#dying alone feels not as scary as being so fundamentally insulted

[katyspersonal]

Sometimes I have my doubts that I actually deserve unconditional love, acceptance and genuine admiration of myself as a person. Sometimes I wonder if I am just thinking too high of myself, whereas being very far from being a hot shit... Someone as unlikeable and unattractive as me sure should be way more desperate to be picked by someone, anyone. I should be terrified of dying alone - especially in this homophobic fascist dumpster fire of a country.

Yet when I come to realise that I am only picked because this guy convinced himself that no one else but me will ever "tolerate" him, whereas not only he doesn't love me but actually resents all too many of my personality traits, hobbies, mental limitations and even physical features... I just can't. Even if I myself am attracted and would love to live together - I just CAN'T be this. I can't be "the only option avialable" and face being resented because people he would actually like are "too good" for him. Suddenly despite me knowing that I am certainly dying alone, my pride kicks in - along with me not wanting to 'take the spot'.

But I wonder if I am delusional, after all. Like... yes, I insist that some people should REALLY exercise some more self-respect and stop latching onto any person that "accepts" them. But what about me? Maybe I am not even worthy of being loved and cared about. Maybe I just am physically incapable of inspiring someone to want to cherish me and encourage me and think that I am pretty great, interesting and smart. It is always a person that wishes literally everything about me was different, but "can't choose". But what if there is a good reason? What if I am just worthless for anything besides my weird tolerance for abuse and evil? And I deluded myself that I have any skills, talent, intelligence and fun about me? Because deep down I know - and I am terrified to find out how as a person, I am just do not deserve such high, sincere, genuine feelings.

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

I used to go to various spooky cities pretty regularly, just for fun. Aesthetic, fun, spooky dates and spooky love, tres goth, whatever. The past few years I have had much less time for fun, and that’s been mostly on purpose.

But the LAST time I went somewhere spooky for fun, it was Savannah, not New Orleans, in, hmm, summer 2015? Yes. The weekend before my best friend died, you see, not that I knew that was going to happen when I--well--I’m getting head of myself.

Bunch of highly personal spiritual shit under the cut. Don’t click if that’s not your bag. If it is your bag, I hope you like skeletons.

I grew up Santera, right. I was dedicated to Oshun at an early age. My mother got more into Vodou as time went on, and in Miami, at least, those lines are really blurry. But like all kids that grow up in bomb ass mystery religions, I went through a rebellious Wiccan early teen and-it-harm-none hippie dippe phase. As you do, honestly. It’s a thing.

And then, as an adult, for most of my adult life, I was an atheist. I never talk about this, and I kind of hem and haw and skirt the issue of what exactly I do now, despite the occasional witchy post. I was never an obnoxious atheist, and arguably I was never a really good atheist, because it’s not so much that I didn’t believe, but that I decided I shouldn’t, and that’s not the same thing. But time went on and I managed to bury that kernel of belief very deep. I didn’t want to come across as credulous. Give me my GMOs, give me my artificial sweeteners, give me all the fucking science and none of your anti-science bullshit that you wrap up in absurd and appropriated tidbits of mysticism.

(and a lot of that stands, actually. give me my GMOs.)

So: I was an atheist, and I was trying very hard.

Certain powers, you see, are patient.

I kept the aesthetic and my cultural pride, though--Oshun and Erzulie always got my hushed little prayers in quick mind whispers. Oshun got votive candles no matter how far from belief I allegedly got, and to Erzulie I gave my skin--and this was a devotional act, full stop, despite everything else I claimed to not believe. And the ocean, I never stopped worshiping the ocean in one sense or another, and even my poetic obsession with the ocean is devout.

however.

however.

Someone I shoved out of the picture entirely.

Certain powers, you see, are indulgent. They’ll wait for your silly little human insecurities to play out. up to a point.

In my dreams since I was a child I have been friends with a decomposing skeleton wearing a tophat. As I got older I recognized who that was supposed to be.

