New

Deleted my old post, because I wanted to actually write up that happy post I said I was going to make.

New is scary to me. New gives me horrible anxiety. But new also is giving me hope and happiness.

I promised I would write up a happy positive post after something that I was really looking forward to happened, a couple weeks ago. And it happened, and it was so great. I had a date. We’d been talking for some time, and as soon as I met him it just felt so right. I was nervous as hell, I think I was smiling like an idiot the whole time. It was probably the nicest day I’d had in quite a while, and I did not want it to end ever. But, now we’re dating so. 🙂

I’m still incredibly nervous. New is scary. I like what I know; routine, safety. I’m scared to put my vulnerabilities out there again. To really open up. People either leave because it’s too much, or they just turn my traumas and vulnerability against me. Like I’m choosing it, to be this way, to have these things happen to me.

But this new is also exciting. I think I realized how….safe this feels last weekend, laying with him in bed. I think he knew of my recent self-harm, pretty sure he read the post i made about it. He ran his hand over it, and if it wasn’t obvious by touch, I froze and stopped breathing for a moment. But he did not say a word, or give any indication that he was even thinking about it. His hand did not pause, even for a second, he didn’t ask, or say a word. Every time he ran his hand over the marks, I waited for something. Anything. Disappointment, disgust, questions. But nothing. I know he had to have even seen them, we’d been naked in the light. It was just……nice. No judgement, nothing. And of course, I haven’t done it since so that feeling of needing to hurt must be gone. Time to heal.

Gross, I think I’m falling in love.

Relapse againn

I’ve relapsed, and I don’t feel shitty.

I know self harm is bad but….its been years and I just couldn’t stop. It wasn’t too bad, but I need just a physical manifestation of pain sometimes. Apparently 2 tattoos in a month was not enough.

I’m feeling a weird emptiness. I need a change. And I kinda have one, starting new work. But also, it leaves much less room for me, leading to this empty I think. And I don’t quite know how I’m going to fill this void. My mind says drink, drugs, bad things. But, if I fall to bad habits(again), then what?

February 20, 2021

So much can happen in a year. 52 weeks. 365 days. 525,600 minutes. Thanks Rent, for that knowledge.

It’s so fucking weird to think about. A whole fucking year. I’ve been wanting to make a year post for some time now but I’ve been struggling to come up with the words, to organize my thoughts for this post. But today is the day, I guess.

2020 was long, difficult. So much happened, and its going to take me a lifetime to process it all. And 2021 doesn’t seem to be all that much better so far. Its hard to believe that its almost March already. I’m trying to keep everything up and happy, but its getting increasingly difficult. I can’t keep up a happy charade, that I’m dealing and managing. I want to just throw things and scream. But, I can’t.

I guess first. I found a better me. I grew so much in this last year, these last 2 years actually. I left a shitty relationship and became someone new. I’m not the best me, but I’m getting better everyday, even with my setbacks. I’m no longer Lukas, that name is tied to the past, to many things I want to leave in the past. I’m Maxx, and I’m amazing. Or trying to be amazing. I’m a new person, with a new name. A better person. Named Maxx.

Second, I’ve strengthened friendships and made amazing new friends too. Especially in the past month. It feels so weird though. A lot of these are online interactions, but they feel more genuine, stronger, better than past in person friends I’ve had. More supportive, caring, just amazing. But its weird having people care about me, and I can’t explain why. I’ve had people care my whole life, but a lot of friends I’ve had…..just leave. Vanish. Stop being friends with me. To the point where I stop trying. But, these friends…..they keep coming back. They keep trying. Fucking weird. Why??

It’s so weird to think of who I’ve lost. I’m in disbelief still, I don’t think I can ever accept that you’re gone. My aunt, who won’t get to see her 7th grandchild’s birth, her other grandchildren grow up. Tam, taken way too young, before I could go meet her, who won’t get to see the wonderful girls her babies will grow up to be. Fuck cancer. I love you both and everyone else I’ve lost to cancer. Now that I’m grown up, I’m donating to cancer research every chance I get, I’ve made up my mind.

So I guess this post has just been a whirlwind of ideas, tangents, incoherent? And very not cohesive. I’m never really cohesive, my mind is a mess. One idea to the next, suddenly. Impulsively. Rapidly. Parkour!

Imissyouimissyouimissyou

I just fucking miss you, and I hate you for making me hurt this bad.

I don’t want to find anyone else, I just want you.

C’est la vie je suppose

Things are fucking weird and I don’t know how to feel.

I just want so badly to talk to you, to be with you. But it’s fucking weird, I don’t know what to say. This is just so weird, is it real? Is this actually happening?

You aren’t even going to read this, so I could say whatever I want I guess. I want you, I just want you. I’ve even started to entertain the thought of moving, I didn’t really get a chance to tell you. And if I tell you now, it will just…..fall onto deaf ears. I’m sure you’ll just see it as nothing, as me saying things I think you want to hear, pity things maybe. But it doesn’t even matter anymore.

You were my happiness. Most of it. Helping me become me again, but better. A better me, a happier me. A healthier me. I miss you, I need you.

And you say it’s the distance, that I should be with someone closer who can make me happy. But I know I was too much. I’m always too much. I’m too overbearing, too needy. I come on too strong. And its ok that you couldn’t handle it maybe, because maybe no one can.

So, at the risk of sounding “too bpd” and very dramatic, I’m giving up on chasing happiness and love. I’m giving up on finding that someone for me. Because it seems like they don’t even exist. I’m tired of thinking I’m finally there, and then having the rug pulled, that trap door opened. I’m not giving myself to anyone or opening up and being that vulnerable baby if all I’m going to get is abandonment when things get rough. Blah.

