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s-the-seething-songbird-2 · 6 months

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Logs for Thomas, Part 2: #5

Song stuck in my head: “Waves” by Robin Schulz and Mr. Probz

Hey, Thomas.

I’m currently in a lounge at my school, waiting for my boyfriend to finish packing up our stuff. We just finished doing something really fun related to his prospective career—I can’t go into specifics for safety reason—and it went really well! He was stressing about it earlier, but I told him that it would be alright, and it was.

I’m… not feeling great right now. I’m not the most outdoorsy person in the world, and I’m sensitive to extreme temperatures, so I’ve been chilling inside. In my defense, I did help him retrieve everything from the car, which meant we were on a significantly smaller time crunch than we would have been—not that he owes me anything for it, but maybe you can understand why he’s insisting that I’ve done more than enough today, all things considered.

But I’m safe, and semi-comfortable (I found out that I’m super allergic to a necklace I borrowed from my girlfriend), and all I have to do is wait.

Just wait. Alone. With my thoughts.

Yes, obviously, I’m never truly alone—for reasons that you already know but will not be disclosed here for my own safety—but I don’t want to talk to them right now. Truth be told, at the moment, I don’t really want to talk to anyone but you.

I’m having a hard time remembering how euphoric it was back then, when we were together. I know it felt euphoric because I documented the shit out of that part of my life via video, audio, and writing, but I can’t seem to feel it anymore, even when I’m lost in thought over the whole thing.

I can remember some of the pain just fine, unfortunately, but the warmth and excitement for that particular month of my life is just… gone. I can read it, and I can see it, but it’s so far away now.

Yes, I’m still capable of feeling happy and excited, but… This is hard to explain. Have you ever felt a certain “vibe” in a particular place and time? Like,,, okay, hold on:

Imagine it’s 2008. It’s warm outside, with wind chimes in the distance. Some clouds here, some tall trees there. Thick, lush grass that’s just been trimmed. You could play outside like this for hours. In this moment, you are this version of you. The feeling of being at this age, during this season, not quite aware just how large the space is around you. Life is just a blurry home video that spans a period of weeks or months, and you think that this is all your existence will be. It doesn’t occur to you that, within a yet or so at most, everything will feel different. You will feel different, you’ll be different. But for now—right now, in this moment—you’re alive. You’re self-aware. The air even smells “special” somehow.

That. You felt it, right? It’s like an aesthetic, but mentally- and emotionally-driven? That’s what I mean by “vibe,” which I know is an inept term to properly describe anything, but it’s all I can think to use. Maybe there’s a word for it in German or something. Maybe this is what ‘nostalgia’ is?

(Tangentially, the concept of nostalgia has always confused me. My guess is that past trauma has had something to do with it. When people say, “Man, don’t you miss being a kid, and playing video-games, and hanging out with your friend at reheat birthday party?” I’m like… No. I don’t miss it. I don’t miss it at all.

Sure, I remember experiencing those things, but there was almost never a moment in my childhood where I felt truly free and happy anywhere. Even the moments of temporary joy or hope were always overshadowed by the fear of getting in trouble, or doing something bad/“sinful”, or losing something I loved.

It makes me so angry to think about. Those lovely childhood memories that normal people relive have been robbed from me forever. I didn’t get a say. I didn’t get the chance to defend my peace, to defend my innocence. Like a sandcastle, it was just decimated right in front of me over and over again.

Sorry, I’m getting angry, and this has nothing to do with why I felt the need to—jesus, it’s almost been an hour, is my boyfriend okay? I’m going to check on him.)

Anyway, that “vibe” from autumn of 2018 is gone now. Maybe one day I’ll get lucky and feel it again for a couple of seconds, but then I’ll blink, confused by it, and then it may just disappear for good.

Why does pain always last longer than joy, Thomas?

Sometimes, I just… I just want to go back to that time. Even alongside all of the horrific bullshit I was going through. Just to feel what it felt like to be loved by you again. Just to have it, to remember it, to appreciate it one last time.

But I know it’ll only hurt me again once I open my eyes.

