(this is my FB post last Monday so a week late here – I’m donating my kidney to whoever needs it, I always wanted to be a non directed kidney donor! In March this year I discovered a specific man who urgently needs a kidney so currently trying to help him)
Had another kidney donation exam today (last Monday), and oh was it awkward lol I had to completely undress head to toe and be examined, just about every inch of me inside & out, making sure there’s no signs of cancer. I was surprised and asked “All of my clothes, like everything?” She said “Yep, bra, panties…all of it.” ๐ณ Poked, prodded, orifices & parts checked & squeezed with instruments & hands. I’m not self conscious about my body or it being seen/touched, but it was still a bit awkward getting my junk squeezed & prodded lol Like, no one touches my stuff.
I was laying there thinking I hope my potential kidney recipient knows what I’m subjecting myself to for him to get a kidney ๐คฃ
All the medical staff were wearing rainbow proud lgbtq ally pins, so that put my mind at ease. I’m always a bit anxious that medical people are going to judge, invalidate, and medicalize my asexuality. Rainbow/ally/lgbtq pins are reassuring & make it seem like a safespace. I was even asked if I’m in any kind of/non sexual relationship, which was so validating because it shows they are open to the idea of non sexual/non traditional relationships. Most of society only sees relationships as valid if they are/were sexual or typical romantic. So it made me happy! It’s the little things! โฅ๏ธ
I already did all the scans and all required. This is the last physical exam required (other than the dna match, but it’s going to a stranger, so that doesn’t concern me, if my chosen recipient & me aren’t a match, which we likely won’t be, he still gets a kidney though my donation)! I just have to have another psych evaluation because of my history of depression (puts me at an elevated risk for an episode just after surgery) and my job being unsafe to return to until three months after surgery. The social worker is especially concerned about me possibly not listening about taking the full three months off.
I received an update that my left kidney has been selected for donation! I guess it’s not official yet though because the social worker is concerned about my depression history and job.
๐ซ๐
Overall, it’s all looking good though!
They better accept my kidney after that awkwardness. ๐คฃ I let someone touch my junk for this!
๐
I hope you’re having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are!
The Harvest, fiction supernatural thriller by Sara Clancy – I got it for free on Amazon Kindle
Oh Billie it’s fresh in my memory The night that it had to be done You with your pick axe and scissors And you with your shovel and gu n
And I liked your late husband Donald But such torture his memory brings All sliced up and sealed tight in baggies Guess love makes you do funny things
Oh Billie oh Millie, criminally insane
Content warning โ ๏ธ: mental health/brief mention of a*use – any censored words is in case I share on FB where we can get suspended
I have a history of voluntary & involuntary psychiatric hospitalizations (for depression – haven’t been hospitalized in 15+ years). The hospital I was in, (I don’t remember the name, but they sent me outside of Philadelphia, I had no say in the matter), had a section for the “criminally insane” (I don’t know if that’s true for all psychiatric hospitals or whatever those hospitals are called these days, also don’t know exactly what constitutes “criminally insane.” {nor do I care, I see lots of boring debate over it in legal & medical contexts, I just have firsthand experience being hospitalized with them, but I don’t know all that legal/psych stuff, all I know is they were extremely dangerous to others, and we were not, though some of us were h0micidal too but in a less “insane” kind of way, not me, I was only ever s*icidal, but one of my roommates was h0micidal against everyone when she would have fits of uncontrollable rage, she was the sweetest thing, small pretty blonde girl who I wished was my friend outside the hospital, we planned to meet up when we got out of there, but it never happened, unfortunately. She was my bff in there, we were inseparable. The staff used to say our friendship was so sweet & cute. We just clicked and even unexpectedly had matching pj’s, which made us & the staff laugh! She had pretty pastel pink ones with penguins, and I had the same but pastel blue. We did everything together in there. If we got assigned to a different activity, we would ask special permission to switch so we could stay together, they let us. The staff said it was good for us that we developed a bond like that and said we were attached at the hip. Everyone called us the prettiest girls in there and said we looked exactly alike, except she had blonde hair and was a bit taller and thinner than me and a few years younger, her hair was long, but mine was longer, nearly long enough to sit on. It touched the floor when I sat on it or when I laid in bed and tossed it over the side. They called us twins and sometimes even got us confused. Sometimes people would stop and do a double take when they saw us standing together because of how much we looked alike. Other patients constantly asked if we were sisters. I actually did not see the resemblance. I thought she was prettier than me but not in a self deprecating way. I thought I was pretty too. But she was striking in a way that isn’t normal. She looked like a model out of a Victoria’s Secret magazine. She also dressed like me. I was told to change when I walked out of our room in a belly shirt and low cut pants. So she had to call her mom and ask for more appropriate clothes because she had the same.
She wasn’t declared criminally insane but was prone to depression & random v!0lent outbursts where she wanted to k!ll anyone who was around her, including herself. In her normal state, she was quiet, calm, soft spoken, like me, and she had compassion for others. When she came out of her episodes, she was horrified at the things she said and her outbursts & threats against others. She experienced an unwanted pregnancy and had an abortion, and her boyfriend accused her of cheating because he said men everywhere come onto her, like that was her fault, and the stress of it all triggered a depressive episode for her. She said with her mental illness she wasn’t fit to be a mom or even carry a baby to term, so she terminated it. I was in there for a depressive episode that came on out of the blue, not triggered by any current life circumstances. She got released before me. We weren’t allowed to touch, it was against the rules. But we hugged goodbye anyway and were so sad to leave each other. After living together, even just very briefly, and sharing our deepest pain and laughing hysterically together all night, planning our escape, it felt like she was my family, like a long lost sister. We only knew each other very briefly, but I already loved her in a deep sisterly way. Sometimes we forgot where we were when we were laughing so hard together. We would paint pretty pictures together and hang them around our hospital room. I was grieving hard because before her, I had another sweet roommate who I loved and clicked with, sweet Holly, a girl suffering of paranoid schizophrenia, who got transferred to a different ward. They took her away and sent me Missy (her name wasn’t Missy, exactly, but it was a nickname I affectionately gave her, which she adored), a depressed girl, who I came to love just as much. I still remember her like it was yesterday. I don’t know that I would recognize her though if I ever saw her again all these years later. I’m still glad our paths crossed. Our very fleeting friendship still warms me, and the memories bring me joy. I hope to have a girl friendship like that again someday under better circumstances, of course lol and more long-term}).
The criminally insane were in a different part, but we would have food with them in the cafeteria each day, three times a day. I remember one of my hospital friends asking a staff member who they were. We could tell they were different than us. They had a different air about them that was abnormal even for a psych hospital. Most would probably see them as more intimidating. They never scared me, but I could tell they weren’t to be messed with, and you probably wouldn’t want to turn your back on them unsupervised. Most of them were men/male presenting people. But there were women/fem presenting people among them also. They had shackles and more strict supervision. They weren’t allowed to roam the halls or the courtyards or socialize like us. We mostly only crossed paths with them in the cafeteria.
The psych. tech responded “The criminally insane” when my friend asked who they were across the cafeteria.
They would all eat their food on the other side of the cafeteria. Unlike the average or “regular” mentally ill person (or whatever we’re called these days lol I’m sure there’s a more “politically correct”/less offensive term for us), they were very dangerous. They would have v!olent outbursts against each other and staff. They couldn’t really do as much with their hands/legs, so they would try to charge at people and knock people with their heads. Lol They would jump up yelling and flip chairs and try flipping tables. The staff people would come up in back of them trying to restrain them, and they would headbutt them with the back of their heads. There was never a dull moment in the cafeteria.
It’s true, like the excerpt above says, it would be all quiet & calm then all of a sudden, all hell breaks loose for seemingly no reason. And they would set each other off. One would flip out then others would be triggered. They would try to att@ck whoever was there. Sometimes they were so v!olent and uncontrollable, they would have to be taken away to a different facility. Multiple staff members would be dragging them away as they kicked and screamed hysterically until they got the needle (this happened to us too though, we would get the needle or the quiet room for flipping out, the quiet room terrified me, I avoided it at all costs {solitary confinement, a wh!te padded room with no handle on the door n no windows, I have lifelong claustrophobia, which was very active back then}, I would take the needle any day).
It’s not like in the movies where they all have this camaraderie and plan their escape and all together and it’s them against the world. They try to k!ll each other just like they would anyone else. Those b-grade horror movies (which I love) portray the criminally insane as all buddy buddy with each other. They definitely aren’t. They probably don’t even have that capacity. If they did, they wouldn’t be how they are. (I’m guessing not all “criminally insane” people are the same, some aren’t this v!olent, I’m sure, and not all are v!olent against random people, but these people were, some may even be able to live normal lives if they get help, movies generally make mentally ill/criminally insane people out to be more dramatic than we really are because it makes for a more interesting movie. But there are definitely outbursts n stuff in psych hospitals and people who are overall dangerous– I wish there was a better way I knew how to write this, it comes off with a very strong sense of otheringthe criminally insaneon my part, but not intentionally, it’s kind of cringey of me)
The “regular” mentally ill people had outbursts too each day, but not the same as them, ours was more like breakdowns and usually not against anyone. Theirs was against others and furious/more physical. The ordinary patients could definitely be v!olent against others too, usually the staff because the staff has authority, but usually not, and not like the criminally insane.
It’s easy to judge criminally insane people, but I feel sorry for them because I know ultimately they wouldn’t have chosen this life, this way of being, if they had a choice before coming into existence. As v!olent and terrible as they are or seem, even if it gives them a twisted satisfaction to hurt others, if they were asked before they were born if they wanted to live that kind of life or a life as a good person surrounded in love and being loving to others, most, if not all, would choose the life of love, not v!olence. Multiple factors, often beyond their control, all added up (a very large contributing factor usually being a*use or being unloved as a child) to make them this way.With that perspective, I can’t help but have compassion. They don’t want it any more than I do. It’s just I got lucky to have better circumstances, better upbringing, better genes…I lack all the contributing factors that they have the misfortune of falling victim to. It’s easy to sit here in my privilege and judge. But I rise above and expand my perspective and lean into my compassion.
Plastic forks and spoons No laces in my shoes They all know what I tried to do Outside the Quiet Room This quiet place It ain’t so new to me Its haunted atmosphere Has heard so many scream My home from home My twilight zone My strangest dream My confidant I have confessed my life The Quiet Room Knows more about me than my wife
This yellow text in the supernatural thriller I’m reading made me think of my own experience. I kind of miss those days Lol (I checked the copyright, ยฉ๏ธ, the author gives permission to share short excerpts)
Thank you for any comments & likes I have received on other posts! I will get back to them! I am in the process of donating a kidney to a stranger! I received the news recently that I am pretty much qualified after six months of medical & psychiatric testing! I’m in above average physical health, but the social worker, who is a member of the transplant team/selection committee, is concerned about my mental health history. Anesthesia/major surgery can trigger a depressive episode even in a person without a depression history. So I’m at an elevated risk. I have to have another psych evaluation before I can be accepted to donate my kidney. If all goes well, I get to save a stranger’s life! ๐The transplant could be as soon as September this year!!
