amor animi arbitrio sumitur, non ponitur
It's all bubbling back up. Reading old stories, realizing you removed all the art you made for me — gifted or not, being blocked just for reblogging a Beatles picture from someone else in the Beatles community on here I follow you know, one of those many things we used to talk about??? when I seriously had a panic attack for days over whether you'd be upset...fucking stupid ass me, and guess what?
I always knew that reading those stories would be the hardest because writers...I don't know about others here, but both in college and reading articles by the "professional," one thing has always remained clear: no matter what genre you explore, use elements of what you know to draw in the reader.
Before I went back to vomiting my emotions via poetry, some of them spit up into my stories because I was confused. Trying to make sense of everything. Of myself. Of you. Of conversations. And you will never fucking see any of this unless someone runs and tells you behind my back, and good for them if they do, but I've grown tired.
In another post on here that mostly went unnoticed because there's no pretty writing with it, I mentioned being depressed my whole life but especially despondent since March. I've been asked why I can't hate you, and you said it best — hate is a waste of time. Emotions are a waste of time too, aren't they? Another fond statement.
It's the same reason I started writing Toxicity in the first place before I ever met you. My levels of overlooking things are so high, they are nonexistent. I only stopped talking to my father out of love for others he treated badly, not for me.
You treated me like people often treat Trevor as if he's nothing more than some crazy motherfucker whose brain operates in a void of insanity, and like Michael had at points in the game — condescending, belittling, manipulating, but also saying things that just...it's why I was mad at Salem for saying you were a fuckboi playing with my feelings. See, and no one knows of those days. Except a few now because I had to talk to someone who knows you somewhat, to figure out if I actually was crazy. Everyone has said the same thing despite not wanting to say it to your face. My therapists have said the same thing. That how you acted wasn't "just friendship," that you run from your emotions.
I am very intelligent and observant too. I never kidded about relating to Trevor. And I wish I could pull up old conversations from the very beginning before we even talked about the fanzine idea. When it was just us talking about shit, as friends do. How you said you related to Michael at first — and right there, that's where I can see it. Because you do. No one sees it but me.
So this is the most open I've been, as I mentioned elsewhere, but I was told I'm never mentioned, that I've essentially become a phantom limb, so I think I can bleed because I really need to. No one knows. No one here really knows how I feel. Nor can they ever fully understand.
I'll never know the truth of everything, and it won't matter after a certain point. But it tears at me that no one knows these things, that to everyone else you're still you, but to me...
So no more closeness. It's ruined. I'll be polite, I'll be like I was before, but I'll never go back to a place of wanting to share myself with anyone ever again. Not when people spy on you when they claim to care, vaguepost and then call you crazy even though you know what a fucking vaguepost is because you've adminned for a huge community dedicated to topics just like it, and then come swooping in after you're hurt that they've cut you from a project that was mostly done but didn't even say fucking word yet told you that YOU weren't interested in it anymore and left you feeling so fucking bad that December was a drop in the goddamn hat. Had to have the last word before you restricted me, I guess. Didn't even block. That's what I can't understand. So you can still read me and care? Why can't you just talk to me?
Like A Dream (which has a ton of views, and that's funny not haha)...you know, that one is getting watched a lot. Because I broke down on camera a bit? I mean, the thoughts just don't disappear. I struggle with ideations every day. It's really a flip of the coin. I'm writing, I'm posting, I have projects, so if I'm here I'm functioning! But please, no worries about it. I won't answer. Not these days. Not after December. Never again.
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