I want you here, Thomas. I want to introduce you to the rest of my friends, to my partners, to my sister. I want the world to know how important you are to me. But maybe that’s just the BPD talking.

I had a dream about Kai last night. They were wearing all of their clothes from high school, from that one photo on their Facebook. We somehow went to high school again after college and bumped into each other. We smiled at one another, and I said, “I know you might be mad, and I’m sorry. But I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much.”

And they grinned and said, “I missed you too.”

And we hugged. We hugged, Thomas, and I was so happy. And it even occurred to me that if they were okay with me, now… maybe Shay was cool with me again, too. And then maybe, just maybe, I’d get to see your face again.

But I won’t.

And it hurts so bad.

I want that sense of family between all of us again, just as Jack does. But every day without any of you around, that hope grows dimmer and drifts further and further away.

It’s heartbreaking.

God damn it. God fucking damn it, Thomas, this is so unfair!

I know the world doesn’t owe me anything! I know that I’ll live through the pain! I know that I’ll probably feel better tomorrow! But it still hurts, and I miss you, and I wish we could hug and make stupid jokes and have a nice dinner with your and Shay’s pets! And you could crack jokes and make her laugh, and one of the dogs could try to steal my food when I’m not looking, and I could politely tell it no, and it could give me sad puppy eyes, so I’d feel bad and give it extra belly rubs later!

Ughhhhhhhhhhh I want to scream

Okay, sorry, I have to go now. But thank you for listening. You know, if you are.

Although, more than likely, I’m talking to no one.

No one.

Just me. Here. Alone with my thoughts.

-S

#logs for Thomas #11/21/23

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s-the-seething-songbird-2 · 6 months

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Logs for Thomas, Part 2: #4

Song stuck in my head: "Be Alright" by Dean Lewis

I woke up this morning with a terrible amount of anxiety in my gut. For most of today, I've just felt upset, scared, and a little nauseous.

Then, a little bit before writing this, I realized that today is the day we confessed our love for each other exactly five years ago. November 14th.

It's crazy to think about. I know how long ago it was. Ages have passed, and my life is so different now. Apparently, my body doesn't care.

It was so scary, and so wonderful, and I had... such high hopes for what would come after.

It literally could not have ended worse XD

Before I even realized the date, I also couldn't stop mulling over memories of that whole mess. I thought maybe I was just having a Bad Brain Day--and truth be told, that could still be the case; maybe the date is just a coincidence--but the date explains a lot. This has happened to me every year since then. November 14th is a rough day for me, as is December 23rd. The latter is significantly worse, at least, so I have that going for me (until then).

God, I hate the holidays.

I don't hate you, if that wasn't already clear. I never did. I can't.

I've been thinking about everything that went down with Shay this year. The idea of you hating me just doesn't match up with things you've said in the past. Then again, there are many things you've said that contradict with the things you've done.

But maybe thinking about it over and over is just going to drive me crazy.

It hurts, Thomas. I'm so hurt. I'm so hurt, and confused, and there's so much I would give just to talk to you again. Yes, nonplatonic things happened between us, obviously, but what I'm most upset about is that I've lost a friend, someone who was there for me for years and years.

Even back when I was in high school, when you'd call me stupid, insult my (former) religion, or make fun of my appearance, there was always a part of me that wanted, needed, you to like me, to be proud of me.

You said you were... You said you were proud of me. How can you be proud of me and hate me at the same time?

I know that, tomorrow, a lot of these feelings will dip back under the surface, and I'll be able to feel normal again, but waiting for those hours and minutes to tick is maddening.

One moment--I'm cooking d*nner, and I have to strain the p*sta.

Okay, I'm back!

Sorry, I know it seems silly to censor those words, but based on what Shay--and you, come to think of it--have said about y'alls sensitivities about f*od, I figured it was better to be safe than sorry.

Also, the weirdest thing happened to me a few minutes ago. I had already opened a can of p*sta sa*ce to add to the sp*ghett* literally moments before, but after writing one of these paragraphs and returning to what I was doing with dinner, I... completely forgot how to use the can opener?