I hope you are having beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are!
If you could read my mind, love What a tale my thoughts could tell Just like an old time movie ‘Bout a ghost from a wishing well In a castle dark or a fortress strong With chains upon my feet But stories always end And if you read between the lines You’ll know that I’m just trying to understand The feelings that you lack
content warning โ ๏ธ brief mention of s*icidal inclination
Something reminded me of this experience of mine recently, but I can’t remember what. But it inspired me to share. I don’t regret it as I don’t believe it was really my fault. But I do admit it was wrong or at least that my actions brought an innocent person deep pain & confusion. Or I guess it was my fault to an extent, but I truly did not get it or know any better back then.
One thing it seems no one ever talks about is how hearing
“I’m in love with you”
Can be just as painful as
“I want to be just friends.”
This is because “I’m in love with you” often entails the end of or end as we know it of a truly cherished platonic friendship. Or it can seem to imply that friendship or platonic love is not good enough. This can be particularly painful to those who cannot experience romantic love.
When romantic feelings get involved and only one feels that way, it often complicates the friendship. It doesn’t necessarily have to. But in many cases it does. It seems this is particularly true when it’s a woman and man. It’s different when it’s just attraction. But when it’s real romantic feels, it can be challenging for someone who feels them to remain friends with a person who doesn’t return them. I did not understand that. I knew it because of what I have always heard but could never grasp it. I thought it was selfish and always entitled and invalidating. Sometimes I still struggle with this but am more understanding than I was before.
I remember hearing those words and feeling my heart sink so deeply into my abdomen. It was like a punch in the gut then a sinking feeling.
“I’m in love with you.”
The words I never wanted to hear.
When I was around 21 years old, I met a young man around my age. It was one of those cases where we instantly clicked as if we have known each other forever. The moment we met was like a feeling of home or familiarity. It was a “soulmate” connection. I thought of him as my platonic soulmate. It was a beautiful blossoming friendship that just kept getting stronger. One of our first experiences together was deep bellylaughing in a line at a cafe waiting for coffee. And still laughing as we were walking out almost spitting out our coffee. He was telling me something about his roommate “falling on her butt” when there was a fire in their apartment (no one was hurt, thankfully). He had a way of making everything funny. I still remember that conversation today and remember how that was the beginning of our friendship when I realized I found a keeper and thought for sure we would be lifelong friends. It still can make me laugh.
I still remember him holding his gut keeling over in that cafe, through fits of laughter “and” (hysterical laughter) “she, she” (laughing uncontrollably) “fell” (trying to talk but laughing too much) “right on her butt!” I thought he was going to fall to the floor laughing. I was laughing so much I couldn’t talk. This made him laugh even harder as we walked out the door with our iced coffees. His poor roommate. Lol
He was truly hilarious, and my sense of humor was so compatible with his. He would make me laugh so hard then my bellylaughing would make him laugh even more, and we would both be in the throes of hysterical uncontrollable laughter everywhere we went together. We got each other’s jokes and just had so much fun together.
We would give each other hugs & laugh together hysterically. One of the main things we connected through was our sense of humor. When I think back to the people I have connected most with in life and have felt the closest to, sense of humor is usually one of the things we have had in common. I love lighthearted people and those I can bellylaugh with over the most trivial things.
He was HILARIOUS, silly, playful, kind, no red flags of any kind. Definitely one of the good ones. We began hanging out together frequently. We attended the same university and would meet up during class breaks. Sometimes he would sit in lectures with me when he had a break just to be in my company. He would come to my workplace after work to hang out. We became inseparable. We would have lunch together and walk around campus talking and checking out different events together. He made it a point to support and become interested in the things I loved. I was a big advocate for LGBTQ community. He would attend the events with me to show his support. One day he showed up to meet me wearing a T-shirt with a big rainbow flag! I was so heartwarmed. Even today that warms my heart. He wasn’t one of those heterosexual men who cared if people mistook him for gay. He became involved with our LGBTQ group where I was the representative on the allocations committee and began volunteering at our events. He wasn’t just pretending to like the things I did. He was truly making an effort to show he cared and develop similar interests so we could relate. I understand that now.
He was like the brother I never had. I loved him.
The only problem is, unbeknownst to me, he certainly did not think of me as a sister. He liked me in that other kind of way. I had no clue. I thought we had this beautiful platonic friendship that was getting stronger. His feelings were definitely getting stronger. But they weren’t the feelings I had.
One day we discovered my closest friend back then was an acquaintance of his. My close friend and me were walking together and ran into my newer friend. He yelled to me “You know my friend M?!?!” We all knew each other and shared a group hug. It’s a sweet memory even though my friendship with both of them eventually ended not on good terms (and their friendship with each other ended too), one after about a year and the other after around fifteen years. I still grieve because at one point the love & friendship we all shared was real, and we were all genuinely good people. It wasn’t a case of fake friends or fake people or backstabbers or anything like that. Sometimes, unfortunately, true love or true friendship can end, fizzle out, people can change or outgrow each other and just go their separate ways. But that doesn’t have to taint the sweet memories of what was.
I don’t remember how long exactly my new friend and me were friends for before it ended painfully. But I think it was around a year.
One day our mutual friend walked up to me, and he handed me a handful of something and said “Here are some condoms so you and C can f*ck.” (C is his first initial as I don’t want to say his whole name!) I dropped them back into his hand.
“What the…WHAT?!” Was my reaction. He said “Yeah, C wants to f you, and he’s going to tell you tonight.”
News to me.
I was confused and then shocked and then this other emotion that is less than devastated but beyond disappointed. He wants to WHAT?!
It isn’t like that. Or….is it? Surely it’s not like that. He’s a good friend. I thought he loved me like I love him. We have this special bond, this beautiful friendship. We connect and laugh together and have true love for each other. It can’t be like THAT.
But it was true. It was like that.
C walked up to me that evening and broke the news.
But it was way worse than just wanting to f me. He had actual feels. You know the ones.
He was trembly and extremely anxious like I have never seen him before. He was typically a very laid back, calm person like me. He was a clown, not very serious. So it was unusual to see him like this. He kept rubbing his hands over the back of his head and down his face, looking at the ground, shifting his weight to each foot. He looked clammy and pale. Then he looked right at me. He had something to tell me.
“I’m in love with you.”
Oh, gross!
He wasn’t joking. I could tell. He often “joked” that he had a crush on me. I guess it wasn’t a joke. I have had man friends (and boy ones when I was a girl) all life long who “caught feels,” which eventually ended our friendship (it doesn’t necessarily have to, but in my experience it always has). So I knew where this was going. He was good at covering it up for so long, but it was finally coming out.
Now the devastation sank in. I shook my head no, what seemed like over and over and took a step back. I was grossed out. The thought of it being like that. I told him I had to leave. It was gutwrenching. I felt like our beautiful friendship and his love for me was all one big lie.
It was only romantic.
I thought we were soulmates. But it’s only romantic. I felt like it was a big downgrade.
I felt like he was using me for romance. He did not ever try to get in my pants. He wasn’t sleezy or entitled like many men. He wasn’t trying to get a quick lay. He did not want me only for my body.. But I still felt used.
For context. I am an aromantic woman. I have never been in love, never been on a date. I am single & celibate since birth. I have never had a kiss. I have no desire. I was born this way.
I realized that I have a little bit of post traumatic stress about growing up this way. It was difficult, so difficult. It was constant pretending to be normal but not even understanding what that normal is. Trying to go with the flow and mold myself into something I never understood, just caught glimpses of here & there, heard references and understood vaguely, enough to latch onto and appear normal to a point. But people always sensed something was off about me. I think like me, they just couldn’t quite put their finger on it. But they knew something. Sometimes I was called a prude, innocent, spinster material. Lesbian?
I’m no longer anxious and mortified. In fact I’m very ready to tell people about my asexuality. But whenever a conversation in person or on tv begins to turn to the topic of dating and sexuality (been watching the old TV show “ER” again and recently felt this when they were sitting around asking each other what age they lost their virginity, I felt my body reliving old trauma & pain), I have a physical feeling. The same old physical feeling I always got when that happened. Body tenses, heart races, mouth dries. I feel threatened. Fearful. Back then I knew I would either have to make up a lie and lose part of myself and feel empty inside or tell the truth and be mortified, maybe even face ridicule and being the laughingstock, which has happened. In most cases I told a lie. The lies were getting out of hand. It was hard to keep track of what I was telling who. Once in college I made the mistake of telling one friend I had sexual experience, that I gave a boy a handjob & a blowjob in a school closet. Then another day a while later I told a mutual friend I had no experience but wanted to. Both were lies. I had no experience and wanted none, but I wanted to be seen as normal. I realized my mistake and lived with the anxiety that they would talk to each other about me and realize, probably figuring out I had no experience and wondering why at 20 something years old I never even been kissed. I had no idea myself. I never wanted to kiss anyone. Never felt that pull. But I had no idea how to articulate that or what it meant. And the thought was just too mortifying to entertain. I couldn’t keep track of my lies anymore. The lies weren’t for thrill but to protect me. I had neighbors who picked up on it and told my mom and sister and me that I was on my way to being an old spinster, I always heard people ridiculing and pitying friends or family members of theirs who haven’t been getting any or worse never have in the first place and judging & ridiculing religious abstinent or celibate people, calling them pathetic, boring, unfulfilled. I have even heard people who said they were done with dating and sexuality but still glad for the experience they did have, ridiculing and feeling sorry for those who never have. It was my deepest darkest secret.My asexuality that has been with me & haunted me since birth. My body relives the trauma of the threat of ridicule.
Growing up asexual in a s*x/romance crazed society has brought me nothing but pain, embarrassment, fear…I would never change my asexuality even if I could. But there has been nothing easy about it except not getting sti’s and pregnancy scares. And I guess not getting into trouble/making d*mb decisions based on attraction. It has always brought me such deep pain knowing I can never be truly loved because romantic love is considered the best love, and I cannot love someone back that way so they will move onto someone who can. I can only experience “second best” love and have “second best” relationships.