I don’t even remember when or specifically why I threw out my magic shit and put my Baron bust in a closet, but I did. I couldn’t get rid of the Baron Fabulous bust, even though I tried to make myself want to do that, so I climbed on top of my kitchen counter and shoved it into the back of a pantry far too high for me to reach.

And then and only then did I make any real progress in pretending to be a legit atheist. Out of sight, out of mind, out of life, motherfucker!

So the point is, I went to Savannah in full on sneering mode. “Hah! This hotel claims to be haunted! What a quaint marketing strategy. Midnight one man show of ghost stories in a historic theater? Sure, I like atmosphere and aren’t people so suggestible?. After hours tour of a huge famous cemetery? Hahaha sure whatever that’s cute, thanks for booking us for that, babe. Let me prance through here and not say hello and leave no offerings, let me laugh and sneer and make fun.

Anyway, so then I had the single most terrifying weekend of my entire life.

I have had a lot of mundane real life scary shit happen to me. And I’ve had a bunch of weird shit happen to me. And yet I have never, ever told anyone the full story of what happened to me in Savannah. I can’t. Even if I sat you down, looked you right in the eye, and told you everything, and you believed me--I would not be able to explain to you the DEPTH of everything, how it felt. What it meant.

And what played out soon after.

I joke about this weekend, but only because I’m making fun of myself. For being an idiot. And a rude idiot, too. So disrespectful.

I took most of this in stride at the time--sort of. I flailed around and I panicked and I knew I had to make some changes. Years after I had put him there, I scaled my kitchen counters, pulled the Baron out of my pantry closet, put him up on a prominent bookshelf in my apartment and said, basically, “MY BAD I’M SO SORRY.”

I mention this, sometimes, and I mention my best friend dying, and I think some people think that I’m implying a cause and effect relationship there. Absolutely not. In no way whatsoever. I don’t think magic works that way at all, and, frankly, I’m insulted you think my deity so petty.

I knew someone was going to die. I knew. I don’t mean in a nervous, jittery, “am i losing my mind?” kind of way. I don’t mean in an anxious gnawing preoccupation kind of way. I don’t mean in a doubtful dreading way. I don’t mean paranoia. I don’t mean fear. I don’t mean anxiety.

I mean that I knew. I knew someone close to me was going to die. I knew that was nothing I could, or should, do about it.

I was being warned, not as a threat, but as a kindness.

I knew. When we called the cops and the cops eventually called us and the door was getting bust open at 3 something AM, I knew. I was there and fully awake and well dressed.

Why? Because I fucking knew.

I didn’t put on pajamas that night. I showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes.

“What are you dressed for? Come to bed.”

Fine, I’ll come to bed. But I won’t sleep.

And I didn’t. Because I knew. I knew I was just going to have to get up and get dressed again, and I knew why.

And so it was, and at 2 something AM, we got the call, and I soberly drove us over to my best friend’s neighborhood, and I knew.

Did it still hurt? like a MOTHERFUCKER. like you will not believe unless you’ve lost someone that close to you, and if you have, I am sorry.

So it wasn’t the terrifying weekend that brought me back.

It was that warning, that kindness. That mercy.

And oh, did it still hurt. My friend who died was my best friend and also my best social outlet. We used to go dancing every weekend and he was a b boy in addition to being a personal trainer and a huge nerd. I adored him. Z adored him. And he adored us.

So his death was a big deal. And his death, so close to my personal decision to come back to magic, that was a big lifestyle change.

I’ve written about that before, and how then I slowly became a hermit in a tower. Hermitage. Spiritual hermitage along with the writing, along with the increase in physical discipline. I have learned many things. Not half as much as I’d like? Sure. Nonetheless.

But there was a lot of terror, at first. And a whole  lot of other emotions. And I haven’t sorted that out yet.

Here’s what I’ve only just realized, though.