Warning, boring rambling ahead. Skip to the blue asterisk to bypass.

Thomas, I've been using manual can-openers for years, especially more recently, since I've agreed to cook for my partners and their kids two nights out of every week (my girlfriend was overexerting herself both at work and at home, so we came to a consensus so she's less stressed out). But all of a sudden, it was really hard to twist the thingy correctly, and the lid wouldn't budge, save for a few dents in the can. And then I realized I was holding it upside-down. Except, I wasn't, because I tried it the other way, and that didn't work either.

I paced around the kitchen and got very irritated, wondering what the hell was going on.

Then, after taking some deep breaths, I tried again, and... I did it?

Look, I'm used to forgetting a variety of things--trauma does that--but this seemed excessive, even for me.

I got really freaked out for a minute or two because one of my biggest fears is developing early-onset Alzheimer's/dementia/etc., but I still had to finish making d*nner, so I put that thought on the backburner for a bit and finished what I was doing.

But then I noticed something else: I left a mess. I may not be the most organized person in the world, but this was on another level. I could barely even pour the strained n*odles back into the pot, so 1/3 of it was just strewn out on the stove, like a fresco of shitty m*c*roni art. And that doesn't even mentioned the sauce splatters all over the counter, among other things. I was even having trouble opening the can of br*sch*tta s*as*ning, and it's literally just a matter of opening the right side of the lid, which I did incorrectly several times.

Then, I wanted to clean everything up before setting the table, but I just... didn't have it in me? Every time I've made d*nner since I agreed to this deal, I've cleaned up after myself. Every time.

How did I forget all of these adult responsibilities so quickly? It was just, like,,, POOF, gone.

*And then I realized that these were all problems I used to have back in 2018, around the same time the affair started, when I was (bodily) 17 and just starting to learn how to cook.

So... it would appear that these mental/emotional flashbacks haven't stopped yet. -_-

That was frustrating--and unnerving. But I suppose this is further confirmation that our brain is still really fucked up over the whole thing.

I'll be alright, I promise.

Shit, I have to go now

-S

#logs for thomas #11/14/23

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s-the-seething-songbird-2 · 7 months

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Me at an outdoor festival: wow this is great! Everyone looks so cool, and the air smells wonderful-

Cannon ball 50 feet away:

Me: This Is The Worst Day Of My Life

#I now remember why I don't like going more than once a year #why does no one else get upset about this #who's like 'hell yeah brother let's load explosive material into an ancient historical artifact and shoot it from hundreds of feet away #and as for anyone within earshot that happens to be on the receiving end of this kinetic energy? fuck em'#'now EVERYONE will lose their hearing just like we did when we first started doing this gig. and honestly it's not too loud you guys #they're just sensitive'#I'm not saying cannons demos should be banned just because i don't like it. just saying that nobody in the entire world actively enjoys it #like y'all can go home guys you're not even being paid to do this. your grandfather is dead. this is the ONLY thing you have left #of your racist heritage. i get it. assholes need approval too #ren faire #cons #conventions #actually autistic #sensory issues #memes #memes for thomas #(to be clear i'm not talking to you directly thomas. unless you operate cannons /j)

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s-the-seething-songbird-2 · 7 months

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#reblogs

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s-the-seething-songbird-2 · 7 months

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i dont care (this affected me deeply and made me cry for several hours)

#reblogs #it's too early to get called out like this

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s-the-seething-songbird-2 · 7 months

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1hr ago me was wrong btw

#reblogs #DIDJEJEJSJS NO THIS IS EXACTLY HOW IT IS

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s-the-seething-songbird-2 · 7 months

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“don’t let it bother u” baby i’m gonna be bothered by this for the next 10 years

#reblogs

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s-the-seething-songbird-2 · 7 months

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I will be like "I'm fine" and then another fucking event will occur

#reblogs

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s-the-seething-songbird-2 · 7 months

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cluster b culture is going from "im fine" to "i want to die" at the drop of a hat