When I got to be over thirty years old and still did not understand what a crush is and what horny is even when I looked it up online, my s*icidal thoughts and urges began to become stronger. It got to the point where I knew I was going to have to end it because I thought I was the only one like this, and I couldn’t keep up with the facade any longer. I just couldn’t. It was too empty feeling and too fake. I was afraid people would eventually catch on, probe too deeply and find out, put it all together once & for all and realize I’m this. But what this is, I couldn’t quite say. But I was still afraid they would know and that I would be the freak of the world. Until one day I got up the courage to explore my own identity and understand me and that there is a word for what I am, and there are more like me. Asexuality is a spectrum, and I am hardcore thoroughly ace. Some do have those feelings just rarely. I have them never, no sexual attraction, no sexual desire, no sexual interest. No trauma or illness. Born like this. I can remember hints of it even in elementary school. I remember my little friends at five years old asking me when I want to get married and me thinking “Ugh! Never!” One day my 5th grade teacher explained sexual activity to us (we had parental consent), and she told us one day we would all want to do that with someone. I remember thinking “Ugh! Never!” Other girls and boys were giggling and saying they couldn’t wait. I refused the hpv vaccine at twenty years old (I wouldn’t now because it wouldn’t hurt to have, I totally don’t recommend refusing it, I actually regret it because while I won’t ever be sexual, I do have a body that technically can get hpv, and hpv can result in cancer, it’s rare this way, but even sharing a towel can transmit it) because I knew I would never be sexual so wouldn’t get hpv. I remember the doctor asking if I want it in case I become sexually active (she knew I wasn’t yet, but I never told her I don’t have those feelings, I was too mortified to tell anyone and did not even know how to put it into words), and I remember thinking “Ugh! Never!” Just like at ten years old. At thirty years old, I was still thinking “Ugh! Never!” And now at 37 years old, still the same.
I do not know what romantic feelings feel like. Let’s just say for simplicity’s sake that I only experience one kind of love or love everyone the same way, just some more than others (I have homoromantic leanings, I can be especially close to other women, emotionally in a way that is akin to romantic but isn’t). I have never experienced a crush and only understand it as a concept. I don’t get butterflies or feel that rollercoaster feel or chemical surge that the romantics speak of. I don’t pace floors waiting for my love to call (though I can certainly light up upon seeing the name of someone I adore on my notifications and can’t wait to see them again, I can get giddy) or go insane if I love someone and don’t see them for a while. I don’t experience new relationship energy/infatuation and have never wanted to “build a life” with anyone or live with anyone as a couple. I never wanted to date anyone I ever knew or looked at. I went to high school Prom alone and danced with friends. No interest in having a date. When I was a little girl, my Barbie & Ken dolls were sister & brother. I loved playing baby dolls. I played with boys & girls. The girls would always pair off with a little boy to be Mommy & Daddy, wife & husband. I would think of the boys as my brothers and my baby dolls’ uncles. I was a single mom to my baby dolls. I always imagined growing up and living with a girl bff or a gay man as my roommate. I imagined us having separate bedrooms and sometimes having sleepovers in each other’s rooms, watching movies, eating snacks, painting each other’s nails and doing each other’s hair and makeup, them bringing their romantic interest over sometimes and all hanging out together. It never occurred to me to grow up and live with a life partner. When I tried to imagine it, I would always imagine it with a man, and that felt so unnatural. Now that I understand my identity, I can imagine having a woman as a life partner but without any sexual aspect and no romantic feels on my part. I’m very loving and can return affection.
I knew I am different even then but couldn’t say how. In romantic movies, I thought it was a downgrade when two friends fell in love. I never dreamed of my wedding day, and romantic love songs always made me think of people I love platonically. “My Endless Love” makes me think of my pets ๐
While I have always thought romantic love looks beautiful, I still saw it as inferior to platonic and found it offensive when men friends liked me that way. I wondered why people cry over romantic breakups. It’s just romantic. That’s all. I did not understand even at 30+ years old. No one explains it because everyone thinks we all feel it and know. I knew something, just not what.
Because I never experienced romantic love, I never fully understood how beautiful it is to those who do and how very painful it is to lose or be rejected that way. I always wondered what all the fuss was about. I knew I don’t experience it, but I did not consciously know or know how to articulate it.
I have never had low self esteem. But even as a little girl I knew I could never be fully or truly loved. Because I cannot experience the love that everyone else can and that society says is the best kind of love. I have struggled hard with feelings of inadequacy as a human and as a woman knowing I cannot feel what everyone says is the best feeling in the world. It is a painful struggle sometimes to know that I lack these feelings that society places so so much emphasis and importance on. The lack itself does not hurt me. While I’m curious what it must feel like, I don’t particularly wish to experience it. But society’s invalidation and sometimes just being so different in that way, does bring pain. It also brings pain knowing I likely cannot have my special person as I lack sexual inclination, which is important to most.
I can love deeply, and I have longed to be someone’s everything and someone to be mine. But it cannot be romantic/sexual. I have been pained to know that I likely will never have the importance to anyone that a romantic partner holds. It’s something I generally have learned to live with. But it flares up and crushes me on occasion. Some aromantic people are ok with this. I admit though I am not quite there yet. I do want to be someone’s everything. I want to be someone’s person, the first one someone calls when they have happy or sad news, someone to do life with, though not as a couple, someone to hug in a way we only hug each other, I want good morning beautiful, and good night love, texts sent to each other (I can only have this with another woman though, I only have that inclination for women). But I am aromantic and asexual (they are not the same thing, I’m both though), and most people will never value me the way they value a romantic partner/s. It’s possible, just not likely. That brings me pain.
When C told me he was in love with me, I knew what that meant. It was over. Our friendship was over. A friendship I cherished.
He sent me a long e-mail that night telling me everything he loved about me, my smile, my laugh, my sense of humor, my compassion and playfulness, the way my eyes light up when I speak of my passions. He called me beautiful inside and out and told me what an amazing woman I am who anyone would be lucky to know. And many more things on his list of amazing things about Kim. The truth is, it grossed me out so much. It repulsed me. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t see him that way. I saw him as brother, friend, platonic soulmate. I couldn’t imagine that kind of emotional intimacy with or investment in a man (I can experience some kind of emotional and non sexual but sensual attraction to some women/women aligned people that I can’t to men, but not romantic) or his hands on me the way I imagined he wanted. It grossed me out. I ignored his e-mail.
The next day I was having lunch alone at our favorite place on campus when he walked in and saw me. He walked over to me looking emotionally hurt. I felt disgust. I shook my head to express that. He sat at the table with me, and I saw that doughy romantic look in his eyes, and it disgusted me even more. I was angry. I felt betrayed and used. He asked me if I hated him. I just scoffed and got up and walked away.
He yelled after me “You hate me, don’t you?” I heard the desperation and pain in his voice. I did not care. I saw him as a traitor. Just like every other heterosexual man I have had a friendship with.
We never spoke again.
I would see him around campus, our eyes would meet, I would see the hurt and confusion in his. And I would look away and go about my day.
I was grieving too. I told all my friends and coworkers that he was a terrible friend who was using me for romantic purposes and was pretending to be my friend all along. I wasn’t lying, this is how my inexperienced and young brain interpreted it. My friends basically thought he was one of those a-holes just trying to get in my pants and was trying to manipulate me. They loathed his guts on my behalf. One day when one of my friends saw him on campus, she flipped him off. She told me later. Another day I got to work and one of the girls I worked with said “That pr!ck came by looking for you yesterday, I sure told him off, the creep.” My other friend wanted to punch him. My neighbor’s boyfriend and her ex boyfriend threatened to kick his @$$ when they saw him near my house. The fact that he was coming to my work and house and trying to contact me seems stalkerish when viewed through the lens of the picture I painted of him. But we were good friends, and I never gave him closure or verbally told him to stay away. Though my actions clearly did. But he probably thought our friendship was strong enough that it was ok, it wasn’t like he was just some creep I was dating or whatever. We had a solid relationship for a while, just weren’t on the same page.
He’s everything you want
He’s everything you need
He’s everything inside of you that you wish you could be
He says all the right things at exactly the right time
But he means nothing to you
And you don’t know why
He was probably so confused. Because he did nothing wrong. But I did not realize that. I made him out to be a creep. I thought he was. I thought that romantic/sexual love is inferior and that he liked me in some shallow way that would benefit only him when I loved him in the real way. The platonic way. The genuine way. My love was real. His was only romantic. And there was something carnal about it that grossed me out, something I did not understand then but understand now as sexual attraction, which usually accompanies romantic love.
I was a 21 year old aromantic asexual girl who did not yet understand my own identity or sexuality as a whole.
Was I wrong for how I acted?
Yes, it was a big @$$hole move for sure. It was. It was immature and whatever else. But my youth along with my genuine lack of understanding of how sexuality works as someone who was born without one, I truly felt used, lied to. I likened him to those men who truly do try tricking a woman just to get in her pants. But I understand now he wasn’t. He was just a boy who fell for a confused girl who couldn’t love him back that way. We both did not understand. I did not understand my fullblown asexuality, which in my case includes aromanticism. I have no sexual feelings at all or romantic ones. I can only imagine what they must feel like. I always felt the lack but could never explain and was too mortified at being different to try.
At the risk of this sounding like a humblebrag, men have always fallen for me, and it has brought me pain. Even in a group of girl friends/coworkers where some liked a man friend, the man would always go for me. I saw this as them loving the other girls more. Platonically. While they only liked me romantically. Why was I only worthy of romantic feelings while the other girls were seen as sisters? Sometimes it was hard not to feel so low. Like why I’m only good enough for romance but other girls are valued as cherished friends. Even now as I remember that pain, my body recoils. It tenses. It feels physical pain. But I understand better now, intellectually, that romantic isn’t necessarily less, just different. Sometimes I have to remind myself.
It wasn’t until somewhat recently at 30 something years old that I began to understand some things better after a couple conversations with my mom and sister and an online friend who explained to me when I was complaining that when a person becomes very emotionally close to someone they can be attracted to, they will very likely catch feels and that it’s not their fault and explained some other things that it all just clicked, and I felt like a total @$$ for not understanding all along. I was embarrassed to not have understood something so basic and nearly universal. But I was born this way with no firsthand experience to reference to understand all the things I hear/witness around me. And sexual education is a joke. When we don’t grow up heterosexual, we can be totally lost and even if we do grow up heterosexual we can be lost as sexual education often is inadequate even for heterosexual youth.
Society values romantic/sexual relationships and love way more than platonic.
But platonic love is love too. And we (anyone, not just aromantic people) can grieve hard over the loss of a friendship. To many strictly aromantic people, platonic love/relationships is all we have, all we are capable of, so where all our attention goes, so it may hit especially hard to lose a close friendship. It’s not overshadowed by romantic feelings or longing for a typical romantic relationship (many want a close relationship, often a platonic best friend).
Even today I am thankful for our friendship even though it ended. I still cherish the memories, especially the bellylaughs. I love knowing a connection like that exists. I just love having that experience.
I can totally be friends with a man who likes me like that as long as he knows how to act and now that I understand sexuality better and my own identity. I understand now that romantic love isn’t less than or shallow, I just don’t experience it.
