Losing Myself And Finding Myself Again

     As I settle into my blankets after shutting off the light, I can feel his presence in the dark. His voice slides over my mind like a velvet blanket, warm and relaxing, and part of me wants to give in to the promise it holds. Another part of me rebels against it, remembering the heartache and emptiness he left me with before. The fire of remembered touches traces across my skin burning through my defenses.

    "It wasn't all bad, was it?" the hazy part of my mind thinks as it slips further into the fog.

    "Some of it was torture," my more logical half protests as it tries to drag me free of lingering feelings that threaten to overwhelm me.

    "But such exquisite torture," my submissive nature replies, recalling the feeling of fingers resting lightly on my throat and just under my jaw. Ghosted touches pulling me closer, enticing me to lose myself in his eyes.

    "I won't lose myself again," I chastise myself, remembering how I feared not being able to come back from the depths hidden in those eyes. How easy it would have been to allow myself to succumb to him then, and how hard I fought against that urge, I remind myself.

    I feel the haze lifting from me and I reluctantly let it go. The moment of danger passes and once again I'm alone in the darkness. I sigh and draw the blankets close. Some day it will be safe to give myself over to those feelings. But not now. Not to him. Another will light those fires and I'll embrace them without fear of becoming less than I am. I will submit and through that act become more myself than ever before.

The Downward Spiral

Notice: This piece of writing was created while I was dealing with some very tough emotions. Please know that I am okay and doing much better now. Writing can be very therapeutic for me and sometimes I choose to share those moments of vulnerability.

     I'm a terrible daughter, friend, employee, neighbor, coworker, self. I consistently find new and stupifying ways to fail spectacularly and disappoint or anger everyone. I had so much potential and have wasted it all. I've allowed myself to fall prey to relationships that have stripped me of what little strength I had. I am adrift upon alien seas and fearful of any offer of kindness, hope, or love. Too many times these "Gifts" have been traps designed to peel away another layer of who I might have been. I lose more and more of myself every time I allow myself the luxury of hope or a smidgen of pride in an accomplishment. I try to allow good people I've been distant from to come back into my life, only to constantly fear losing them when they come to realize what a dumpster fire my life is. I'm the type of friend who gets asked to organize things for the group but not to actively participate. People get me excited about possible future plans, but make sure that no details are ever communicated to me. I don't blame them. Even I don't want to deal with me most of the time, how could I expect it of others.

    Therapy is pointless when all they do is keep saying "You know what to do, just do it." When all I can say is, "If it was that easy for me do you think I would need therapy?" Do I tell anyone about the waves of loneliness threatening to drown me at random, or do I put on the sad smile of a clown and make jest of the world burning around me? Do I take hold of the lifeline offered to me, not knowing whether it will bring me to dry land or further into the depths? Should I embrace the void and shed all pretext of seeking joy, or love, or acceptance and just learn to find stillness in the core of nothingness? Should I free others of my curse by caging it all up and burying it so deep in that void that not even I can hear the lamentations of my own subconscious anymore? Drown out my pathetic need to be seen and heard and touched and validated with a workman's chant of "I don't matter, only results do." 

    All others before me, and never let them see how translucent you've become from giving them your all. Maybe if I give enough of myself away I'll become clear enough for others to see themself in me, and then I'll truly belong. I don't know how to be anything but "Other", maybe as a shadow or reflection people would find me palatable? Or perhaps I'll just keep giving up who I might be piece-by-piece and eventually drift away on a cosmic wind, never to burden another's mind again. I am/have nothing of value, just a broken mind/body/spirit desperate for someone to fix it. There is no value here. There is nothing to be gained by allowing others to waste themselves upon me. I am an emotional, physical, and financial black hole from which only faint amounts of radioactive light can escape. 

    I fear accidentally destroying those I care about by not being able to stop them from trying to fix me by emptying themselves in an attempt to call forth greater light. Do not sacrifice yourselves for me. I am not worth it. Take what you need from me in order to survive. The best I can hope for in life is to somehow be useful. Though I've failed at that so many times that I fear I can't even accomplish that.

When The Songs Make Sense

I was reminded recently of a quote from a show I used to love. The two main characters were talking about Love and how it can be hard to tell you're actually in love and there was a statement that was particularly insightful. "All the songs make sense."  Just that simple and it could feel like a throwaway statement or a flippant response, but it's true. When you're in love all of those songs about Love finally make sense. The same can be said for when you're going through a breakup, all of those songs about heartbreak that you hated or didn't understand suddenly make sense too.

