#being emotionally vulnerable is haarrdddd

[davnittbraes]

Why I Wrote TWILE

I just want to be clear, I’m not posting this looking for sympathy or criticism or any particular kind of attention. To be honest, I’m posting this because my therapist told me I should try being emotionally vulnerable in a safe space, which like, gross but whatever fine I’ll do it, she’s the expert I guess. 

Fine. I’m also doing this for myself. 

I guess I love self-torture. 

OKAY FINE yes I’m doing this because I want to and I’m serious, no sarcasm or deflecting jokes. 

Just me. Being emotionally vulnerable. 🤮. 

Tagging a few lovely people who have supported me and this story since the beginning or very nearly. I don’t expect you to read this, every word or at all, I just wanted to share this part of myself to better communicate why your support means so much to me, if you choose to read it. ❤️ you all

TW for depression and suicidal thoughts. Sorry 😅

@leithatnight @shirks-all-responsibilities @katareyoudrilling @ah-prick24

And if she ever crosses over to the hellsite from AO3, NumaNerraNerra.

*****

I wrote the first words of what would become The World Is Light, Embodied almost two years ago. 

I remember it very clearly. It’s one of those singular points in your life that stick to the walls of your memory, just as bright and fresh as when it happened, playing on repeat so every time you walk by it’s right there for you to watch. I’ve done that countless times now, wondering over the significance of that moment, trying to figure out why it’s so different from all the other moments of my life, especially all those moments when I wrote other stories. 

What made this one moment, this one story, so special that the memory of starting it stands out? Why does it feel like in that moment there was a shift in my very existence when life started moving in a different direction?

I’ve examined it from every possible angle trying to find the answer. 

It was around 1am. I was laying in bed, unable to sleep as I waited for what I knew would be another trip to the hospital that night. My ex-husband (though at the time we were married) has a heart disease that was slowly killing him, with no cure or treatment in sight, and for most of 2020 and 2021 we were at the hospital at least once a night. 

Well, he was at the hospital. 

It was in the middle of the pandemic, hospitals weren’t allowing any visitors, so the most I could do was drop him off at the ER doors, sit in the parking lot and wait for someone to call me. To tell me either he was all right, or he… wasn’t. If they even happened to get my number in the middle of the chaos.

That particular night, as I lay there listening to my ex grab what few minutes of sleep he could get before his heart woke him up again, I was letting my thoughts drift, picking through whatever floated to the surface of my mind, and for some reason (probably because I’m a giant SW nerd) I started piecing apart the first season of The Mandalorian, contemplating the character of Din Djarin and how beautifully complex and layered he is, how conflicted and tragic, yet despite that, a character who eventually finds some sort of happiness. 

S1 is when Din is shoved into situations where he has no choice but to make decisions. Should he betray the Guild to rescue the child? Should he take the child into his care? Should he seek help from others outside of his covert and trust people who may learn things to use against him? Ultimately, those decisions force him to face his past, present and future, and begin to discover who he truly is. 

I didn’t really see the connection then, but I think I was drawn to him because of that - here was a character who had been through so much, had shut down emotionally and forced the entire galaxy out, focused on his obligations to avoid dealing with his own pain, yet somehow, he found a tiny spark of light in the darkness. He found hope. Because he made choices that led him down a path where he could see that light. 

But the thing that drew me to him the most was the conflict of his obligation to his people - to others - and his need for self-fulfillment. Because they weren’t one and the same. 

He was morally committed to his creed but despite what he thought, it did not truly fulfill him, give him the sense of purpose that he was seeking. This is what resonated the most with me. 

Because as my ex-husband was fighting for his life, as I was sitting in parking lots at all hours of the day waiting for that phone call, as I was working every spare minute at my full-time job to pay the bills but also struggling to keep our owner-operated business from going under, as I was stumbling along the dark path with no hope in sight, I was thinking of divorce. 

And I was so deeply, unshakeably ashamed. 

Things hadn’t been good between us for years. We were never great together, playing off each other’s negative traits until it quickly became toxic, then outright abusive. But we cared about each other, and we were following those steps that we were told we should - find a partner, get married, settle down. So we did the whole song and dance, trying all the tricks to make it work - moved cities several times for a “fresh start,” bought a house, tried and failed to have kids, opened a business to, for me at least, fill that void that children might have, thinking working together to grow a business would make our relationship stronger.

But if the foundation is weak, it doesn’t matter what you build. It will always crumble, given time. 

There was no precise moment when I realized I needed to leave him. It’s like it was bubbling beneath the surface of my awareness for a long time, a familiar background hum, so when it finally came to the forefront there was no epiphany. Just a tired, defeated acknowledgment of that truth. 

I started making plans. Thinking about how I could get out, how I could save up money - all of our banking accounts were shared - and where I could go. I started planning out how I was going to tell him. 

And I began trying to bolster my self-confidence, reassure myself that I could do this, I could get out and I could make a life for myself that didn’t feel so dark and heavy. 

It took several months for me to finally start believing that rhetoric. 

Then I began looking at ads for apartments, subtly weeding through my belongings to get ready to pack, gearing myself up for the moment when I would say those words out loud and finally take the next step in my life. 

Shortly after, he almost died, the first time. 

Everything else was pushed aside as we worked through appointments and tests and procedures. Processed possible diagnoses, the implications of such.

But it was still there, in my mind, that understanding of how unhealthy our relationship really was, how desperately I needed to get out of it, through the months and eventually years of waiting for an official diagnosis.  