This title is not completely accurate as I totally can love. But in terms of romantic it’s true. This is the title of a story about another aromantic girl that someone else wrote. I stole the title. Lol
In case anyone doesn’t know, aromanticism and asexuality are identities, not disorders. Those of us who are this way are born this way usually. We grow up not understanding what is driving everyone else to want to date, kiss, do sexual things, get married, everything associated with sexuality. When everyone around us develops serious romantic & sexual feelings, we just never do. Some of us wait and wait and it just never happens. Others of us don’t know what to think and don’t know what is going or not going on with us. Some of us confuse other feelings for sexual/romantic then years later realize all along it wasn’t romantic/sexual. I always felt like I could be a gay girl but that something crucial to being gay was missing so knew I’m not fully gay. I could very much identify with gay women but not enough to feel that the term “lesbian” is applicable. I identified as hetero since society gave me that label. But it always felt off and wrong. At 30 something years old, I discovered the truth. It was liberating but also made the unpleasant feelings more defined, knowing it’s a real thing and has a name and basically set in stone.
random pic of me recently! โค๏ธ
This experience is just one of quite a few that I’m thankful to have experienced even though it’s not all pleasant.
just a random great song lol โค๏ธ
I hope you are having a beautiful day & night wherever you are! โฅ๏ธ
The day I have been waiting for, hoping for, longing for, and fearing just the same!
I took off work for this! And I never take off work! I work seven days, morning through evening.
I’m going in for an mri, ct scan, ekg & vascular testing, chest x-ray, blood testing, a urinalysis, and who knows what else! Six hours straight of non stop medical testing head to toe at University of Pennsylvania Hospital Kidney Transplant Center! Yippee! I’m over the moon! Floating in the clouds. This is the day that will determine (along with a couple other things, but this is the main thing) if my kidney gets a new home in a couple months! ๐ฑ
I’m beyond honored just for this opportunity to be evaluated. It took a three hour psych evaluation, some preliminary medical testing, interviews with the transplant team, applications and paperwork, dr appointments, to be qualified to get to this point. I’m so thankful we’re finally here!!
If all goes as planned, out of the blue a random unsuspecting person will get The Call that 20+ years will suddenly, unexpectedly, be added to their life with a greatly enhanced quality so they can live an almost normal life. That warms my heart.
Many years ago I read a story in a magazine about a man who donated his kidney to a random stranger because he had two healthy kidneys while someone else did not even have one. That inspired me and planted the seed in my mind. I just knew that would be me one day, and here we are all these years later!
No matter what, in the end, at least I can say I tried. ๐
I’m wishing you a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are!
Never underestimate the difference YOU can make in the lives of others. Step forward, reach out and help. This week reach to someone that might need a lift โค๏ธ
I’m inspired to share my experience of a very brief but sweet friendship that took place nearly 20 years ago.
What inspires me to share this is a comment in a somewhat recent social media thread I saw. Someone said if a very young couple is happily married or in a romantic relationship for only a couple years and one of them dies, the other will eventually forget about them by middle or old age and hardly be able to remember them and lose all feelings for them, and it will be like it never happened. I don’t know if it’s that person’s actual experience or just an assumption. Recently I saw another comment similar to that sentiment about how relationships lasting of a short duration don’t ultimately matter. For some reason that brought me pain even though I have never experienced this myself. I just found it sad that someone can be so easily forgotten, especially someone who at one point was so much a significant part of someone’s life. At one point they were each other’s everything and now it’s like that person and that love never even existed?
And I realized it’s not true, at least not for everyone. Even a very fleeting relationship, romantic or other, can have an everlasting impact or inspire lifelong memories.
When I was eighteen years old I met another eighteen year old girl named Asheen. We had a college class together. We were both quiet girls. She sat in the back of the class, and I sat in the front. One day after a class ended, she walked up to me and asked me if I wanted to have lunch with her. I said yes and was very happy for the invitation. I was very shy but very social and always up for having a new friend. I currently had no friends except high school friends who I rarely saw or talked to after graduation and a couple acquaintances I met over the Summer but did not see them often after Summer ended. It wasn’t enough socialization for me.
She bought me lunch that day. We chatted for a while, and she told me about her religion and beliefs. She was a Muslim girl who wore a burqa. I never saw her without it. She was born in Syria, and her family moved to the U.S when she was younger. She had no problems with people of other faiths or no faith at all. She told me homosexuality was against her religion, but she personally had nothing against it. After that, she would frequently surprise me with lunch that she would buy me. It would make me laugh because she was not permitted to eat certain food and would always adhere to her religion and her family’s wishes, but she would buy me the food that she wouldn’t eat. She would say “I can’t eat this because of my religion, but you can.” We would both laugh at it. I loved how she was so religious but so laid back. She never judged anyone or anything even though she took her religion seriously for herself.
We connected over the fact that at 18 years old we both never been on a date or kissed a boy. In her case it was because of her religion, in my case it was because I secretly never liked boys like that. I was usually so embarrassed to tell people I never been kissed or been on a date. Most people I lied to about it and said I did have experience with boys. But with her, I felt I could tell her anything. She was a safespace. I did not tell her I never even like boys, just that, like her, I had no experience. She did not judge, feel shocked, or require an explanation like many/most people when finding out someone has little to no dating experience.
The thing we connected most through was our sense of humor. We could just laugh and laugh at everything and nothing.
Everyday we would talk and have lunch together and laugh together. She was my only consistent friend.
The memory I love most is one day when we were walking up a street together laughing hysterically, belly laughs so deep we could hardly talk. It was the kind of laughter and joy and silliness only an 18 year old or someone in that age bracket can experience. That’s not to say older people can’t laugh hysterically and be joyful and silly. I’m still like this today! But it’s different when you’re eighteen years old. I can tap into that memory and feel it still.
After that college semester, Asheen transferred to a different university, and we lost touch.
Our friendship was very brief, but I remember it vividly. I probably wouldn’t recognize her today if I saw her. But I remember her well back then.
My friendship with Asheen reminds me that out of the blue when we need it most, someone can reach out to touch us for the better. It reminds me that someone can be thinking of us and we don’t even know it. And it just gives me the gift of sweet memories to always cherish and smile at. In general I don’t think of Asheen or our old friendship very often. But when I do remember, it fills me with warmth. Sometimes I even miss her and having a friend like that. We were so different in our upbringing and culture and beliefs, but at our core we were so similar, and the differences only made our friendship unique not challenging.
Even a brief relationship at a young age with someone we never see again can have a lifelong impact. There may be someone you touched for the better many years ago sitting here today remembering how your made their life better even in just the briefest encounter.
If you have an experience with a brief relationship many years ago that still has a positive impact today, please share!
Sending love to all and hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are
Be the reason someone still believes in good people. โค๏ธ
This is me in the park recently! Great news!! Penn kidney transplant team said they are confident I am going to be accepted as a living kidney donor! They said recently during my hours long psych evaluation that my medical/family/individual/health…history is ideal for being a living donor. I am very unlikely to have any surgical related complications or complications relating to only having one kidney. They are not concerned at all about my jugular vein situation (still going to be getting a scan on it though just to be sure, I shared here before that my jugular vein seems to be obstructed/malfunctioning). They are slightly less confident than they would be because of a kidney stone I had in 2007. They said that may put me at elevated risk for currently having a kidney stone that I don’t know about that they could see on the CT scan next week. They said that’s likely not the case but to prepare myself for the possibility of rejection if so. A kidney stone in someone who only has one kidney can result in instant kidney failure. So if I have an asymptomatic stone in there somewhere, I’m out! Let’s hope not because I want to help someone so much!! Hearing this did give me slight anxiety about possibly being rejected, but at least even if it were true, it wouldn’t be a health threat to me. So there’s that. If anything, I thought the vein would be what gets me rejected. Lol That thing has been giving me health anxiety even though I kind of like it ๐๐
My 24 hour urine jug that came in the mail as a surprise to me ๐ It’s to see if I have a kidney stone even though they’re also going to do a CT scan This is the man I’m trying to donate my kidney to! His name is Don, and he is 74 years old and in urgent need of a kidney. He doesn’t have much longer to live. He doesn’t know I exist yet. If I’m healthy enough, the transplant team will call him and tell him he has a kidney donor and that 20+ years will be added to his life and the quality of life, greatly enhanced.
Here is my social media post:
This man needs a kidney transplant and is having great difficulty finding a donor. He doesn’t have much longer and can’t wait for a deceased donor.
Around 200 strangers volunteered to give him one of their own kidneys. They were all rejected by the transplant teams. It’s extremely difficult to be accepted as a living donor. Nearly everyone has something that can disqualify them.
It’s so heartwarming though to think that 200 strangers volunteered. 200 people volunteered to have their organ removed while still alive to save a stranger’s life. And imagine how many more would if they knew about him.
This is not as rare as people may think! And it’s becoming even more common. There are so many caring people out there who would go to any length even for someone they never met and may never meet. Because everyone is someone.
If you think you may be qualified or even not(the transplant team will decide), please try to help! I think they can send the kidney on an airplane if you aren’t close in location. He lives in Pennsylvania, where I am. I am currently being evaluated, and things are looking good. But just in case, it would help if more people would try. ๐๐ซ
I hope so much he gets his perfect kidney soon whether mine or someone else’s.
Here is another social media post of mine that is kind of funny lol :
I was in the park this morning sitting in the grass trying to have one of those zoom-like meetings where we can see people live through the screen. Random dogs kept insisting on coming up to me, and one was ๐ฉing in back of me ๐ (maybe they sense I’m a pet nanny or maybe just thought I was down for a visit with them because I was in the grass ๐)
Now, I think it’s funny, but when it was all happening I was a tad annoyed that people were all coming around me walking dogs and stuff when I was talking to people through a screen trying to impress them and show them I’m qualified (I was also being asked awkward questions for strangers standing next to me to overhear, like “Have you accepted money for s*x, have you had s*x with someone with an sti, have you had s*x with someone who has used a needle not prescribed to them by their doctor, have you had s*x with someone who has had s*x with someone who…, have you tested positive for Syphilis or Chlamydia…? ๐ Not that these should be taboo topics or anything or that anyone should feel awkward/embarrassed about that stuff itself, just awkward in this context where random strangers and their dogs were basically in a therapy session with me. I couldn’t be home and had nowhere else to go so had to have a three hour psych evaluation in a busy park) . Lol ๐
(I censor words that can get our accounts suspended on social media or can be trigger words for some people with trauma history)
๐๐ซ
I am so happy and overwhelmed with joy throughout this whole process. I have faith that it will all work out, but even if in the end the transplant team decides it’s best for me not to donate for whatever reason, I will still be so thankful and honored that I made it to this point and will continue to bring awareness to living kidney donation.