When I was a kid my mom had this album we loved to listen to, Sam I Am by Sam Harris, and there was one song on it that I just couldn't stand when it came on. It was slow and sad and didn't make any sense to me back then. I mean, it was an absolutely beautiful song but as far as I was concerned it was gibberish. It was all this flowery language about sinking ships and storms and love being stronger than the sea and I just couldn't figure it out. Was it supposed to be about sailors or pirates or something like that? 

I hadn't thought about that song in years and it suddenly popped into my head today. It was exactly the song I needed for what is going on in my life, and I finally understood it. I have mixed feelings about the fact that I understand it now. On one hand, I get it! I can finally truly appreciate the song and what the artist was trying to express. On the other hand, I understand what the artist was trying to express. The singer is desperately trying to help someone they love who has spent far too much of their life being molded by their depression. They're trying desperately to give that person the love that they believe they deserve and yet are fearful that they are too late for that person to be able to accept and reciprocate. It's heartbreaking and beautiful and a feeling no one should have to go through.

Right now, I feel like I'm in the position of both the singer and the person they are trying to reach. I've spent so long letting my depression and anxiety tell me that I'm nothing and no one that it's hard for me to challenge those thoughts, even when someone else is trying to get through to me. But, I also have been the person trying to get through to someone who has been trapped in that same cycle. Whichever side of that situation you're on, it's horrible. But sometimes, you need to embrace that kind of hurt. 

I wish that I didn't understand this song, the emotions it takes to understand it are ones I would never wish on anyone. But, even in the depths of the sorrow it expresses, there is still a glimmer of hope. And that's the part that I'm so glad I understand.

Finally One Of The Cool Kids

Growing up I always wanted to be one of "The Cool Kids". You know the ones I mean; the ones who always seemed to be the most confident, have the most friends, wore the trendiest clothes. But I most definitely wasn't. I was awkward, nerdy, self-conscious, and a loner. I was never on trend, nor was I a trendsetter. I was the girl who read books on the playground while everyone else ran around with their friends. I mostly kept to myself until I found a group of friends in marching band during high school, other people who were misfits most other places and who embraced the weirdness. But even in that group I felt more like a hanger-on than a real integral part of the group.

College was a little better. College is a very different world from primary education; the hours are irregular and so are most of the students and professors. There was room to be eccentric. It was a melting pot of different interests and focuses and backgrounds. Most folks were too focused on their own journey to really care what anyone else was doing unless it affected them. If you wanted to wear cat ears to class, you did it. Wander around campus in cloaks at odd hours? Sure! Have a niche interest? There's probably a club ready to welcome you. I found more people like me with strange interests and habits and for the first time in my life was a social creature. But I still felt like I was on the edge of everything, like I was a second thought when people were invited to things.

When I got sick it was like I got reset to square one again. The friends I'd made in high school had mostly moved away or on with their lives, my college friends were all hours away. I was isolated again. I played World of Warcraft for a while, joined some guilds but never really felt like I was part of any of those groups. I got friendly with people at work once I was doing better physically, we'd hang out for a while and eventually not at all either because we didn't have the time or my health (physical and mental) kept me from doing things. I never really felt like I was part of any gathering I was at and would most often be found at the edge of the crowd peoplewatching, looking for that magical window of opportunity to open up and allow me to be one of "The Cool Kids".

Now, I know that a lot of these feelings are part of my depression and anxiety. I didn't know that when I was younger and knowing it now doesn't doesn't change the fact that those feelings exist. It's hard to fight that negative voice in the back of your head that constantly whispers "You're not good enough", "They just include you because they pity you", "You'll never be good enough". I've been doing a lot of work in recent years to make that little voice quieter, or failing that to shout over it with more positive thoughts. But, it's hard work and it's so easy to feel like you're failing each time you notice that voice creeping up on you.

In my last post I wrote about how I'm doing GTA RP on the TSRP server now and the adventures I'm having as Cupcake in Los Santos. Part of that adventure is that I stream while I'm playing, meaning that I'm putting myself out in the world in a way that a younger me never would have dreamed of. I'm sooo new to streaming that sometimes I feel like a poser amongst some of the other streamers who have years of experience doing this. As always, I felt like an outsider pushing their way in to something bigger and better than they should be involved with. But, something changed.