And what was I going to do, leave this human being who had been my partner for 10 years at a time when he was facing that deeply intrinsic fear we can all relate to?

An early death. A life incomplete. 

Even though I wanted to leave him, I still cared about him. I loved him, just not in a way that was healthy. 

So we stayed together.

As he struggled with facing his own mortality, I fought with overwhelming shame and anxiety and anger. I was furious with myself for wanting a new life while he was trying to hold onto his. What right did I have to wish for more when he was going through so much, when he needed me most? It was nauseating, every time the thought of leaving him crossed my mind. 

Which it did. Often. 

Because our crumbling foundation was not strong enough to hold up under the strain of such a serious health issue, a business that went under due to so many reasons out of our control, a global pandemic that shoved fear directly into our hearts and minds daily. We were both angry at everything, angry at the life we had thought we wanted giving us so much pain. And we took it out on each other. 

The fighting became almost non-stop, increasingly cruel and emotionally damaging. I fell into a deep depression, started searching for other ways out. Started thinking about how easy suicide would be compared to the pain of my day to day. 

I’d had suicidal thoughts before, throughout my life. And I’ve learned how insidious they are, how they can tempt so enticingly. But I’ve also learned that’s not something I truly want for myself. I rejected them as best I could. 

It wasn’t easy, though. Not when the aspects of my life that had sparked those thoughts into existence were still there. 

It only made me desperate to leave, but I was trapped by my obligation to him, my guilt and shame, and I could do nothing but rage and hate myself for even thinking of leaving him. 

And on that night almost two years ago, when I lay in bed thinking about Din Djarin who carried so much pain, about this character who was trapped in a life he never asked for and chained to vows he didn’t understand the implications of when he spoke them, how he managed to find something that gave him hope, suddenly Tionas came into being. 

This character who, like Din, had suffered and struggled and lost, but somehow found the strength to keep going. Like him, her life was day by day, pulled in different directions but never in the direction they truly needed to achieve happiness. Until they met each other. 

And I started writing. Ducked under the covers to avoid the light of my phone waking up my ex-husband - not only to avoid waking him, but also because I felt the need to hide it from him, this little jewel of hope that I’d found in the depths of my mind. He’d made fun of my love of writing too many times for me to trust him with this, and so it became my secret, a hidden niche in my life I could step in and out of whenever I wanted, take cover from everything around me and lose myself in a world that no one else knew of. 

My ex-husband did go to the hospital again that night, and as I sat in the parking lot, I kept writing. And I wrote every time I was there again. I wrote about Din and Tionas and Grogu finding each other, and finding happiness, purpose, meaning. I wrote to distract myself from waiting for that phone call from the hospital, from thinking about what my next step would be, from sinking into the cycle of self-hate and shame and desperation for freedom. 

Every line of the first draft was an attempt to focus my mind on something other than the fear and helplessness that surrounded me with every step. 

I wrote The World Is Light, Embodied to find some hope in a world that seemed so hopeless.

So when I went to post the last few chapters, I was hit, blindsided, by the realization that my source of distraction from pain, that one thing in my life that had held me up at times when all I wanted to do was fall, was ending. I couldn’t handle it, I retreated into myself after working so hard for so long to push back my shell and let others see me. It brought on more shame, disappointment in myself. 

It took time, but when I did finally work through how I was feeling, I realized… it was okay. It made sense that I felt the way I did about TWILE ending. It had been a significant part of my life for so long, I was afraid of what life would look like after it was done. 

Just like I had been afraid to leave my ex. 

I hadn’t been aware, until that moment, of how much fear I’d held onto. Fear of my ex dying, fear of leaving him and failing to find my own path, fear of giving into those suicidal thoughts. 

TWILE was my safety net, my distraction from all of that fear. Without it, what would I do? Who would I be? How could I keep going?

The answer was simple. I just… would. 

Because it wasn’t a story that kept me alive, that kept me moving forward.

I did.

I found a way to survive, by immersing myself in that imaginary world. I was capable of finding other ways to survive, no matter what I faced. 

And that realization led to another - I had done it, something I had worked toward for most of my life.

I had finished a story.

Put a piece of my soul out there for people to see, something that others had found their own personal meaning in, and I understood myself better for it. 

I had accomplished something I’d always wanted for myself, despite everything. 

Now, I sit here, writing this, alone in my tiny apartment. My ex and I split a few months ago, after several surgeries and a steady run of good health for him. After I finally found the strength to leave and move in the direction I had been looking at from afar for so long. 

So. Here I am, at the beginning of my next step, with the last chapter of TWILE complete and posted, ending the journey of those characters who had been stuck on a path that was too dark to see until they finally found a light to guide their way. 

My own journey, too. 

As I sit here, I think of the people I’ve met through this little Star Wars fanfiction, people I truly consider my friends, who have been there for me when I needed some kind words and encouragement. People that I will continue to cherish and love and grow with. 

I think of all those people who - maybe, hopefully - found some light for themselves in this story. 

And as I write this, I already know - this moment will also cling to my memory, bright and shining and clear. 

This moment is a solemn farewell to my past. Looking back at all the steps I’ve taken, whether it was crawling on my knees or running full tilt or walking steadily head held high. It’s an acknowledgment of what is behind each and every word of this story that was my light in the darkness, my way of working through hopelessness toward hope. 

To where I am today. Looking forward, to the next step. 

Where will that take me?

I don’t know. But I do know that wherever it is, I’m going to survive. And I’m going to live.

Undefeated.