The road is long With many a winding turn That leads us to who knows where Who knows where But I’m strong Strong enough to carry him He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother
So on we go His welfare is my concern No burden is he to bear We’ll get there For I know He would not encumber me He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother
This is my favorite version of this song. It is so beautiful. โค๏ธ Let’s help each other whenever we can and carry each other through. This video here has some v!olent scenes in it, but I’m sure there’s other videos with this song that don’t have scenes like that. The song is about helping others and seeing everyone as our own family.
This is my schedule for medical testing this Friday! I blocked out the numbers in case they don’t want us to share, don’t know what they’re for. โค๏ธ
Living kidney donation is usually a six month long process beginning with the application to volunteer to give one of our kidneys to someone else and ending with the surgery if we are accepted. The six months is full of interviews, paperwork, medical and psychiatric testing. It can seem overwhelming at some points but is well worth it to save a life and enhance the quality. If all goes well my surgery should be in September or October at latest. I haven’t been accepted to donate yet, but things at the moment are looking up!
I’m confident that it will all work out in our favor! ๐๐ซ
Topic: Death, dying, illness, end of life, acceptance
I watched “Extremis” and “End Game” on Netflix, two non fiction documentaries about what it’s like to be terminally ill and what it’s like to be caregivers (doctors/family) of terminally ill people. They aren’t negative or unpleasant documentaries even though they show real sick people dying in their hospital beds or hooked up to machines with tubes in their bodies, and grieving families. And while they are full of intense emotion that is sure to provoke intense emotion in the viewers, they aren’t even sad. Sadness is for sure one emotion that is involved in the documentaries, even some of the healthcare professional people display sadness and distress at seeing their patients and patients’ families like that, but it’s not the core of them. They remind us that end of life is inevitable, there’s no getting around it. They portray it as not inherently bad and not inherently medical, even when a young person gets sick and dies, it’s just part of living. I think many, even most of us, tend to forget that or at least have difficulty accepting it especially when we are in the situation either struggling with illness ourselves or knowing someone, personally, who is.
I have to have medical testing done to see what is in my neck compressing my jugular vein, it could be serious or minor. Occasionally I experience anxiety and anticipate the intense fear that is coming having to have a scan on my head/neck to see what is inside my body obstructing the vein connected to my heart & brain. Some points it’s literally unbearable just to think of. I found that the documentaries and the acceptance attitude of illness, death, and dying ease my health anxiety. Death & dying are going to happen whether it’s in utero, one day old, 6 months old, 5 years old, 20 years old, 15 years old, 38 years old, 45 years old, 50 years old, 65 years old, 78 years old, or 80+ years old. There’s no point trying to reject it or cling to life when our own time is up. It’s easier to have this philosophy than feel it with emotion and feel it physically. Intellectually we can know it is what it is and has to happen sooner or later, but that doesn’t mean emotionally it’s easy to accept.
While I hold that philosophy also and know it’s the truth, I felt my body physically rejecting the idea that it could be sick or dying in the not very distant future, it recoiled, tensed, and ached at the thought and even felt gripped in panic on occasion, even when my mind said it is what it is. But seeing the scenes in the documentaries of how terminally ill people experience end of life and the compassionate doctors reminding us that life & death are inextricably linked, and the end is coming to us all at one point or another, eased that fear. To see those dying people in their beds and see them through the lens of knowing that will be all of us, even me, one day, eases some of the anxiety. To see them as other and keep hoping against hope that that won’t be us one day only aggravates the anxiety, even exacerbating it to terror level fear, clinging to false hope that we know deep inside is false doesn’t help. Accepting what is eventually coming whether it be tomorrow or in a few decades is so much more bearable. Hope only brings anxiety when it means clinging to something that can never be. Sometimes hope works against us and acceptance is more fitting and in our best interest. It’s realistic for most young & healthy people to hope that won’t be us soon. But it could be. And accepting that it’s coming sooner or later and seeing ourselves in the dying can ease health anxiety or anxiety about the future.
As I watched those sick people of various ages in the documentaries, I found it helpful to see those people as those who got there before me instead of seeing them as people who are experiencing something terrible that I hope I never will. I have a choice to lean into the hope or lean into the acceptance. Each one has their place at different points. One may serve us at one point and the other at a different point depending upon circumstances and various factors and context.
There is no sense of “other” in these documentaries when interacting with dying people, it isn’t like us lucky heathy & them poor sick people and no sense of “those poor unfortunate souls,” there is a constant awareness that later we’ll all be in their place, even the healthy, strong, young ones now taking care of the fragile sick will be laying there in the beds of the sick & dying later. It’s just a knowing. Instead of us & them, it’s only us, in this together all getting our own turn whenever our turn arrives, which it will. Countless others have walked this path before us and countless more will after us. We’re just one in an endless cycle of an infinite amount of others. I found that a combination of my somewhat advanced age, my potential health concern, and these documentaries really made that sink in for me. Sometimes the feeling is a neutral one, and other occasions it’s unpleasant or anxiety provoking. But ultimately, it just is.
Inherently, dying isn’t good or bad and just is a fact of life. The negative connotation is something that society projects onto it. Of course it’s sad to think about not being here anymore and may seem unfair to be diagnosed as terminally ill at 45 years old right in the middle of life or at 20 years old when it hardly even had a chance to begin or at 65 years old before even getting a chance to be old, and it’s devastating for friends & family and others who know and love the sick & dying. But viewing it through that lens of compassionate acceptance (not indifference) and it being inherently inescapable makes it more calming.
And of course dying in very old age is different than dying in youth or middle age of an illness that comes out of the blue and shocks us. But no matter what, we have to face our mortality at one point or another at whatever age it comes to us. This isn’t to say prevention is pointless or that we should reject treatment if it can help extend life with a good quality and isn’t to say fear, grief, devastation surrounding the idea of death, dying, & illness aren’t valid, and not saying it’s not tragic when someone gets sick or dies early, only to say it is ultimately inescapable, and helps to remember that with gentle acceptance.
Also, all patients should have doctors this compassionate and warm.
I don’t think my issue is serious, and my whole body feels healthy and energetic and full of life, I look healthy and have all healthy medical test results other than a seemingly obstructed jugular vein on the left side and a severe headache here & there. But it can be easy on occasion to get carried away with dark thoughts, and once anxiety comes along and latches onto a terrible dark thought, it can be hard to let it go, it can grow and take on a life of its own, making up a big story that there is no real basis for. And it can be hard to live with that story playing over and over and hard to see with the reasonable part of the brain that that story is unlikely and that there’s no true evidence for it. During those moments of distress and panic and anticipation it’s more calming & comforting to think why NOT now instead of trying to reject it and wonder why it has to be now instead of much later. It’s more gentle and easier to bear while leaning into that aspect that it’s coming sooner or later anyway, coming to us all.
What’s the difference if it’s 37 year old me or 87 year old me?
When it’s our turn to go, it’s our turn. ๐โค๏ธ
Here is a recent picture of me. If you look closely at my neck, you can see where blood is pooling into the valve of my vein making it protrude. This is the vein that connects to the heart & brain, and when my blood is trying to flow to my heart as it should, it can’t get past something that is blocking it and is backing up into my head. That itself is not necessarily very serious (there are other veins sending blood to my heart), but whatever is causing it could be. Next week I’ll be getting a scan to see inside my body to find the cause then will have to wait for the phone call with the results. That thought is occasionally very distressing. Sometimes it’s deep sadness while other occasions it’s overwhelming fear. But overall, I don’t let it affect my joy each day. I am at a point where I can hope for the best, but I also lean into that acceptance of uncertainty and an eventual end whether it be soon or in a few decades.
It’s the heart that fears the breaking
That never learns to dance.
It’s the dream afraid of waking
That never takes the chance
It’s the one who won’t be taken
Who cannot seem to give
And the soul afraid of dying
That never learns to live โค๏ธ
Death twitches my ear; ‘Live,’ he says… ‘I’m coming’ ๐ค
I am wishing love, light, & health to everyone everywhere and hoping you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are. โค๏ธ
I don’t want some pretty face to tell me pretty lies ๐ค
Trigger warning: โ ๏ธ body image/mental health/s*icidal ideation…nothing very graphic, just briefly mentioned, that’s not what this post is about, there is quite a bit about body image/talk though that could be very triggering to some, I would suggest not reading it if you’re someone with serious body image issues because it’s nothing positive or inspiring and is not even my experience, just me mentioning someone else’s experience with it
Censored words are in case I share on FB where we can get our accounts suspended or because the words can be triggering for someone with trauma history.
If I could go back, do it again, I’d be someone you could call friend, please, please believe that I’m sorry. ๐ค
It’s a confession session!
This is one of the more unpleasant things about me most people don’t know about. I am APPALLED with myself for this.
I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I feel I want to put it “out there” for some sense of something, not sure if it’s to cleanse my conscience or whatever. Lol It is something that nags me on occasion. It’s something that was wrong on so many levels or in so many aspects. It’s something that I wish never happened and I feel guilty about when I think of it. It’s only when I think of it, not a general thing, and I don’t think of it a lot. But unfortunately I still have much of this fake relationship in writing online. I haven’t looked at our conversations for years after we ended our friendship and rarely thought about it. But one day a few years ago, I went back and skimmed through our old conversations and was APPALLED with myself. There have been occasions shortly after I revisited our conversations where it kept me up all night. After this, this experience has stuck with me and resurfaces in my mind now & again. I forgot so much of what I did til I read our messages. I cringe so hard.
Once something is out there, it’s out there. I wish I could delete the whole thing, the whole relationship and all evidence of it, not because it’s unpleasant or unkind or whatever but because it’s so fake and was never real. I don’t mind that my cruel messages are still out there because I felt that all sincerely when I wrote and sent it. The cruelty was real. But the fake stuff I wish was gone. Lol She told me she kept everything, screencaptures and all, of my cruel messages, and that she would keep it forever to remember what kind of person I am. I don’t think I would say I was a cruel person. But I did choose to be cruel in the moments I was. What I regret more though is the fakeness. The false flattery, the empty I love you’s, I need you’s, the meaningless gifts, the whole show I put on for ten years…
Don’t fear the enemy who att*cks you, but the fake friend who hugs you.
I was that fake friend.
I’m embarrassed about who I chose to be back then. But it was ages ago. It was 10+ years ago, and I was 20 something years young.
I recently was looking at writing prompts while in a creative mood, and one was to share something that could make us look like a bad person or something unpleasant/unkind we once did.
I thought of many years ago when I was in a ten year long ongoing frenemy situation with a girl I met as a teenager.