It wasn't long before I noticed that people knew me (Cupcake) and happily greeted me in any group I seemed to wander into. I found a few close friends in my first days on the server and on a whim one day we held an impromptu party at a lighthouse on the coast. I never expected the response we got! There had to be 20 people at that party at the height of it including some of the most popular folks in the city and some of the big streamers! People are still talking about that party weeks later. We made a name for ourselves, Glowhouse, with that party. I was shocked to realize, I felt like I was truly welcome for the first time that I could remember.

The server has a discord for the fans of TSRP and one of the channels is for fan art. I've been watching as all these different characters have received artwork depicting memorable moments or portraits. There's even people making art to be used in the server. That voice in the back of my head said, "You might belong on the server, but you're not one of The Cool Kids. You'll never be one of The Cool Kids." And then one day last week I got a direct message from someone on the fan server. In that message was an attachment, line art based on my channel icon. My first fan art.

I don't think that artist will ever understand exactly what that did for me. Not only did they like my character, they liked me. I inspired someone to create something. I was overwhelmed with so many emotions I could barely process. I was excited, hopeful, shocked, and I don't even know what else. The nasty little whisper in the back of my mind was, blissfully, silent.

The artist said they might color it if they felt inspired to. I swore to myself that if they colored it I would set it as my new channel icon. I told myself that if they colored it this was a sign I was meant to keep doing this, a sign that I was one of "The Cool Kids". I didn't dare message them asking for a colored version, I felt I would be pushing my luck at receiving even the line art and might scare them off.

Two days ago, I got another message from the artist. They'd colored the drawing.

Adventures In Role Playing

I feel a little guilty. I haven't been writing as much lately as I probably should be, but I have been telling stories. Back in May I applied to join a Grand Theft Auto V roleplaying server and I got accepted. I was actually a little surprised because I'm still very new to the Let's Play and Game Streaming communities and had basically never streamed before. But my application was approved and I became a proud citizen of the city of Los Santos. Little did I know what I was getting myself into.

In the city, they know me as Cupcake Garibaldi. I'm a clown.

When I applied I pitched Cupcake as wanting to join the police because her parents (also clowns) were killed in a car accident caused by gang violence. "What's black and white, and read all over? Your Miranda rights! You have the right to remain silent..." I still can't believe that whole idea was accepted. The problem was, once I got into the city there wasn't really any gang crime to fight. Cupcake had to find something else to do.

The server I'm playing on, TSRP, is very new. There's not a lot established within the city yet so finding jobs is both very easy and very difficult. Easy, because there's always some place hiring. Difficult, because everyone needs a job. Sure you can pick up a generic reporter job at the job center, but it doesn't provide you with any direction. You can apply to be a cop but, up until recently, you had to spend the majority of your time on duty. Same with EMS. There's always dancing at the Vanilla Unicorn or bartending, but not everyone wants that kind of job. To make the city truly live you have to find a niche and fill it.

While I was trying to find my niche I encountered one of the more popular groups on the server, the Proud Prospect Boys (more commonly known as the PP Boys). Now there's a few fairly well known streamers on the server and one of them is a core member of the PP Boys which means lots of people want to interact with them to get their moment in the spotlight. I would be lying if I said that I didn't have the same instinct, but I also didn't want to force my way into anything either. So I hung around in areas they tended to and interacted with other random folk in the city and if it made sense for Cupcake to interact with the PP Boys, she did. It was during this "hanging around" time that a storyline evolved with an alien in the city with the PP Boys smack dab in the center of it. Cupcake found herself at the very edge of something big in the city and a lightbulb went on for me.

There are a lot of "unexplained" phenomena that happen in the city, driverless cars (ghost cars), light poles collapsing for no reason, strange behavior on the part of locals, parts of the city seeming to disappear, all of which can be explained out of character as glitches, lag, or strange AI logic. However, in character they are supernatural in nature. And thus the idea of a paranormal investigator came into being. From there it's grown to the point that Cupcake now runs a full blown paranormal investigation team!