That weekend, and what came soon after, and that process I went through? That is a bonafide reawakening, my friends. That is some born again shit. That might seem obvious in the telling, but it WASN’T, as it was happening.

You don’t realize that change is going to stick, sometimes, and even when you say “things will be different now,” you don’t know what that’s going to mean.

and don’t get me wrong: I was, for a time, VERY distracted from the spiritual quest.

There are shamanistic traditions that talk about cracking open the head as a form of initiation.

Now, I’ve had my head literally cracked open--or more accurately, carefully drilled open by a highly skilled neurosurgeon. So, check, I guess.

But when I look back at the absolute, like--

Everything that’s happened since then.

So much has happened since then.

And so much happened as a result of that weekend, and the thing is, it was a total confluence of events that brought me to Savannah, nothing of my doing, really. A hottie booked me a romantic trip and so I went, duh. Wouldn’t you?

But so here I am, all these years later, which isn’t even really that many years later, and my world is so fundamentally different. So much has changed and I didn’t even notice it changing at the time. And so much has remained the same, too, and I am forever grateful for those precious constant things. I love you, my constant star, and I always will.

But body, soul, aesthetic, skill set, academic knowledge, everything! So much is different! So! fucking! much! AND I lost all my material possessions!

And here I am, booking a hotel, grabbing a friend, and making my way to New Orleans. Just for the weekend. If a confluence of events brought me TO Savannah, it almost feels like this has been the opposite. I have been so stressed lately, about everything. I didn’t think I was going to be able to swing this, period, let alone last minute. But you know, really? So much fell into place for me, here and now. There’s been so much luck. So much grace.

So even if, like, nothing happens--even if I somehow manage to have the most boring weekend ever, which I’m SO not going to do, but whatever, even if--there’s still something, something...

An initiation? Not exactly, I don’t think. A rite? A proof? I don’t know, exactly.

A chance to apologize? Well, yes. Always more of those.

But I think of the last couple of years, and I think of the future plans I’m trying for.

And I feel, more than anything

That my divinity is loving to the point of indulgence, and understanding, and kind--

but ultimately, ultimately, if he holds out his bony hand

I still have to step up and take it.

Ten years ago, in my dreams, he asked me a question.

And only now am I finally saying:

yes.

What does saying yes look like? What will that mean? I can’t see the shape of it yet. And it honestly kind of doesn’t matter.

yes, yes, yes.

[stress-bob]

HERE WE GO

Ok. Worked out, cleaned my room, paid credit card payment, paid rent, posted my probably-wont-make-progress-but-maybe progress picture, and smoked a bowl. My body is ready.

So I was talking about what happened around the time Dea and I broke up recently with a friend, and made me think that it’s been awhile since i’ve sorted through it. Figured why not put as much as I can remember down ~a year and a half later.

Buckle up buttercup,This gonna be looooooooong.

My order of things might be a little muddled, there was a lot going on at the same time.

So let’s back up to before we actually broke up!

For about a year prior I was getting real stressed out about my job. I was in a customer service position working for her Dad actually. He owned a Diesel shop, and had a Company owner in Italy who he was buddies with. Marco (italy guy), asked him to set up a place in the US to service his customer base.

I was going to college at the time, and decided I didn’t want to pass up a really interesting opportunity. I’m mostly glad I did. Anyway, I dropped out to work full time here and ended up making some good money. Most of what I did was answer phone calls and help people solve issues (99.9% of the time they caused) . At some point we started going to trade shows, and that was super super fun. I would fly out, set up a pop up tent and the whole shebang.

I was also sent to Mexico two different times for something similar. Except this one, it was with our distributor who was huge. They took their top 100 dealers on a “land cruise” (used to be an actual one, but they do resorts now), and about 25 manufacturers would pay ~20k to fund and attend this. During 3 of the 6 days, the 100 dealers would be set up at tables or 5. Basically think of speed dating. We’d each go around and give a 30 minute pitch about our product to these guys, answer questions, etc. I believe it was 4-5 hours each of the 3 days. You’d think an introvert like me would have a hard time with that, but it was actually a BLAST.