When I met her, I currently had no real friendships. I had kids to talk to at lunch in school and chat online with, once in a while walk around with after school. But they were casual friends, not really general friends or anything of substance, and never anything that carried out of the context of school. I longed for a real friend. I did have good friends for a while and loved them, but we had very different lifestyles, and I felt we were incompatible. At fifteen years old I chose to stop being an active friend to them. We talked online once in a while and saw each other around, giving each other hugs here and there, still, but no longer hung out in person. They were into drugs and criminal activity (but were the kindest people you could ever meet), I wasn’t into all that and just felt our friendship wasn’t going to really work out. I never judged them or anything, just couldn’t be involved with that. I was into watching movies and going to restaurants and shopping, playing board games and cards. My friends were into alcohol, other drugs, stealing, breaking into soda machines, cutting school, sneaking out at night, being delinquents….I did not care, but I couldn’t relate.
At sixteen years old, a casual acquaintance of mine introduced me to her new friend. We instantly clicked and became good friends. She was funny, outgoing, bubbly…and she was a “good girl” like me, never touched alcohol or a cigarette or cut school or anything. She loved clothes and makeup and shopping like me. We were almost identical in personality except she was outgoing and bubbly while I was quiet and reserved. She also cursed while I did not. She said things like hell and sh!t and damn and called other girls b!tches and s*uts (I began to do this just to impress her, and it felt so unnatural and wrong to me). She wouldn’t say f*ck though. She was religious and pro-life, she knew I’m an atheist and judged me for it. I did not use the word “atheist” back then but did not believe in the whole god stuff. She judged me for not going to church and not praying. To her, I began to pretend like I did believe in it to a point, so she wouldn’t think less of me. As adults, I pretended to be pro-life so she would think more of me. She did eventually have kids but at one point was told she may never because of health conditions and weight problems that could affect her heart and stuff. She said it wasn’t ok that women who are lucky enough to be able to have kids can just “k!ll them.” I pretended to agree. I would sign up for Pro-life stuff and make pro-life arguments to impress her, she said my debating skills for any topic absolutely amazed her, and she couldn’t imagine being that good at debating and writing. (I have been told this by teachers and professors and others all life long, so I believed her) She said sexual activity outside of marriage is wrong and judged women for it. She said it goes against “god.” I disagreed with her on all this but just played along. She wasn’t homophobic or racist so there’s that. Lol She liked girls too.
At sixteen years old, we quickly became best friends and already after only a couple weeks of knowing each other said we would be close friends forever, never losing touch. We made plans for a future together. I remember us sitting on a bus together planning on taking each other out to celebrate when we got our first grownup jobs, she planned to have me in her wedding as her bridesmaid or maid of honor with her sister (I never planned to get married but told her she would be my maid of honor if I did along with my sister) and to tell me first when she had her first kiss. We even planned to be roommates in the future. At this point I genuinely believed we were friends.
We hung out together for hours after school and took the bus home together everyday. We had the same sense of humor and interests. We met up on the weekends, often with other girls, going to movies and shopping malls. I loved it and felt like I finally had a true friend, someone I could relate to. I loved our sister-like friendship. Something about her always rubbed me the wrong way though, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I was able to just brush it off for a while because she was a lot of fun, and I could call her friend. But there was a resentment brewing beneath the surface. She was extremely judgmental and jealous just in general.
After not very long, I began to see some red flags but ignored them. My mom noticed before I consciously did. She told me the girl wasn’t a true friend. But she was my closest friend and so much like me, I wanted to overlook anything wrong she did. She was so fun. And she’s the one who held our whole friend group together. We were all friends but more friends with her, she was the “leader.” (I have had a few friend groups like this, and unfortunately if we have a falling out with the “leader,” the rest tend to take that person’s side. ) The problem was, I wasn’t genuinely overlooking the red flags, I was taking notice and secretly harboring resentment. I wasn’t genuinely letting it slide but tucking it away and keeping inventory.
That resentment began to seep into my words and actions and gestures and saturating my motives, in discreet but still destructive ways. Gradually, it molded me into someone else when I was interacting with her, someone who looked like me but wasn’t. Even in the encounters where we just talked about our mundane day or whatever mood we were in, even in my most honest moments, there was an underlying fakeness, a secret agenda. Even my truths were laced with deceit, fabrication. I saw it all as I looked back through our years worth of conversations. No one else would notice, but I know. I saw the show-offy underpinnings, the secret selfish agenda, the exaggeration, the shock value…Even when everything I said was true, none of it was really true. It wasn’t genuine.
She struggled with body image and low self esteem while I did not. Her body was her biggest insecurity. And I think this is why our friendship ultimately did not work out. I noticed how her attitude relating to me would change for a while if I wore a short shirt while we were out together or if I wore short shorts during girls movie nights. She would tell me as adults not to ever be alone in a room with her husband and not to ever hug him (her husband never looked at me that way, and I am not into men{she did not know this back then, I never told anyone til many years later}, even if I was I wouldn’t go for a man who is already taken, I chose to sink low back then, but even I wouldn’t sink that level of low lol). One day the girls and me were in the kitchen with her man while she was in the living room, the girls all walked into the living room while I stayed helping with food in the kitchen (before she told me not to be alone with him), and she ran so fast into the kitchen and escorted me into the living room. She would ask how I got my body to look like it did. I wasn’t sure exactly what she meant. I never did anything, it just looked that way naturally. She wore loose large clothes trying to cover her body and said she felt unsexy in clothes like that but that she felt very self conscious if she wore more revealing or tight clothing. She was also very jealous of my long hair. Her hair wouldn’t grow longer than her shoulders or it did but looked unhealthy or something and had to be cut. Basically she couldn’t have hair much longer than her shoulders and wanted it very long. She frequently told me I don’t know how lucky I am to be able to show my whole body in pictures and have hair almost to my hips.
Throwback to when I was young and my hair wasn’t damaged by the sun – I work outside now for seven years, n it takes a toll on my lovely locksAnother throwback! ๐Throwback ๐ค I look mostly the same now (see first picture of this post above) but a bit older and hair not as long because of weather damage working outside
She would look at me in disgust when I wore short shirts or shorts and then make remarks about something not looking good on me, a certain color not being my color or an accessory not looking right. Back then, belly chains were a thing, thin chains that would go around the abdomen and hang down a little bit, with like a cute butterfly or heart or flower charm almost like a necklace but around the waist. I wore those with belly shirts, and was told by her they don’t look right on me. She tried to wear one, but it wouldn’t fit around her waist. So she tried to make me think they weren’t good on me. It did not work and only provoked resentment in me for her. But I suppressed it because I wanted her as my friend. I also had my bellybutton pierced at sixteen years old, and she told me I did not have the personality for that and that people would get the wrong idea of me. She said only a certain kind of girl had a belly ring, and I wasn’t that kind of girl. In school and when we would hang out right after school, she would only see me in my school uniform. But on the weekends and evenings if we hung out, I wore my regular clothes and stuff, and it would trigger her. My mom said she was super jealous of me just by what I told my mom. I never believed my mom til I saw years later. With my intuition, I knew something wasn’t right though, all along. She wasn’t a friend.
If I would tell her something unkind someone said to/about me, she would say “Well she has a right to her opinion/can say whatever she wants.” Not long after we first met as teenagers, we brought Christmas cards/gifts to school for each of our friends. She gave them each one except me then claimed to have forgotten to get me a gift or write me a card. She pretended to feel guilty and kept saying sorry. I kept saying it was ok. I believed her back then but years later realized the truth after stuff like that continued to happen frequently through the years. I was disappointed back then but not angry. It’s not that I wanted a gift or card but disappointed that she wasn’t thinking of me. I remember the feeling, a feeling of her not caring about me enough to remember but caring about all our other friends. None of the others were left out, and we were even closer to each other than to them, she always said she felt closest to me than anyone, even closer than her actual sister. As adults she told her husband everything important first then me second then everyone else, even her own family found stuff out after me. I would have felt so honored, but my intuition told me something just wasn’t right all along, and I ignored it. An honest mistake is ok, it happens, and in some cases it truly doesn’t mean someone doesn’t care, someone can slip and leave someone out, I probably could. But she intended for me to have this feeling. And that is a big red flag. When a friend or family member intentionally tries to make someone seem unloved, not cared for, abandoned, forgotten, that is a big red flag. That was probably the first red flag. And I did not see it. I totally believed she meant well. In fact, I actually felt sorry for her because I truly believed she felt guilty and sorry, and I thought my card and gift to her probably added to that guilt.
She wouldn’t let me in pictures when we all took pictures together. She would stand in back of the other girls and not let me in at all. She would tell me she was embarrassed by her appearance/weight especially when people saw us together. As adults, she shared many of her wedding pictures online, and I was in none of the ones she shared. The only wedding pictures of hers I was in were ones that family/friends of hers shared. There was a group photo of us all hugging that someone took with her phone, then she asked me to take one of her and the girls all hugging, basically the same photo but with me not in it. That’s the one she shared on her own account, the one I took, without me in it. She wrote something about being thankful for her best girls and thanking them for being a part of her big day, tagged them all in it, leaving me out. There were also pictures of her hugging each of her closest friends/sister/sisters in law, individually, and she put each picture on except the one with her and me hugging. I was not one of the bridesmaids, just received a very last minute invitation as an afterthought. So it makes sense that some pictures would just be the girls who were in the wedding. But not one picture had me in it even pictures with others who were not in the wedding. (And I graduated college that year and spent all my cash gifts n gift cards to me by family as graduation gifts on her and her man, bought them house gifts, bought her jewelry, and gave them cash because they were poor, they would have me paying for all the food ordered during hangouts at their house, n my money would go missing out of my handbag during sleepovers and even at mutual friends’ houses, but that never happened at the mutual friends’ houses when she wasn’t there)
I did not see this in a compassionate understanding way, I made it about me. That she wasn’t including ME, that she was being a terrible friend to ME, that I was left out, poor ME. I do think it’s toxic to a friendship how she handled it, she could have communicated and straight up said she’s sorry but too self conscious to share pics of us together. Even if she did though, I probably wouldn’t have handled it well and still felt abandoned and excluded and angry. If I had a friend who did this today, I still would see it as toxic and cannot say for sure if it would put a strain on our friendship. It would look like she cares more about image than friendship. But I would understand to a point and not make it all about me. I wouldn’t passive aggressively post pictures of me in skinny jeans with low cut shirts and captions like “Thin girl with big boobs” just to get at her like I did back then. I would consciously try to feel compassion more than resentment even if I chose to distance or I would communicate and say how it affects me and our friendship and see if we could work it out or have to distance or even if I could just s u c k it up and still be close friends but with proper communication. I can see both sides, it has to be really challenging to have such low body image and be around women they see as much prettier. But it also s u c k s to be on the other side and not be included by someone supposed to be our friend all because of jealousy, image, and appearance. There is an adult way to handle it, and communication and boundaries are crucial. The problem by that point though was that I already stopped liking her ages ago, our friendship wasn’t worth salvaging. All these little things added up and culminated to me having no positive feelings for her at all, just wanting her to allay some lifelong insecurity, like when someone doesn’t love someone but loves the idea of them or their relationship with them.