#reblogs

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s-the-seething-songbird-2 · 7 months

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Logs for Thomas, Part 2: #3

Song currently stuck in my head: "Call Me Master" by Blood on the Dance Floor

So, I want to get this explanation out of the way because I don't want to give the impression that there's some hidden agenda on my end:

I know that, in the past, we've used song recommendations as a way to secretly relay to one another how we're feeling in general or about each other. Me adding what song is stuck in my head in each of these logs is not me attempting to do that again. I'm not sure I've ever mentioned this to you, but I always have a song stuck in my head. All the time. Every second of every day. I thought this was normal and that everyone experienced this, but recently, I've learned that it isn't. Only a small portion of people experience this, and no one knows why. So, documenting it here is reliable a way for me to gather more data on a steady timeline and see if I can figure it out. (Also, it means there's a fun "theme" to these, and maybe you'll find some new bangers on here (or something cringy to laugh at when you're bored).)

So, to answer your question, no, the act of me referencing this song has nothing to do with what happened between us, nor is it intended to be any kind of "secret message". If you struggle with obsessive thoughts in the way that I do, PLEASE don't drive yourself crazy trying to read into it. Yes, I still care about you immensely, and yes, the time we had together all those years ago was very meaningful to me, but I'm not trying to "win" you back.

Also, unrelated, but Dahvie Vanity (the main singer of BOTDF) is a fucking creep, and I hope he goes to jail. I do not like that this song is the one my brain decided to play because it reminds me of all of the disgusting shit that guy did and how he STILL hasn't been served justice (thanks, Chris Hansen, for making it even harder for the detectives to do their job /s). If you know anything about him, you probably hate him, too. You get it.

Anyway, with that out of the way, there's something really important that I wanted to bring to your attention: my mood swings are INTENSE. That log about being in Nondescript Holiday Store(TM) was written when I was in a really bad one. That song triggered the f u c k out of me, and I wasn't handling it well.

Everything that I wrote in that log was true, but I don't typically feel it as strongly as I do when I'm in one of Those Moods, if that makes sense. I do miss you, I do wish you were back, and you, Shay, Jack, and I could all be friends again. But I really am living my best life, and all things considered, I have moved on. You know, as moved on as I can be because apparently I can't let anything go and it's really embarrassing.

My boyfriend wants me to hang out with him before bed, which is something he and I typically do around this time, so I'm signing off, but please keep what I said in mind.

G'night!

- S

#logs for thomas #10/10/23

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s-the-seething-songbird-2 · 7 months

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Logs for Thomas, Part 2. Log #2

Song stuck in my head: "On & On" by Cartoon (ft. Daniel Levi)

Disclaimer: Some (a lot of) details will be omitted/skewed both in this log and any upcoming ones because, however unlikely it might be, I don't want one of my abusers to find this blog and trace it back to me (and because of how personal this blog is, I'm not sure I want ANYONE to find this except for you (and, honestly, maybe not even you either, because if you really do hate me, you might use whatever you read here to hurt me)).

I'm a fucking mess.

I've turned 26 very recently, and while things have been mostly good--I got a free pastry and drink from a restaurant I frequent, I'm going to get sushi with my family tonight, and I was even able to stop at a holiday-themed store I really like, meaning I got to collect some things for my Halloween costume!

I'm not terribly focused on my costume this year compared to previous years. Instead, I've taken to decorating our house and making that look very spooky. I suppose I've become old enough that I'm become accustomed to the giving end of Halloween instead of receiving, which does make me a little sad, but it's a thousand times more practical considering how my life is built lately. I feel doubly old because the thought of seeing all of my neighborhood's kids in their cute lil costumes and how excited they'll be when they see how much candy they can get from us (we're going to be LOADED this year) sound infinitely more appealing to me than dressing up and going door to door.

So, anyway, there I was, at the holiday-themed store mentioned earlier. Someone very close to me really wanted a giant, fuck-off sword for our local RenFair, and I found the perfect one in the weapon props section. I had already collected some parts for my costume, and I was just double-checking to make sure there wasn't anything I missed that would be useful.