Fuck life, it’s not fair…

Its been a while since I’ve felt the motivation to write, so this is a few things all blurred together.

My birthday came and went. This pandemic has changed how things go on. Normally I try to get anyone and everyone I like to see together, get drunk, do something. Before the pandemic, we planned for my love to come visit for my birthday and Thanksgiving. Next year, hopefully. I still was able to spend my birthday with some of the people who mean so much for me, my family, a couple of my best friends. Still got a little drunk and had a nice weekend. It was just different.

Hard to believe I’ll be 30 next year, and I feel like I’ve not done much with my life. I feel like my life is just a big mess that I’ll never be able to untangle. I tell myself it could be worse, well yeah things could always be worse. But when will they be better? I just want to feel happy again. I thought I’d have this shit all figured out by now, before I made it to 30. I still have a year I guess, here’s hoping.

The day before Halloween I woke up to the news that you passed away. I wish I had talked to you more, I wish I had been able to go visit. I wanted to, you weren’t too far from me. You were so young, its not fair. You were such a sweet, lovely person, one of the coolest I knew. It’s still so weird not seeing your posts on my Facebook. You made me laugh, you posted amazing music. I cried on and off for days, weeks. But I hear your voice in my head telling me to stop crying. I know you aren’t in pain anymore, and maybe it’s a good thing. But its still not fair, it still sucks, and I’m still gonna fucking cry over it. Fuck cancer.

a l o n e

I don’t want to be so alone anymore. I don’t want my happiness to keep depending on everyone around me. I want my own identity, my own emotions, my own self.

I want control of my life, I want control of my happiness.

I’m tired of everyone leaving. They always fucking do. Nobody stays for very long, once they see how stupidly annoying I am. Once I’m attached, and clingy, and want to be a friend…..my way of affection is too much I guess.

I’m just tired of being alone and left behind. I don’t want to keep chasing some sort of empty happiness. If that even makes sense, I don’t know anymore…. I don’t want to give up, I want my happiness…..but its getting really fucking hard, and I don’t know just how much more emptiness I can handle…

Wrong

It’s all wrong it’s all fucking wrong, everything.

I’ll never be proper, I’ll never be good. I’ll never just be right.

What’s wrong? I don’t know, I don’t know! Just everything. How do I start fresh, anew. How do I restart, how do I rid myself of this panic……

Bad or good or bad or good or……

I thought things were good. I thought things were really good. But I’m also thinking I’m getting bad again…. I just don’t know if I’m up or down or what even anymore. And I’m scared. Terrified. What if things are worse than I thought….

I’m picking my nails again. They feel weird and wrong and they bother me. I want to just rip them off and have new nails, good nails. Correct nails. What the fuck even is “correct nails”? I’ve dreamed of long pretty nails, forever since I was young. I thought I kicked this nail biting habit. But I’m picking them, I’m biting off the weird frayed bits, I’m peeling them, I’m just having them in my mouth. It’s disgusting, I want to stop it. But I’m disgusting….so maybe I just will never kick disgusting habits.

I’m pulling my eyelashes again. A stress habit, a nervous habit, an anxiety habit. It’s been a while. And I’m not yet pulling them out in huge amounts, but……its only a matter of time before that’s a thing again. Small bald patches, it’s weird and ugly. But it seems fitting maybe, I dont know. Weird and ugly things for a weird and ugly thing. I have the double eyelash row gene, and shouldn’t it be pretty, shouldn’t they be thick and long and lovely? Instead they sometimes curl downward and poke my eye and hurt me, and feel like they’re growing weird and ugly.

One time I read something about how someone accidentally ripped their eyelashes out with a curler. It still makes me cringe a little, because ouch. But same time, theres a little glimmer of…..maybe I’ll “accidentally” do it, and I’ll have to start again with new baby eye lashes. How wonderful. I can maybe try to not have them turn downwards again……. but they turn downwards because I bend them I think, when I play with them. It’s my own fault I guess. I don’t know. But no matter what, it’s still gonna be weird and ugly, and me….

This next section, trigger warning I guess? Though no one reads anyways I think so. It doesn’t matter. I don’t know. It’s for me mostly but. Who knows. I dont. I guess maybe next couple sections. Stop reading here maybe.

I haven’t cut myself in 4 years. I promised two people I wouldn’t, and I didn’t. One, he’s gone I guess. And that’s good. One less person to disappoint if I do?

And I probably won’t, but sometimes I want to. Just a little. I miss the marks I miss the hurt. I even kinda fucking miss the little blood. It feels weird to admit it, it feels almost wrong. But at least physical pain is a……pain that feels ok?

I feel like I’m only shallowly happy, in a way. Like I’m faking any happy feelings. They feel temporary, and I’m chasing them. Like chasing a high? I’ve never been an addict, or closely known an addict (during their addiction) so I’m not certain of the feeling. But I just……I want an escape so bad, even just for a moment. To not be myself, to not have these thoughts, to stop being alone with these thoughts. And I know I’m bad again. Even though I’m doing the right things, I’m doing the self care and the functioning and all the things you need to do, working and activities and being kinda social even.

But I guess that means it’s worse, it’s so much worse……

Fuck

I want to drop everything and run, just fucking run.

But what happens when I want to run from that life too?

I feel overwhelmed in my emotions, and not necessarily good emotions. I’m bottling things up and just trying to throw out the positive, the happy, the good. When I just want to scream, and fight, and……