She frequently told me that I was the “hott one” of the group and that she wished she had my body and my confidence. I would reassure her she was beautiful just the way she was. One Summer day at seventeen years old, a group of us girls were clothes shopping and trying on clothes in the changing room, we would all come out and show each other what the clothes looked like on us. There was this really skimpy outfit we all liked, made really tight and small, a one piece outfit with the back exposed and boobs showing a bit and cooch!e cutter shorts. I don’t completely remember it but something like that. She said this outfit won’t fit any of us so don’t even try. She said none of us had the body for it. We tried it anyway except for her. It couldn’t fit any of them in any size but did fit me, and I did in fact have the body for it(still do). I came out and showed them it on me. They all said it looked really good on me. But she said I looked like a s*ut and that people would get “the wrong idea” and that I shouldn’t buy it. So I put it back. After that, I noticed more subtle remarks she would say to/about me that were meant to get at me but could easily be brushed off as a joke or as her trying to “help” me. I always let them slide. She made remarks frequently that I look like a wh*re in my clothes and make-up (this worsened as we became adults) and that no wonder men flirt with me everywhere, that I seemed like I was “asking for it.”
Whenever we knew/met a man who liked me, she told me it’s only because I look like I easily put out. She constantly told me I should “cover up” and not post pictures with my full body showing. She claimed it was for my own good. She would also tell me she wished she could dress like me and not feel self conscious. One day she did wear tight revealing clothes, and her own mom told her she did not have the body for it and shouldn’t dress like that. It made her feel even more low about her body.
She made comments that my hair was ratty looking, that my nail polish was always cracked and I was in desperate need of a manicure… If I would get a manicure or fix my hair up or anything, she would make a remark like “Finally” or “I see you finally decided to fix yourself up…” Then follow up with something like “You know I’m only playing” or “Just saying. Our friendship is strong enough so I can be honest when it’s needed.” I totally agree that true friends should be able to be honest when necessary even if it’s not pleasant or is awkward, and I can totally take a real joke. But this wasn’t like that. It was intended to undermine my self confidence and make me self conscious or think I don’t look presentable to others. This may seem obvious like why still be her friend, but it was done in a subtle way thrown in with a bunch of “I love you so much like a sister, you’re my closest friend, I tell you everything more than anyone else…” Sometimes I would stop contacting her for a while when I was really ticked off, and she would send me a bunch of messages all day saying please don’t be mad at her. So I would write back that I wasn’t angry, just busy.
She would frequently host girls nights out, sleepovers, movie nights all kinds of stuff with girls we both knew and not tell me til it was over then act like she forgot. Just like with the Christmas card in high school. It carried into adulthood. Sometimes this would trigger depressive episodes in me. Her and her husband were big horror fans, like me. I saw a horror movie back then that is not very well known but really good. Don’t remember it now. I knew they would love it and sent them it in the mail as a surprise gift for their wedding anniversary. She sent me a thank you message, and we mentioned how we’ll get together and watch it even though I already saw it. We loved watching movies together and commenting on what we were watching throughout the movie. Next thing I’m getting messages about a girls movie night where the girls got together to watch the movie I bought her, and it was so fun. Without me. Rubbing it in how much fun they had and how much they loved it. There were a few occasions I bought them a movie or let them borrow mine (back when dvd’s were a thing) and they had movie night at their house watching those movies without me. I frequently mentioned that I would love to be part of their get togethers more often and was always told I would be invited to the next one. And wasn’t. I admit that this is something that still affects me now, emotionally. It can be difficult sometimes not to internalize it, particularly because I have had this happen at different stages of life with different friend groups, even as an almost middle aged adult. It’s not about me personally, just how people are, it’s unfortunately common, bullying, ghosting, breadcrumbing, exclusion, at all ages. But it can be easy to take personally. I’m not perfect, myself. I haven’t been the perfect friend. But I’m not someone who is generally toxic and don’t do anything that warrants this.
When I went to college, the other girls still saw each other frequently. We lived close enough that I could have easily met up with them. But she wouldn’t invite me then would call me and tell me all about the fun they were having together. She knew I had an insecurity about being excluded and stuff because it happened to me as a younger teenager by other girls (this is what triggered the initial onset of my depressive disorder). When I first went to college I had no new friends yet so it was important to me to keep in touch with her. She rarely called me or responded to my messages/phone calls to her. Eventually I got new friends who were actually friends, not fakes. But I still wanted her because she was my longest friend and the closest I had to a childhood friend, also I always wished I had a sister-like friend. Most of my new friends were men, which is still enough to fulfill my social desires/needs, I just wished I had a best girl too. I had women friends, just not exactly like that. I have had this insecurity about wanting a friend since we were kids. I thought that would make me more whole and mean I’m more loved. So even though I loved my newer friends and knew she wasn’t a real friend, she could fulfill something in me that they couldn’t. And my new friends all had childhood friends they still kept in touch with. I felt excluded like I wanted one too. I was the only one in our friend group who had no real friends outside that group. So I tried to force a friendship with her that just wasn’t.
Through the years, after high school, sometimes we would see each other frequently and sometimes not much at all. But we never lost contact completely. I was the one reaching out to her much more frequently, and she would say she was so glad to be back in touch after months or sometimes almost a year. She knew about my insecurity about feeling I need an old friend since we were young and would rub it in that her and the other girls we were friends with still see each other frequently since high school and are like a group of sisters. She knew this would just k!ll me inside. They were not in on this with her, she’s just like the one who kept the friendship group together. We were all more friends with her than each other, and most of the hang outs were hosted by her and her husband at their house. Her husband also had nothing to do with it. He was very quiet, meek, socially awkward, introverted, she “wore the pants” in the relationship, and he just went along with everything. I always knew me being excluded and all the remarks and insults and all were all her, not any of them. None of them saw it like I did. Sometimes they even asked me why I wasn’t at some of the friend gatherings. Or they would ask me if I was going to one coming up that I never even knew about and would tell them I wasn’t asked to go, and they would say “You never told Kim,” and she would say something like “oh I’m sorry, I forgot, of course you’re invited!”
I developed resentment for her through the years. It was building up all along, but I just ignored it. I wanted the image of a sister-like friendship since childhood/adolescence. Our friendship became even more passive aggressive on both our parts. We mostly kept in touch by e-mail and phone through the years, but eventually I decided to find her on social media and contact her after almost a year of not seeing/talking to each other except a phone call/hang out here and there. I sent her a message on FB saying something like remember me, we used to be friends. I was saying it in a passive aggressive way but in a way that could also come off as me being friendly and playful.
I remembered her years ago saying she needed to be needed by a man and friends. So I pretended to need her, pretended she was all I had, just because I wanted a girl friend since we were young. Even though I currently had true friends. I did not have a long-term friend or a sister-like friend and tried to force her to be both. Not “force” like control her, she went along with it, just tried to force something that just wasn’t real.
I acted like someone I wasn’t with her. I used language/words/cursing/phrases that I don’t naturally use and acted so clingy and needy just to keep her as my friend and impress her. I have many old conversations with her that a while ago I read through after not talking to her in years and throughout reading I would think “Da fuq did I write?, Da fuq did I just read?” ๐ I cannot believe how fake I was just to get someone I did not even like to like me. I trash talked all my true friends to her, trash talked my family, my coworkers back then (she did the same with hers), everyone I knew, just to make it look like she was all I had. I told her any problems I had and often exaggerated them to look needy. But at the same second I wanted her to be super jealous of me. So I also often would rub stuff in to try to make her jealous. When I would see her post about hating her body and wanting to lose weight, I would post pics of myself right after in a short tight dress or swimsuit. One night she posted that she ate too much and felt so bloated and ugly and was getting ready for bed, I told her she was so beautiful (I was faking the kindness and was secretly taking great satisfaction in her ordeal, I suspect she knew the truth, we knew what each other did), and then after she went to bed, I got all dolled up and posted a picture of me in a little black dress with stiletto heels so it would be the first thing she saw when she woke up in the morning, I knew her biggest insecurity was her body like she knew my biggest insecurity was not having a true long-term girl-friend). She did stuff like this to me too. She would frequently post about her group of girls who were like sisters and her childhood best friend she doesn’t know what she would do without and how often they all see each other. I knew them all and was rarely invited. One day I posted about an argument with my mom, and she posted about the amazing day she had hanging out with her mom. Another day I posted that I wished I had an IPhone but did not have the money. Next thing she was posting how much she loves her iphone and how she uses it all day to text her best girls, who also all had one, who are like sisters. So I took pics of myself in a bra and tight low pants and posted them. ๐ We knew exactly what each other was doing. One day I told her my closest friend other than her was on vacation and I was in a depressed lonely mood (this was true), and she said something like aww I’m always here for you, I love you so much like a sister. Then later that day all the girls were together for movie and game night all loving each other like sisters, and I wasn’t invited. So I asked my dad for his credit card to go shopping and posted something like “Going shopping with Daddy’s credit card” and then posted all pictures of me in my skimpy new clothes & heels for her to see. She commented on some of the pictures with her subtle insults saying my hair can use a comb or be careful because men will love those s*utty clothes. And next thing I had trolls (her using different accounts) calling me an ugly s*ut and stuff.
We would write statuses about each other but act like it wasn’t about each other, we both knew it was though. I would write about “this jealous b!tch who is so jealous she can’t see straight,” and she would write about this “stup!d stuck up b!tch who thinks she’s something,” or we would write about fake friends. Then we would ask each other “Is this about me?” Then our responses would be something like “Omg, no! It’s not about you! Omg, I love you like a sister, you’re the best friend I have…! How could you think it’s about you?! It’s just some girl at work.” ๐คฃ
She also did creepy things online, making fake accounts and sending strange e-mails under different addresses, there was this thing back then to play a joke on people where it looks like a different e-mail address/phone number sent an e-mail/text, but for some reason the person’s real e-mail address/phone number would show up at the end, it made no sense since the point was to pretend someone else sent it. They never said that would happen. My sister tried to play a silly joke on me before, and I knew it was her because her real contact info showed up. My sister never knew that would happen. My sister and me would receive strange texts and e-mails with links to spam and viruses by an unknown number/e-mail address, but the friend’s real e-mail/phone number/name would show at the bottom, she never knew this would happen. I would also get strange messages by people online I’m sure were her. She would use names very similar to hers. I was always getting trolled and called a s*ut on my pictures by people who talked how she did, with names similar to hers. Sometimes she as herself would argue back with them saying “Stop talking to my friend like that!” Then ask me in person if I saw her defending me online. Lol She would even remember the names of the strange people trolling me when I wouldn’t even remember. One day in person, I said I have two new trolls now, and she automatically knew their names, both of which had the same/similar initials/names as her name. She also made an anonymous Twitter account to trash talk her family and friends. She used a fake name and told my sister what name she used. It was a name with her real initials. Just like the trolls on my account.
