the 2 of you, I have learned to never try to "fix" a human again. And that's fine, I'm glad I learned that lesson. I will never allow myself to be treated like less than I'm worth again.

There are times I expect Mike to act like you - to act like every other guy I've come across in my life. But he never does. He gets it on a level I don't fully understand and therefore cannot explain yet. He'll never hurt me. He goes out of his way to make sure that I'm okay and taken care of, and encourages me to chase my dreams and achieve my goals, even the ones hes doesn't necessarily agree with - like me losing weight, surprisingly. He also helped me shave my head when I could tell he thought I was a little weird for it. And I suppose I am. That's also okay.

I'm happy these days. Truly. For the first time in my life I don't worry. My fight or flight is not in constant activation. I'm comforted and not in a constant state of putting out fires. I'm in love with a man I cannot thank enough for merely coming into (me and) my life.

But despite all this, my subconscious thinks of you. Reminds me of the bad psychological shitstorm you brought upon me. You sneak into my dreams and catch me off guard. I forget most of my dreams, but not the ones about you. Maybe they serve as reminders.

I had a dream of an alternate reality. One where I stayed with you. I was miserable beyond explanation. You constantly went out, got drunk, and left me all alone. You didn't want to touch me, but I could always smell another woman on you. Saw you hit on other women, but never on me. I lived a life as your puppet, and over time, not only did you never touch me, but you started to take for frustration out on me. Not physically at first, but if another girl blew you off, you'd blame me. If the house was dirty, you'd yell at me. If I brought up the mistreatment you'd pull a Scott and punch a hole in the wall. Then you'd get mad because I "made you" break the wall. I was always crying. Always miserable. For a long time, I told no one the extent of the mistreatment, but it eventually reached a pinnacle. I broke down and ran to a friend's place for a few days, and they wouldn't let me go back to you. They told everyone of your mistreatment. You called me a liar and told me I was a worthless human being. You grabbed me by the arm like I was a rag doll and bruised me bad, but I only whimpered. Upon us returning home, you smacked me across the face and I abruptly woke up.

The craziest thing was, upon waking up, my heartstrings yearned for you for a split second. I turned over in bed, Mike snoozing away next to me, and thanked my lucky stars you and I didn't stay together. I'm so much better off now.

I'm so thankful for the life I get to lead instead of the one I'd dreamed of.

[wuffsky]

"You're stuck with me for life, babygirl, and I don't need to put a ring on your finger to know that.

Fuck anyone that thinks I do."

-My dearest. 💕

[wuffsky]

I will get through this.

I am stronger. I am more capable. I am more confident.

Others recognize I have matured. Others recognize I've grown a backbone. I've realized the errors of my previous ways where I've let others walk all over me. I no longer hold my opinion back and I'm no longer scared. I face the consequences of my decisions head on. I stand for my beliefs.

I have a job. It's not a very good job, but its reliable. I have the world's best partner. Everything a partner should be. I'm a full time student and I am determined to meet my goals. As a second year, I've learned to organize better and devote more time to my studies while simultaneously having a lot less time.

I will get through these housing mishaps. I will have a solid place to live. I will have a solid 'yes' on the apartment on Monday. If I don't, I have a support system and I know it's okay to ask for help.

I will remind myself of these things when need be.

[wuffsky]

I believe you.

When I tell you I'm worried I won't have very much time for you in the next few months, you tell me that's okay, and that we'll find the time. Even if you have to wait weeks to see me, you tell me you never want to get in the way of me getting ahead, and that you want no one but me.

I believe you.

And that's such an astounding thing. I don't doubt a thing you say to me. I don't think I've ever trusted another human like I trust you, much less a partner. The privilege of loving you and receiving your love in return has taught me just how much I was lowering myself to meet everyone else's standards. I don't have an overwhelming need to look through your messages, regardless of ample opportunity. I don't want to snoop, and I know you're as genuine as they come. I don't have much to offer you aside from my unwavering love and affection, and i'm always surprised that, for once, that's enough for someone. Someone like you. Someone so perfect for me.