I was crouched down, looking at one of the dark black cloaks for sale, and then, as I reached out for the price tag, I heard a familiar melody on the radio.

Dun, dun, dun, DUN-dun-duh-duh duhhh, duh… dah, dah, dum, DA-DUM…

Oh no. No, no no no! No, fuck this, no, stop it brain, it’s just a song, don’t pay attention, just get your shit and go, just get your shit—!

I like that you’re broken, broken like me Maybe that makes me a fool

But I was already frozen. I was frozen, and my fingers were so cold.

Before I could stop myself, I closed my eyes, pulled all of my items to my chest, and held them tight. And then I relived everything.

November. Doing laundry. You call, I answer. Talking, dreaming, promising. Connecting, laughing, smiling. I could feel you in the room, but I knew you weren’t there. Secrets, fears, mistakes. I could feel you in my dreams.

I let myself feel the joy, the warmth, the closeness, pretending the fabrics and plastic packages were your arms.

I like that you're lonely, lonely like me

I could be lonely with you

December. Excitement, hope, terror. Do we tell him? Do we come clean? But what if I lose you? I won't, you said. We'd never lose each other. We loved each other. You said you wouldn't leave and I believed you.

I met you, late night at a party

Two days before Christmas. Confusion, desperation, betrayal?

Worry. Pain. Fear. Self-hatred. Hatred for him her. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Gone.

Gone forever.

Gone forever, but I still know the lyrics.

Some trust-fund baby's Brooklyn loft

I couldn't let myself cry in the store. I especially couldn't let myself cry about this. Not again. So I didn't.

But I closed my eyes harder and held you tighter, fighting against reality for just a couple of extra seconds.

November, laundry, call, talk, love, dream...

Talk, love, dream, smile, warm...

Warm...

And then I let go.

Gone.

And then I was in the real world again, and I realized how silly I must have looked. No one near me said anything, though, so maybe they didn't notice.

Stupid song. Stupid pain. Stupid long line at checkout. Stupid stupid stupid.

Just buy it and leave. Buy it, act normal, thank the cashier, stay normal, smile, and leave.

Smile...

It's all so blurry now. Like all other memories from my childhood, it only exists in a series of white-hot snippets filled with emotional whiplash.

I hate that it's all that's left. I hate how strongly it still makes me feel, and how little of it I remember. I know there are things I saw, heard, and thought that are permanently lost to time.

I'm so angry. I'm so fucking angry, Thomas. I'm so angry that this still hurts, and I was getting so much better, and then Shay came back, and I thought maybe it would all be okay again, and then it wasn't okay, and the wounds reopened, and god, I wish I was never born.

It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts, JUST COME BACK, fuck, fuck, fuck

I'm not asking that we be together again! You guys are happy together, and I'm happy for you, I really am! But spending all of this time believing that you missed me and still cared about me and were proud of me was helping me move forward.

And then...

I can't cry about this again. I can't. This is so unbelievably embarrassing.

It seemed like Shay was developing some kind of crush on me, and I thought the most recent pictures of her were pretty attractive, too, and she wanted you and I to talk again, and... At worst, maybe things would be weird between you and I, but over time, the weirdness would dissolve, and maybe you and Jack would even start to talk again, and you'd apologize to him, and he'd forgive you, and my son could get closure, and... At best, maybe... maybe you and I and Shay could have become a thrupple, with my partners' permission? And then I'd learn about everything that happened while we were apart, and I could help you two heal, and we'd cry and hug each other, and I'm crying again god fucking damn it!

I MISS YOU. I miss you, Thomas. The things you've said and done over the years have really hurt, but I've never stopped caring, even when I thought I had. Do you realize that I still think about you every day? Wondering what you're up to, if you're okay--

Hang on, sorry, my girlfriend called.

Sushi plans for tonight have been confirmed! Yay!

I'm not asking to be with you again. That's not what any of this is. I just want you to be fucking nice to me again! That's all I want, that's all I want! Why? Why is that impossible?