Even the simple event of buying a car has lead to Cupcake gaining employment at the car dealership as a member of the security team. These are things that I never would have even considered when I first dreamed up Cupcake. Her backstory and personality have grown so much since that first day on the server in ways I never would have predicted. I love where she has taken me so far and I can't wait to see where we go from here!

If you'd like to join Cupcake on her adventures in Los Santos you can find me on Twitch where I stream Friday, Saturday, and Sunday from about 1:30 PM - 1:30 AM EST, or you can catch the uploads of the VODs on my YouTube channel.

The Chronic Illness Dilemma

I haven't really talked about it as much as I've planned to, but I've been dealing with several long-term health issues for a long time now. On the outside I look like a perfectly healthy 36 year old, but on the inside it's a whole different story. I was diagnosed with Clinical Depression when I was just in 4th grade, then Asthma sometime in high school. In 2008 I was diagnosed with Lymphangioleiomyomatosis (LAM), a rare lung disorder that almost killed me before it was diagnosed. I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder about 5 years ago (which has been in no way helped by the Covid-19 pandemic) and I've been dealing with Migraines for as long as I can remember. Add a newly found allergy to pollen that lead to me having horrible headaches and dizzy spells where I nearly blacked out and I'm just an overall mess of a human being. But no one who looks at me can see any of that.

I've always taken pride in a job well done, no matter what kind of job it was. Even when I was recovering from almost dying I wanted to work. As a matter of fact, as soon as I stopped looking like one of the living dead I started putting in applications. To my way of thinking, if I can be working I should be working. I can't express the amount of guilt and shame I felt when my anxiety forced me to quit a job in the public and confine myself to my house for over a year. I was incapable of even walking to my mailbox without having a panic attack, and in between attacks I constantly berated myself for being "weak" and not "a productive member of society." (This did nothing to help with the anxiety by the way) I finally was able to get back into the workforce right before the pandemic and was fortunate that the company didn't let me go when my training was interrupted by the lockdown. It's a part-time job, 20 hrs/ week, but fairly important to the company (We were classified as "essential personnel" through the lockdown) I make barely enough to get by, but I'm working.

The problem is, no matter how much I may pretend otherwise, I still have several chronic illnesses and they are going to have an impact on my ability to work. Sometimes I can force myself to work around my issues; a pair of dark sunglasses can sometimes mitigate the effects of a Migraine, an inhaler can make it easier to breathe when the air quality is bad, things like that. However, there are still times where no matter what I do I have to call off work. I hate calling off of work. But if I'm curled up in a ball in the dark wanting to cut my head off even after taking medicine and putting on sunglasses because of a migraine, I can't drive to work let alone do my job (which requires a lot of concentration and fine detail discernment) and I have to call off. If I'm having dizzy spells where I'm partially blacking out, I shouldn't be behind the wheel of a car. If my butt is all but glued to the toilet because of intestinal issues or making offerings to the porcelain god, I shouldn't be working around food. So I call off. 

Every job you will ever work will have a limit on how often you can call off without there being repercussions. That number will vary based on where you work, what your position is, and whether you're full or part-time. When you've reached that number, something will happen and no matter how well you do your job there is always the risk that the "something" will be termination of your employment. When you are living quite literally paycheck-to-paycheck this is a terrifying prospect. You dread having your boss call you into their office for a talk because you never know whether you'll be going back to work afterward or be escorted out of the building because you no longer work there. 

There are certain protections in place for people with disabilities, things like the Family and Medical Leave Act (FMLA) and the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) for example. But not everyone qualifies for those protections. You have to work a certain number of hours per year to qualify for FMLA, if you work part-time you don't meet that requirement. For the ADA your request has to fall under what is called "reasonable accommodation" and when your issues are multiple and unpredictable there really isn't a "reasonable" way to accommodate them. What is someone, like myself, in this situation supposed to do?

How are those of us with chronic illnesses supposed to provide for ourselves and our families when the system we have to work within is not designed for us? What are we supposed to do when we are too sick to work, but too healthy to be disabled? How long can I hold up against the anxiety of never knowing whether this is the day my illness will get me fired? How much worse will my depression get if I'm forced not to work? 

I honestly love my job. I love being part of a team and making a difference in the company I work for. I hate the limitations my body is placing on me, and they will only get worse over time. I don't want to be judged poorly for how "healthy" I look on the outside while taking care of how ill I actually am on the inside. It's just too much. 