So what was the issue with the job?

Two big things. Dea’s dad (Rip), and a co worker of mine. I worked with a buddy of mine Adam, and he was fantastic. But we had this other co worker who was an old hick from Idaho (buddy of Rip’s) who was to handle our forum and some online stuff. For most of the time I worked with him it was fine. At some point he got really nasty. We had our own forum going on, and a buddy of his helped set it up for us. There were a lot of stupid things that happened surrounding that.

So eventually he’s outright hurling insults at me basically daily on the private side of this form (for a WHILE), and Rip wouldn’t do shit about it. On top of that, Rip had his own shitshow of a shop to run on top of it, and he’s old and tired. But he wouldn’t really give us the autonomy we needed so we could prioritize and get things done with what we had. We can’t be expected to try to learn fucking SEO while answering calls, updating the website, doing sales etc etc infinity fucking etc. Too much do be done with two people, and it was all expected to be done.

Eventually I was donezos, sent him a longwinded 2000 word email about exactly what I had problems with and why i was leaving (prob still have it).

So during the culmination of my work bullshit, that’s when Dea and I’s problems are starting to come to a crossroad. To be completely fair with myself, this was a long time coming. Tbh not sure exactly how long, but it probably should have been over before this went down.

We’ve always had communication problems. I think fundamentally we just don’t understand each-other well. Sure we both could have pointed out a lot of habits and what each would have done in certain situations, things we liked. But that’s not really the type of understanding i’m talking about.

The first time I realized something might happen is when she asked me about how I felt about polyamory. It’s something I had thought about before, because other women are definitely attractive. But with how long we’d been together, I knew it would bring up a lot of really jealous feelings that wouldn’t be pretty. So when she asked, I answered pretty matter-of-factly that it wasn’t going to work for me.

Looking back she was watching a lot of shows about poly life around this time, fun tidbit.

I wouldn’t say this answer upset her necessarily....but she was clearly idk, put off? Maybe disappointed.

IIRC she eventually asked again, and my answer remained the same. I think this was what spurred the discussion of “I don’t know if this what I want”. I did know what I wanted. She didn’t. What else can I do but wait until she does figure it out? I’m not that type of person that’s going to try and influence her. I could have tried to convince her she would be happy if she stayed or some bullshit. I loved her, and if not being with me is the way it needs to be? Them’s the breaks. I was also so SO tired emotionally. I had nothing left to give at that point.

So she breaks up with me. I think I left to walk to 7-11 at this point, because I needed a break. I don’t actually remember that well. I wasn’t around her right then, regardless. Maybe we were in our room when we broke up. Anyway Not that long after she breaks up with me(5 mins, half hour?), she’s crying and didn’t want to break up.

And of course I didn’t either. That lasted about a month, and she does it for real. Now here’s where the fun stuff started!

Sometime before or shortly after this I found out my Mom has an autoimmune disease that will kill her sooner or later. It’s very possible this is what her contributed to her mom dying when I was 8. So scary stuff yeah?

I quit my job, because FUCK that noise. It was too much.

I stayed living in the same house, but different room. Big mistake. I trusted her ability to communicate too much. Not that mine was stellar (we’ll get into this).

My parents divorce. Which hey, go be happy Mom! Again, sorry Dad, them’s the breaks. Happened to me to not even a month prior. But no, they both decided to be giant shitters. I think my Mom definitely did worse things to him, and to the family. He definitely said some nasty shit too though.

My mom decides to encourage my dad to go visit some family in Ohio (maybe he was thinking about it already? he reconnected with them recently at this point). By the time he comes back, she has a “friend” staying in the house. I feel like she said he was just staying for a while. Well my dad aint dumb, and this is the guy that has been in love with my mom forever, apparently.