Look, I have to go. This thing is long enough as it is, and I'm going to try and enjoy the rest of today.

I hope you're okay. I hope you're happy. I really do.

- S

#logs for thomas #10/07/23

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s-the-seething-songbird-2 · 9 months

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Logs for Thomas, Part 2. Log #1

What the fuck, dude? What the actual fuck?

You hate me? ME? For what?

I can't. I can't even-

Okay, let me collect my thoughts while I write all this down because I have a LOT to say and want to be as articulate as possible. I also need to be careful about what I say because the last thing I need is for someone to try being Sherlock Holmes and figure out who I am irl. There probably wouldn't be any true damage done if they did--all of this happened a long time ago, I'm genuinely remorseful, this is very personal to me, and I've worked very hard to be a better person--but it would be annoying.

So let's recap. Shay came back, said she wanted to be friends again. I was suspicious but agreed and profusely apologized for hurting her in the affair all those years ago. She started messaging me every day for a month, and for a little bit, it felt like old times, like all of that horrifying trauma never happened for either of us. She mentioned that she would be okay with you and I talking again as long as I respected her boundaries and promised I wouldn't hurt her like that ever again.

And you WHAT?

Are you kidding me? Are you serious? You'd been wanting to talk to me again for YEARS, and now? I'm so confused, and SO angry. My fingers are shaking as I type this.

We were SO CLOSE to being friends again! What the fuck? I don't get it, I don't understand.

"Yeah, he hates you," she said, smiling. "I'll just be honest, he fucking hates you. He might not want to talk to you again, ever."

I ASKED BECAUSE I THOUGHT SHE WAS GOING TO SAY NO AND I WOULDN'T HAVE TO BE IRRATIONALLY ANXIOUS ABOUT IT ANYMORE. fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck!

My whole world shattered. Instantly. I couldn't even breathe. There you were, sitting in that room with her--which I didn't know at first, by the way--and you never want to talk to me again?

God, and I cried on camera. I tried so hard not to because I was afraid of looking weak in the moment, but that destroyed me, Thomas. Granted, it wasn't permanent because I'm still here, but. Fuck, man.

Can you explain to me how your behavior over the past five years has made ANY fucking sense? I can't figure it out. I can't figure either of you out, honestly.

I'm, sorry, I don't want to be an asshole, but really? Really?

My boyfriend seems to think that you don't really hate me, that you really just hate yourself and don't want to face your feelings about how everything went down. I don't know if he's right or not, but it did keep me from going to the hospital that night, so there's that.

My girlfriend seems to agree with him, going on to add that maybe part of the reason I'm still having a hard time letting all of this go is because there were several other traumatic events occurring in my life at the time that you and Shay left me, and that, if I don't heal from those other events, I might not ever be able to let go of this, either.

My therapist agrees that the idea is very insightful, as trauma tends to string together with other trauma in times of crisis.

But what about Shay? I'm so confused, and hurt, and I thought we were doing the right thing! But it didn't matter, because, like you, she fucking left.

Shit, I'm trembling so badly. I need to take my meds, hold on.

And, apparently, she was cussing out Nic in the final messages to us because he was trying to reassure her? What's that about? According to him, he even sent her some info on breathing techniques to help her calm down, and that's how she reacts?

Understandably, it made him pretty mad, and he became protective of the rest of us because he wasn't sure whether or not she was going to say/do anything that would further traumatize us, especially me. Tyson was concerned about this, too, so he suggested that we exited the app and gave her a couple of days to cool off before contacting her again. So, we did. And then, when we opened the app again days later, she was gone. No account, no messages, nothing.

At first, we were unblocked on everything else, so we came to the conclusion that she just temporarily blocked us for the time being, and that we should give her some space, that she'd come around later and apologize.

Then, in the weeks following, slowly, every account we had contact with her on was blocked, and blocked, and blocked.

I'm just. What? I can't make rational sense of it. How could she care so much and then end up hating us all over again?

Maybe that's a bit of an assumption, I don't know. For all I know, she could be in the hospital again.

