Throwback Thursday: a note on Feb 5, 2018.
Fang: [Vanille]’s a crybaby, though! She cries as soon as she gets lonely or insecure. But if I stroke her head, she stops as if nothing is wrong.
Lebreau: In that case, you’ll need to find her quickly and pat her on the head.
Fang: Yup.
Final Fantasy XIII
I keep saying I need to get back to journaling, or at least blogging,
because I’ve been through a ton of emotions and trying to process them
is a delightful and horrifying blur. Part of it is just me being me, and
part of it is because I rewatched Star Wars: The Last Jedi and seeing
Carrie Fisher up there sets off a deluge.
That, and.
I’m surrounded by people that not only like me, but a few also love me. And even a few more that want to spend time with me.
And each connection is something different.
And some connections are still here, still loving me.
That, and.
I’m still broken, and I’m still fucking up, and I still hear the
voice in my head telling me that people will stop loving me the moment
they realize how broken I am, or. They’re going to discard me the
instant I make one mistake because that’s happened so many times
but the voice is… manageable. Sometimes. More, sometimes.
That, and.
I’m recognizing the voice’s tricks. Sometimes, it doesn’t help much. But there’s power to naming and recognizing something.
That, and.
I’ve been healing in interesting ways. But it’s been slow. It’s been
clumsy. I’m sorry. I’ve changed. I don’t really know me from before. I’m
an echo.
That, and.
I’m overdue for a good cry, actually.
That, and.
I wonder if– no, when, as it’s been predicted, if you believe in that sort of thing– I’ll start using my gills, too. I do when I have to. I still come up for air.
But. (“Strike that. Reverse it.”)
I dive instead, and refuse to come up for hours. And sometimes I can’t I’m this fragile fish that’ll melt if I get too close to the surface.
That, and.
I want to try everything everything everything though my shy soul balks the entire time. As shy souls do. Xie’ll let me know when I’m (not) ready.
That, and.
I’m contradictions and multitudes, damn it. Yet I still exist. And I am valid. Gills and lungs. I love the shore. I will go to it. I adore the deep, too. I’ll go back to it.
That, and.
#RoseWasRight. Sometimes the best thing you can do is survive. Pray someone swoops in and knocks you out of the way because you are more than a sacrifice.
That, and.
I could use a pat on the head right now. But I’m in solitude, for I need to rest and heal. Listening to my body. Surviving.
I’m tired. I’m tired of thinking.
But I’ll come up for air in a few days.
You can pat me on the head then, and I’ll pat yours.