Its you, forever. 8 months and no signs of any problems. There is nothing that bothers me about you. Truthfully. I think you'd make a brilliant parent and life partner. I could see myself being happy in your arms and in a home we built for the rest of my life. This is not the love story they write about in books, oh no, we're two dark, twisted individuals that have demons that play nice together.

We're two of a kind. You take the words right out of my mouth sometimes and i'm always quick to help you in any little way I can. You've helped me move twice in the past 6 months and bought me groceries at least 3 times. You didn't need to do these things, especially the groceries, but you do. I don't know why you do. You're a catch that doesn't realize hes such an amazing catch, and I don't know what drew you to me but i'm so happy you're here in my life.

I love you.

I guess that's the only thing I wish was different, but I can't even complain. You show it in every available form, and you hide it in the depths of other words and other phrases.

I want to hear, "I love you, baby girl."

Because, my God, I love you to the earth, the sun, the stars, the moon itself and back. Never change, handsome. Never change.

[wuffsky]

[wuffsky]

Her name was Sam.

You asked me if I dreamed last night, and I told you no. Truth be told, I did, but you can't very well tell someone you've only been "officially" dating for all of 4 months some things. Even if you count the other 4 months of courting each other, I couldn't tell you I dreamt of our daughter.

I dreamt of the labour, and I recall the pain being nothing like I'd imagined. Hardly memorable in comparison to the joy going through it brought. And when she was born... she was perfect. I could smell her. I vividly remember that smell. Instantly, I fell in love with her in a way I could not describe. A way I'd never known. She had your wild ginger-blonde hair, and she was an absolute joy. You loved her in a way I never thought I'd see in another human. She grew into your quick wit and iron will. She picked up your craftiness and mine, in the two separate senses. She was smart. My god, she was smart. And so much like you.

Whenever I told people she got her good looks from her dad, you'd pipe up and say your looks would never compete with mine. The Scottish showed in her, much more so than my Freek-y curves. As a teenager, she dyed her hair black and lined her eyes in the uneducated way that kids used to before the eruption of YouTube makeup tutorials. She was a small town girl and liked it that way.

She grew up watching you love me, and seeing you take care of us. She never had to doubt your love for her. We were wrapped in its warmth every day. I'm wrapped in its warmth every day as it is. But with her... it was different. It was our family, and there's no way to put that feeling into words.

The first time a boy did her wrong, you egged his house with her. You told her to watch how you treated me, and to not let a boy treat her any less than that. She was daddy's little girl, and your words stayed with her. She dated her fair share of asshole men, and asshole women, but she was always strong about it. She stood her ground and was never pushed around. It made me so proud, and so thankful that she didn't endure self-confidence issues like mommy did over asshole men and two-faced women. I always told her that she and daddy were my Angels, and that I was so lucky to have you two.

I can't write what happened at the end, because it isn't happy, but god, she was so strong. She held me up with the weight of the world on her back.

. . . . . . . . .

You know, men have tried to talk children with me in the past. Scott particularly. He wanted a child any way he could get it. I told him no, over and over and over again. I humoured him here or there, maybe in the future, blah blah blah. But the thought of being stuck with a child with that man made me want to throw myself off a cliff. I would have ended up like my mom, being beaten and staying for the child. I didn't want children before him, and after him, quite frankly I was scarred and terrified. I definitely didn't want any with Jared. He probably would have raised a drugged up daughter that partied her life away... I do feel bad saying it, for the record. (Sorry, I know you're probably peaking again but it's probably true. Especially if she were to see her dad commit suicide via overdose at, what was it, 50?) I would have been miserable and I would have cried a whole river over it.

But you, my dear. My darling dear. You are a reasonable and responsible person. You get protective and you get angry if anything so much as scratches someone you love. You take necessary precautions. You don't knowingly make stupid decisions that put others at risk. You work your hands to the bone for the people you love. It's an outstanding site to watch, honestly. Your dedication and patience is unmatched by anyone I've known. I still don't know how I managed to snatch you and your fierce loyalty up for myself, but I'm never letting you go. You've got a lifer on your hands, handsome. Maybe one day I'll show you this.

Maybe one day we'll have a daughter named Sam.

[wuffsky]

I guess I’m never really “fine”.