But Tyson (who I'll sometimes refer to with the nickname "Ty," same person) cares for her so deeply, and so do I, and Jack, and Nic. We didn't really tell anyone else Shay contacted us again because we weren't sure if it would last, and that if it didn't, our whole system would be traumatized all over again. God, I hate being right.

We're so worried about her. The last time she spoke with us, it's become increasingly clear that she wasn't... sound of mind when she reached out to reconcile. It did seem to get worse the longer we talked, too. I think we were so stupidly hopeful that Jack and I ignored the signs without knowing it.

I'm worried about you, too. Jack has mentioned multiple times that he doesn't want to talk to you ever again, and Nic has agreed, but honestly? With enough time? Maybe they would have come around.

But it doesn't matter now. That window of time when you could have come back without needing to hide our friendship from Shay has closed.

At least I got to tell her I was sorry, though. I got some closure from that.

And then I was abandoned again and was so fucked up over it that I needed my meds' dosage increased twofold, BUT! The important thing is that I did what was right.

I want to say more about Shay SO badly because I think she's given me some insight into what's been going on with you two, and I have some theories about what's going on with her specifically, but a) I'm not a doctor, b) I don't want anyone else to find out who SHE is irl and be able to tell other people about a bunch of personal things about her that I doubt she'd be comfortable with me disclosing at all. Which sucks, because if you ever do happen to stumble on this--which I doubt, considering that the first blog of mine was deleted, so the logic follows from your perspective that I wouldn't make another one--I want to offer some advice for how to help her. But, as I've stated, I can't. Not here.

And, yes, I'm aware that whatever ideas I have, there's a good chance you've tried it already. You know her far better than I do, after all, and you can actually see her in person, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't try and help, because I WANT to, Thomas. I want to help you guys. God, you have no idea how badly I wish I could offer support or something. I hate that y'all are suffering, and there's nothing I can do to help. I've learned so much over the years, and have done a staggering amount of research--did you know that research into mental health has never been more prevalent in all of human civilization than it is now?--and am very confident that I could be helpful somehow, if only to point you in the right direction for cost-effective treatment. But, of course, if you guys never accept it, I've done all I can do.

Also, what do you hate me for? I'm so confused. Is it because I blocked you on Instagram? You remember why I did that, right? Because I set a boundary that I didn't want to hear from you again until you could do so without the need to be secretive about it? And you violated that boundary? Several times? The last one having such a profound impact on me that my partners asked me to go no contact with you?

And then when you had the opportunity to form a normal, genuine, honest friendship with me again for the first time since all hell broke loose, you did NOTHING?

I'm so... disappointed in you. And so hurt. And I just. God, I wish I didn't care anymore. I wish I could stop feeling anything about this. And yet, here I am!

At least things aren't too mentally bad for me. Heaven and I reintegrated a while back once she accepted reality, and I think that was an important step in my recovery. But that also means that this. shit. fucking. HURTS.

I feel so pathetic. I've done EMDR, I'm in the middle of a DBT workbook, I've processed how ALL of this has made me feel over the years with friends, family, mental health professionals, crisis line volunteers, and it. Still. Hurts. At least now, I can live like a normal person most days.

Do I come to the conclusion that you just don't care about my feelings anymore? You don't care if what you do hurts people? You won't take responsibility for your actions and be mature about this? You're going to be holding this baggage for years to come? Do I conclude that I've simply outgrown you?

Well, no. Because I can't. I care about you too much. I have to believe that there's some benign explanation behind all of this.

But I looked at the old thumbdrive that I put all of our conversations on (because I couldn't look at any of it anymore without being reminded of everything, and I usually have a bad brain day when that happens, but I also couldn't being myself to delete it), and I've noticed some interesting patterns.

You'd return out of nowhere, when I was least expecting it.

You'd usually return in the mornings, only to block us and disappear again during nighttime, regardless of how long you'd stay.

The tone of your words was almost never consistent from previous times you returned. In some, you'd be chipper and lighthearted, and in others, you were morose and nihilistic, and in the rest, you were just... downright mean to me.