Everyone wants you to "do your best", but judge that by what they consider to be your best. At a certain point, you push your body beyond what is "best" for it and at that point, it is no longer "your best" but doesn't live up to the standard of "best" that others are holding you to. So you push further. "See, you had it in you all along," they praise you as you feel your body fall apart a little more. They won't understand when you can't do something even easier the next day. They can't understand that your body used up its ability to "do" today doing what it did yesterday. You don't want to be a burden so you push yourself again, all the while feeling the toll it's taking your body, your mind. They won't understand why you just want to stay home and sleep on the weekend, why the little things around the house aren't getting done anymore, why you're canceling plans at the last minute. 

The strain of chronic illness is so much more than just what it puts your body through. It's the invisible fight every day against the difference between your limitations and the expectations placed on you. And sometimes, the biggest expectations are the ones you place on yourself.

I don't have any answers. I'm not even sure I know the right questions to ask.

Based On A Weird Dream

     She had promised him she would be there for him when they reviewed his final project and nothing was going to prevent her from keeping that promise. So when the TA wouldn't let her into the auditorium she knew she had to find another way in. He was always so outwardly confident that most people who'd only ever seen him online would never believe how nervous he really was. He was counting on her and she wouldn't let him down.

    Emerging, slightly out of breath, from the stairwell into the unlit second-floor hallway she paused to listen for any sign of other people. No one should be in this part of the building at this hour, but here she was so it was possible someone else was lurking about as well. When the film studies building had been built movies had still been on actual film so every auditorium was equipped with a projection booth designed to house the reels and film projector. The college had long since upgraded to digital projectors that could be hooked up wirelessly so the booths had become more of a storage space than anything and had been forgotten, for the most part. No one would be in there and she would be able to see everything from the window.

    Slipping silently into the projection booth she eased the door shut behind her with a soft click. She'd worked in movie theaters when she was younger and remembered the projectionist warning her that sound in the booth could carry into the auditorium if you weren't careful. Without the giant projector running the booth was cold and dark. She paused in the darkness, her back against the cool metal of the door, and allowed her eyes to adjust. Slowly the darkness resolved into a landscape of greys before her and she picked her way through the accumulated junk. As she neared the auditorium window she could faintly hear his voice drifting up from below as he discussed something with his advisor.

    Knowing he would be expecting her by now she pulled her phone from her pocket to fire off a quick text letting him know what had happened and that she was hiding in the projection booth. After hitting send and returning her phone to her pocket she cursed herself for not thinking to message him before letting her eyes adjust. Even with the brightness turned way down her eyes had readjusted to the light and all she could see now was the dimly lit window into the auditorium. From below she heard his text notification go off followed, after a short pause, by a flashlight beam sweeping across the window, further ruining her night vision. As she blinked away the bright spot in her vision the lights in the auditorium dimmed and the voices from below faded.

    Before she could take a step toward the auditorium window, a scream shattered the silence. Her heart lept into her throat as a second scream, followed by a third and fourth, echoed from the auditorium. Pain and fear badly distorted the voice but she could tell that it was him. This wasn't part of the project, though she'd heard him scream bloody murder for several past ones, there was something raw and far too real about these screams. She lunged forward in the darkness of the booth desperate to look down into the auditorium and caught her foot on something unseen. His screams continued to ring out in the darkness as she stumbled awkwardly to regain her balance.

    Disentangling her foot from what sounded like a snarl of film she found her footing once more in the darkness and moved toward the window. With a rustle almost unheard beneath the ever more anguished screams a loop of film wrapped itself around her wrist and pulled at it spinning her sideways. With a curse, she tried to pull the wrist free only to feel the film pull harder against her. More loops of film appeared from the darkness grasping at her ankles and thighs, tangling themselves around her other wrist, and wrapping around her torso.

    The screams from the auditorium took on a wet, gargling note without any decrease in volume or intensity as she struggled against the coils of film. The mass of celluloid dragged her inexorably back away from the window no matter how hard she fought against it. Coils upon coils of film wound themselves around her body like the cocoon of some deranged celluloid spider. She tried to call out as the film wrapped tighter around her, crushing the breath from her lungs, but was prevented by several loops of film coiled across her mouth. Her muffled screams now a counterpoint to the tortured screams from the auditorium. A duet of horror and pain being wrung from them by unknown forces.