(Mike: “You’re always fine as hell, that’s never a question.” -- Thanks for being the first voice I hear in my head when I put myself down, and for always being the positive lover I’ve always needed.) 

No, but I have one of two states: Stressed, where I’m doing 7 million things and have no time to myself, but because of the lack of time, I don’t have time to think about my mental health. Or on the verge of a breakdown, where I have time but all I want to do is think about how bad my head and heart hurt. It’s not because of Mike. Mike is amazing and hands down I don’t know how he isn’t a figment of my imagination. Its everyone and everything that came before him. Maybe I'm just down in the dumps because the 8 year anniversary of my rape is tomorrow. It gets a little easier every year, but my head is a bit screwy regardless. Jared's birthday just passed, and unfortunately I'll likely never forget it because its 3 days before that anniversary. He stole one, actually two, of my best friends, or maybe my personal track to recovery is just stronger than the more recent one he stole. I've always wanted to get better and it's an every day fight. Shyan, you were my girl, but things will never change for you unless you take action. I have nothing more to say on the matter, you can go skip out on your "best friends" for your "best buddies" all you like. I wish you'd just be an honourable human and say you don't want anything to do with us. Our paths are different. I'm not the one who randomly became hostile. I wish you the best, but I'm not pouring energy into you, or anyone that treats me like you have anymore. Sandra and Mike have my back, I know this. You've bailed a myriad of times and proven that you have no loyalty. You'd rather be connected to that house and that's fine, I'm no stranger to losing friends to disappointing circumstances. Have a good life, girl.

[wuffsky]

I saw you today.

It was around 3-3:30. You didn't look at me and you looked the same as you always did. Black wifebeater (for sure), plaid shorts (I think). Your face was buried in your phone. From the moment you entered my vision until you left, going up the escalator to the train, I stared, my hand gripping the register. I wanted to confront you. I wanted to hug you. I wanted to run after you. My heart pounded a mile a minute in my chest and I could not stop shaking. Just your presence shook me right to the core, and I hate that. Had I not been at work, I might have went after you. I probably wouldn't have, but the possibility is there. I have the best man I could have ever dreamed of and here I am, still fixated on you. I could never tell him that. I don't ever want you back, but I think about you a lot. I really loved you in a fierce way. My body still aches to have you near from time to time. I knew you were in my vicinity before I even saw you, and that's so fucked up. I left you in the past and my brain knows that, but my body latches onto the feeling that one gets when they make "grabby hands" and puppy dog eyes. I wanted a hug, just to lay my head on your chest for a brief moment. I don't know why I still have these feelings towards you, logically I hate your guts and I can't believe I let you treat me the way you did when we were together. You were and likely still are an asshole. But I loved you, deeply and truly. I can't explain it. I don't want to sleep with you, but part of me wishes I could sleep next to you again. As much as you hated cuddling me, you gave the best cuddles. I felt safe, warm, and protected. Even though you couldn't even protect me from you, never mind anyone else. I miss your body enveloping mine, taking me over in a non sexual way. I was probably just another floozy to you, and I should have seen that a mile away. I still can't figure you out. You blocked me, then you unblocked me. Is it possible you get these conflicting emotions too?

Not that it matters. Nothing would come from it.

I'm committed to Mike. I love him and his personality is perfect for me. He takes care of my heart, body, and mind. I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world. t's strange to say it but the disconnect may be because he's a skinny guy. A huge part of what I liked about you was that you were chunky. You made a good pillow, as much as you hated it. I always wanted to wrap my body around yours, but at no point was your body ever mine in any capacity. I have a monopoly on Mike's body, romantically and sexually, and damn is it a mighty fine body to look at. The guys fucks a thousand times better (and more often) than you ever did. His mind is more interesting than yours, and he knows how to communicate, which was the biggest thing lacking in our relationship. But when I lay on him.... he's all bones and muscles. There is barely a body to envelope me. He doesn't warm me up. He's cold, and thin, and his skin is very tight and veiny, if that makes any sense.

None of this needs to be said. I'm sitting here sighing over something that has been, something I said good fucking riddance to, and yet I still wish we could have at least remained friends. I miss you, you fucker.