The second our conversations became uncomfortable in any way, including or especially when I pointed out how certain things you've done hurt me, you'd leave again pretty much immediately.

Are you just angry at me because my Tumblr was deleted? Because I did not do that. Tumblr did. (They were upset that I was shittalking Manscaped, a huge sponsor of theirs a while ago. Apparently making fun of frequent and pervy advertising qualifies as "harassment". But I won't do that again, I've learned my lesson, blah blah blah.) I became so upset with Tumblr for a while that I was refusing to rejoin, and it's not like I was able to message you to explain why my blog disappeared in the first place. Because I'm blocked everywhere.

I think what angers me most about this is that I STILL don't know the whole story. So many questions remain unanswered, and they probably will indefinitely. Worse yet, I have a feeling that it's partly because there are some answers that I really don't want to know. Jesus, this would be the worst film noire ever.

You know what, though? That's life. Life is full of unanswered questions. And the answers you DO get just keep hurting and hurting and hurting and hurting and hurting and hurting and hurting. I suppose part of learning how to be a healthy, functional member of society is accepting that.

And, actually, I think I was wrong when I said that it's the unsolved questions that anger me most. Because, again, looking through our old conversations and comparing them with what our exchanges were like during the affair, it struck me how different they were. How could you go from so caring, compassionate, empathetic, and honest to cold, callous, vague, and rude? Especially because you KNEW how deeply your words mattered to me, and how they would affect me. Because I told you. I told you over and over, and you either forgot, didn't listen, or actively used my mental illness against me. I don't know which one scares me the most.

But, yeah, if you wanted to know why I said no when Shay suggested I speak to you face to face, it's because I know enough about myself now that if you would have said one mean thing to me--hell, if I so much as got the impression that you breathed in a disapproving way--I absolutely would have ended up in a psyche ward. It didn't help that, after Shay told me you hated me, I starting having one of the worst panic attacks of my life, and I just had to sit there like I was just sad and not at all freaking the fuck out, feeling like I was going to die.

You know what, though? I would never do this to someone. I would never promise them all these wonderful things, not follow through, and then abandon them. And then come back, and then abandon them again. And then do it at LEAST seven more times. And then, when a stable connection is finally available, just say, "fuck it" and leave them to their own devices.

That's why I'm so scared to talk to you again. Because I know you'll just leave, but I'll lie to myself that you really mean it this time, that things will be different, but they won't. And my fear of abandonment will only worsen the next time it happens. If you had asked me years ago if talking to you on occasion was worth it, even if it was unstable, and I had no idea if I'd still find you there in the morning, I would have said yes, a thousand times yes. But even when you WERE here, I was constantly scared that if I said the wrong thing, you'd get mad at me and leave again to punish me for it. And, sure, I know that probably wasn't your intent, but that's pretty much what it felt like.

Did you know that I've had mental breakdowns in the middle of shifts at work? Do you know how much more trauma I've been through over these past few years, and how desperately I wished you were there for me, but I knew deep down that I would never be able to rely on you in that way? Do you know that my boyfriend almost died a couple years ago? Do you know how little I recognize my dad anymore because of what conspiracy theories have done to his mind? Do you know that, one time, when you came back for about fifteen minutes before telling me, "I hope you find help" before blocking me again, I was at the airport, and had just sent my little sister through the gate and leave to Pennsylvania again without me, knowing she was going home to more abuse, and there was nothing I could do to stop it? Did you know that my "m*m" tried to get me arrested? Did you know that my old drug dealer showed up at my school, and I feared for my life walking to class? Where were you? Where the FUCK were you then, asshole?

Okay. I'm sorry. I'm going to take a deep breath. Yelling at you isn't going to help anything.

I'm just so angry that I'm still struggling with this after all this time. Most people in my life don't know; they tend to see me as strong, confident, and even a bit charismatic at times! They don't know to what extent this has taken a toll on me and my mental health. I'm so fucked up, Thomas. I'm terrified this has fucked me up for good.

-S

#logs for thomas #08/17/23

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