We would write some very messed up things to each other, she would write that she’s getting ready to cut herself with her razor blade, and I would write that I’m getting ready to drink bleach. We were messed up lol I admit it gives me a good laugh thinking back ๐
We had a falling out in the end and stopped communicating for good. I sent her the most vicious insults I possibly could come up with, drawing on her deepest insecurities and worst fears, including that her husband was going to leave her for a more beautiful woman (this was her biggest fear of all, she was obsessed with it, she told me she couldn’t stand summer because all the women were out in revealing clothes and she knew he saw).
I said something like get off your @$$ once in a while and take a walk to somewhere other than the fridge (she frequently complained that all she did was sit on her sofa all day and eat and get bigger and bigger)…and a bunch of other toxic stuff, it was mostly just regurgitation of her own criticism of herself. It’s a vicious thing for a woman to take another woman’s insecurities that she shares with her and throw it in her face later. This was very uncharacteristic of me and not something I have ever done again. We tried to drag each other down as low as we could take each other. And maybe one of us won. Maybe one of us was lower in the end than the other. Maybe one of us was sitting around lonely and depressed feeling like a loser who who has no real friends, a loser who always gets excluded because of being unworthy of sisterly love, and maybe one of us was sitting around self loathing feeling like an ugly hag whose husband is going to leave for another woman, a more beautiful woman. And maybe today, there are remnants of those insecurities lingering about, hovering in the distant corners of our minds, tucked away, just waiting to resurface at any given moment. Yay us, we succeeded. And what did we accomplish? What did that make us? A wonderful amazing person because one of us made the other feel like an unworthy friendless, loveless loser and one of us made the other feel like a hideous slob?
A rat is a rat is a rat.
I only did all this because of what she did first. But there is no justification. A better person wouldn’t have done what I did. A more evolved person would have proacted, would have communicated or distanced and set healthy boundaries, not reacted by sinking even lower. I held the philosophy “When she goes low, I go lower.” An emotionally healthy, emotionally intelligent, mature, well rounded, honest person would not have done that. A true safe person would have been true and safe even in that situation, not allow someone else’s actions to influence who they choose to be. My youth contributed but was no justification. Today, I am not that girl. Since then, I have had other friends who have done similar things to me, and I had the chance to react like I did back then. But I chose not to.
All the years of resentment that were building up all along that I kept bottled up exploded and overflowed. A while later she came back and tried to get back in touch, but I ignored her.
After cutting her off for good, my mental health became so much better. While it was going on, I did not realize the extent to which it was affecting me having her in my world, not just what she was doing but my reaction to it. It was unhealthy me pretending to be something I’m not, trying to always make her jealous, trying to always put on a show for her. The whole thing was just toxic. I began having less depressed moods and became happier overall after ending contact with her. She convinced most of our mutual friends to unfriend me also.
Every once in a while through the years, even now, something happens that really seems like her. Someone tries to hack my accounts or sends me weird messages. Stranger women who I can tell are fake write to me on all my pictures and stuff and friend request me. They’re all the same kind of women, conventionally beautiful, dress in revealing clothing, don’t have many FB friends or much content. I just have a sense that it’s her, using photos of other people, and know she did do stuff like that before. I’m surprised that she’s still playing games at nearly forty years old and with kids of her own now.
I think she really did love me, but her jealousy and mental health problems got in the way. I was only like that because of how she was to me first, but I think I was even more fake than her. I couldn’t stand her, just wanted the image of that friendship. I was even fake sometimes with other people if I knew she was watching, just so she would be impressed or whatever. I think she really wanted me as a friend but did not know how to show it. I was 20 something years old back then, still old enough to know better, but my youth influenced me to act that way.
It’s definitely not something I would do again. I could not imagine having that toxic relationship now or being that toxic to others and myself. Ten years of that nonsense. Wasn’t worth it. I’m embarrassed about how I acted.
I no longer have resentment for her and hope she’s doing well in life, but I wouldn’t be her friend again or respond if she ever messaged me. It was never a genuine friendship. It was built on insecurity and fakeness and neediness and clinginess. It wasn’t a friendship gone wrong but never one at all. Even if we are both all grown up now and much more mature and would never do that again, I have no interest in her. I just think that all is better left in the past.
The trouble with the rat race is that even if you win, you’re still a rat.
I hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are!
This is my own photo I created to go with the poem I wrote, below. ๐ค
This poem is called LovingLisbeth.
Loving Lisbeth
Night falls And the echoes begin again Somewhere beneath a shimmery moon As the city lights dance In the night I hear them Bouncing off The shadows That cling To the skyscrapers Under the inky depths Of the night sky Echoes of a voice I used to know And unrequited love That still burns In a heart That can’t let go
I remember her so long ago Calling out to the skyline As we looked up At the imposing structures We both have always loved so much As they dwarfed us Until we were as small as the ants Scurrying about in the cracks of the Pavements Beneath our shoes
Calling As if they were some kind Of saviors Come to rescue her Scooping her up Into their concrete arms And cradling her Like a newborn Safe in the shelter Of her mother’s loving embrace
There was some kind of Comfort there Some kind of reassurance In the familiarity of the same Buildings Night after night Some kind of comfort In the repetition Of the mirrored windows Lighting up the night
In feeling so small Against the large constructs That held us in their presence As they stood so firmly Smugly In purpose Looking down at us As if their mission was Always accomplished With ease Without fail
She called up to them
But there was no answer There was never an answer Just her own voice Echoing through the city In the still of the night Under a darkened sky Resembling the murky waters Of an abandoned and forgotten lake In some desolate remote place No one knows exists
I stand here now Listening to the forlorn echoes As they clash and yearn Spewing out dark melodies And symphonies Like a twilight serenade Gone awry
And somewhere I hear her voice Now, just a ghost of a whisper Riding the gentle night air Like music notes Barely audible
But I know it’s hers
I call out to her But there is no answer
I call again And her name Gets caught in my throat And I choke On the pain Of yearning For what used to be But never really was
An apparition Of some long ago That exists Only in the dark blur Of my mind
I feel her somewhere out there Somewhere deep into the bowels Of the night Somewhere in the midst of The street lights and the city lights And the night dwellers Taking up residence on the lonely streets And the subways and the park benches Among a crowd of wandering strangers With nowhere else to go I scan every face I see But none of them are hers I call her name But no one turns to look at me
I search and search
But I have yet to find her I search the seemingly endless City streets Late into the night Like a maze That there is no way out of I call But she doesn’t call back
I run alone Through the back alleys And the dead end streets The cobblestones And empty parking lots Peering through the darkened Windows of the closed cafes And restaurants and stores The soles of my shoes Pounding against the ground As I run And my heart Pounds in my cranium Thudding Like a drum Vibrating my eardrums
My breath, raspy And shallow As I yell out to the night air
I call And search Her name, Tantalizing and tasting bittersweet Upon my lips Like droplets of white wine lingering about
I frantically turn in every direction Searching every corner In a desperate
panicked haze As I yell her name As if my life depends on it As if she were a lifeboat Needed to save me Carrying me out of dismal swamp Back onto land Where I stand Looking up at those skyscrapers Under a black sky Calling Calling her name
But the only sound I hear Is my own name Calling back to me
๐ค
I hope you are having a great morning or night or day wherever in the world you are!! โฅ๏ธ
Have any of your own poetry or poetry blog? You’re welcome to share in the comments!
This is my FB post earlier. Edited for this blog post.
I can’t remember when you weren’t there When I didn’t care For anyone but you I swear We’ve been through everything there is Can’t imagine anything we’ve missed Can’t imagine anything the two of us can’t do Through the years, you’ve never let me down You’ve turned my life around The sweetest days I’ve found, I’ve found with you Through the years, I’ve never been afraid I’ve loved the life we’ve made And I’m so glad I stayed Right here with you Through the years โฅ๏ธ
Look at that happy face!! I got to see and kiss that face day after day, year after year for so long. โฅ๏ธ This is us in March 2020 when he was around 13 years old and still going strong. Today at sixteen years old, we said our last goodbye. I held onto him, and he held onto me with his legs and rested his head against me as I told him I love him and always will. I never knew such pain or how my body was strong enough to endure. (Actually I have because I have lost many before, but each one is new and unique/challenging in its own way, and this is one of the more challenging ones, I have a few like that, who make it especially painful to say goodbye, they are equally sad at the core, and I love them equally no matter how long I have known them, but various aspects/layers/factors/nuances just make some more difficult). I am so so honored and thankful I got to know and love him and for as long as I did.
My furever love ๐พโฅ๏ธ๐โฅ๏ธ๐พ
I’m sending all my love to his family who were kind enough to let me be part of their family as his nanny, all those years, and to let him have his last walk ever on Earth, with me.
We also met a kind stranger recently with his dog experiencing the same situation soon who loved him and said unfortunately we all have to cross the rainbow bridge at some point. I found it comforting how he expressed sadness but also acceptance, it’s just the way it is but still so heartbreaking. We saw him again today in our park. โฅ๏ธ
This is our last goodbye picture this morning. I held him during his last hour. I’m honored that his family let me.
๐พโค๏ธ
I have been disoriented with grief and keep rereading this checking for grammar/spelling/autocorrect errors, but just can’t seem to register anything, so not sure if it’s full of mistakes or anything.
This is the worst pain I ever experienced in this life. I know it’s going to heal even though it won’t go away, heal to where it won’t constantly be this heavy anymore and will eventually become more mellow and not constantly throbbing, the worst of it will come in waves and creep up on occasion then go back to the more mellow bearable kind (I know because I have loved and lost many through the years). But at this moment, I cannot imagine ever getting to that point as this pain now is all encompassing every second, throbbing relentlessly. I have never experienced grief or pain of any kind worse than this. Nothing has ever weighed more heavy on my body. I cannot even stand up straight.
I lost not just my boy, but our whole everyday routine, all the places and routines that were just “ours,” and that part of this life of mine is over. I can never walk those streets again without a bittersweetness. Our park that was just “ours” will bring me pain along with joy.
But I am so so thankful for our years together and love we shared. โฅ๏ธ๐พ
โฅ๏ธ๐พ
This experience isn’t something I am experiencing as bad or negative, just neutral, just part of living. But it’s so so so painful.
Sending love to all who are in pain of any kind โฅ๏ธ
Xoxo Kim
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