Post people hangover. It’s a thing any introvert can sympathize with. And it’s what happened yesterday and it is what led me to a short depressive episode. Ugh. I am a role-player and not just the sexy kind.
Nope, I’m also a tabletop role player and that means a bunch of people sitting in a room pretending to be something else while one person spins a world of fantasy. In this case a literal one. Because while the ruleset is Palladium, (for reasons, I know the company is awful), they are in my Split Sky world. Though they don’t know what that means.
But still, spending 6+ hours being the center of attention while spinning essentially a consensual hallucination drains me completely. And some days that means I get depressed and some days that means I listen to that bastard part of my brain that says you are fucking up. That I’m not someone who can be loved let alone someone worth loving. And since so much of my self is bound up in love and beauty, that is the things that the bastard in my brain tries to wrest away from me. Tries to control.
Yes, I’m uncertain. Because I believe that certainty leads people to the blind alleys of always being right and unable to see other perspectives and inability to change. It is when we are our most static that we are our most dangerous. Pure chaos burns itself out. Pure order spreads and destroys.
So it takes this element of uncertainty and it spreads it like cancer through everything good and I can manage it but not stop it. Someone who is mine, can stop it but only if I believe that they are mine. Which generally means someone who has said and I believe that they love me. It can’t be family. I feel too distant from them to believe it when I’m depressed.
So that’s my story of my weekend. Introvert plus center of attention for extended periods equals depression. As I say in real life, generally half sarcastically, good times.
When I was without communication, without Facebook, without texting, I think I was happier.
Without this constant potential connection, But no actual connection. Because I’m drowning here. I thought I knew how to swim, but maybe the waters are rising. Each attempt, each failure, breaks me further.
Until, at last, there’s nothing left to give.
This need to write wells up, but to what avail? This distance keeps us apart or is distance a convenience of the heart?
I’d be there tomorrow, but how far can I push before you run away? I don’t know.
I’m certain only of my self and don’t know what goes on when my eyes close. When you are alone with your thoughts. When I would be holding you.
I believe that if you love someone, you tell them.
If you want to be with them, you tell them.
If you are with them, you dream of them.
If they walk by your side, you touch them.
You touch in joy, in desire, in happiness. You touch to reaffirm that you desire them. You touch in public. So called public displays of affection are just demonstrations that love should not be contained. And if someone doesn’t like it, well, fuck them.
I prefer my relationships to be shouted from the rooftops. I prefer that we love out loud and loudly at the same time. Little secrets are for little children. If you are mine, then You Are Mine. I love with fierce passion.
I don’t understand walking without touching. Without seeing them out of the corner of your eye and pushing them to the wall and kissing them. Or pulling them as close as possible until someone shouts “get a room”.
I want to whisper poetry and hear your voice and your words. I want you to fall asleep at my side and wake knowing that you are loved.
If you have a dark side, I’ll match you step for step.
Join me, dance with me, love with me. I’ll do my level best to not dissapoint.
I got 2 days and 1 night of perfection. It’s more than most people get.
It was to aid a friend and I feel a bit guilty about how it made me feel. Taking care of her. Making sure she followed her tasks. Hearing that in that moment what she felt was joy. It was utter perfection.
But what was so transcendent for me, was, perhaps, too close to a reminder of what she’d lost. Two days and a night. I was the happiest most fulfilled version of myself. I made plans. Crazy plans. Plans to uproot my whole life.
But by Monday it was over. She went back to her healing, her pain. And I was reminded of mine.
2 days and 1 night. It’s more than most people get. And its marked me forever
Sometimes I feel as if the choices I make are all predicated on the choices of others.
That despite my so called autonomy, I am waiting. Sometimes I wish that others would act as I do. Would see my heart resonant as I see theirs and say you. I want you.
I would move the heavens for such a person. But until that day there is me, feeling this
I’ve heard it said that the benchmark for love is whether or not you would die for someone.
It’s not. Death is Easy. We all do it. It’s going to happen.
No, the benchmark for love is whether or not you will live for someone.
Will you wake each day with the intention that today you will be as good to them as when you were courting. As when you were dating. As when you first saw them blush with their body. As when you first touched and your heart sped up a little.
Love is a emotion, yes. But in a relationship, it’s also a choice. The choice to love completely. To not allow all of the noise and fury of this chaotic, beautiful, mad world we live in, to not allow it to take over and intrude where it is not welcome.
But, people call me crazy for opening my heart so wide. And I won’t pretend that I have not been hurt. But, if I allow that pain to make my choices for me then I am not living. I am hiding.
I choose to not hide. To not be ruled by pain. By fear. I may not always know the way. But I know that love is my guide
I just had the worst dream.
I sometimes dream of other paths I could have taken, other words I could have said.
And I dreamed we were deliriously happy. Because I’d said the right thing in the right way. I did not spin out. Wasn’t depressed, so I said the thing that made all the difference. In the dream you were looking at a sign that said 67 or 62 miles to Phoenix. Whatever I’d said got you moving towards me like two magnets with an irresistible pull. I’d love to know what I said. I’d say it now. Even knowing that now is probably too late.
I dreamed of a young seeker approaching a sprawling mansion complex. To call it a mansion is to call the Marianas trench a hole in the ground
I had prior dreamed of the approach to the mansion of lives lived that brought the seeker to this place. Of people they had been and had since forgotten as one life bleeds into the next.
The seeker must answer a math problem. The math problem is one of rounding but in a system of math that is not often used and the numbers are different from base 10.
The seeker, a woman, fails twice. So flustered by the foreign experience. I fear I influenced her and instead of trying a third time we held the keypress that would generate the infinity symbol.
I sensed that the seeker had been here before and she was able to get in normally prior. When the symbol was entered a number of options was shown. Normal entrance included. But information and other experiences as well. The various rejection possibilities, the death possibilities, in addition bits of legendary knowledge, actual curated data on things that have never been but might be again.
The seeker chose a normal entrance.
But I was not the seeker. I was an observer behind her eyes. No I was the man she was going to see. A version of me. A version who had plundered his dreams and acquired wealth and knowledge. Both things I enjoy. And still he was profoundly unhappy. This permeated the whole complex. Lush gardens and miniature rainforests, paintings stolen from museums and replaced by facsimiles, beauty abounded. And still the man, a version of me, was empty.
I am describing a bare portion of everything. It was a whole world and it now sits behind my eyes.
I wonder if anyone realizes the shear quantity, and maybe quality, of things I don’t publish.