She lied to the family a bunch, introduced my sisters kid to Frank even though she SPECIFICALLY told her not to. Her fucking kid’s grandparents split up. Shes like 7 for fucks sake. My sister was LIVID. Like didn’t let my mom see her granddaughter for many months livid. It’s hard to get that trust back. On top of lying to my sister plenty etc etc.  I don’t even want to get into frank right now.

I also had about 9 grand saved up at this point, and decided to not work for awhile and take care of my mental state. I literally could not work anymore after the breakup, and my parents bullshit. Another side note, but a root canal decided to cost me $1500 out of pocket a few months in. Probably like $2k total with the other stuff. Great timing, life. I think I was doing a “staycation” for like, 8 months? ish?

So here I was, jobless (had $$ tho tbf), freshly broken up with, super fucking depressed, stuck in the middle of my parents bullshit when i don’t even have enough for myself (and i’m a grown ass fucking adult too)[[, and just generally lost. Really really lost.

I just remembered. Something that made me pretty angry at the time (guess what leads to resentment?). Very shortly after we broke up, Jordan (the good friend he is), decides to try and set up a guys night for me at john’s house (jordan lived with karis at this point). Of course the bros say “hell yeah!” as they are wonderful. We invite Dex too, because why not?

The time rolls around, Jordan can’t go. Dex does show up at some point. Here’s what happened: Dea was really hurt because people were all getting together to make me feel better, i guess? I don’t remember the wording but....i think she felt like nobody was being her friend in that moment I guess? It was her home alone. And for context we got together every saturday for years pretty much, so I do kinda get it. She was also actually pretty mad at Dex because he showed up. She didn’t invite ANYBODY to do anything. So Jordan had to stay with Karis to comfort her, basically.

Like dude. YOU broke up with me. I get it was also really hard for you too, but put the shoe on the other foot for a goddamned second and consider how I felt in all this. Also consider I didn’t set any of this up. Also consider that you didn’t tell anybody that you needed a friend. I did. Don’t get mad at us for this, fuck.

Here’s where the “this-is-why-i-shoulda-moved-out” happens.

Let me say this up front. I expected Dea to bring back dates. This was definitely part of the deal of still living there. I get it. And I did figure she will be comfortable finding someone sooner, given the poly thing.

She brought someone over about 2 months after we broke up, and had mentioned nothing about this.

Now how this played out, was the night before she says “Hey i’m gonna have a friend over tomorrow”. I just say ok. Didn’t really matter because I didn’t have anywhere I could just go on moments notice like that. Coupla days to figure it out woulda been nice, thanks.

Turns out, it’s a dude that been over before. He was Taylors husband (they were poly before they split) who was at our holloween party like half a year before. To top it off, I got to hear the wonderful sounds of them having sex down the hall. Fucking thanks for that. Happened twice too.

You just shut down yeah? Or maybe that’s just me. How am I supposed to feel 2 months after breaking up a 9 year, third of my fucking life relationship, and within 2 months you’re banging a dude while i’m like 2 rooms over AND CAN HEAR YOU. And a dude that’s been over before for the cherry. FUCK man. I still get a little animated about that one.

Those were the big things. A great way to wrap up the whole burrito though? Dex and I were both given 1 months notice to leave from Rip. MY understanding of the local law was that 2 months is required if you’ve been month to month for more than 1 year (6 years...). He didn’t care, or knew I wouldn’t lawyer up. Whatever. The last and final fuck you was the day I went to get the rest of my shit. BEFORE the time on the notice, the locks were changed. Here I am, at 8 in the morning with a U haul we rented, and we can’t get in the house to get my stuff. What. The. Flying. Fuck.

I sure as shit wasn’t going to talk to Dea at ALL at this point, so I called him and he came down. And he sat there the entire time waiting for us and doing bills. Jesus fuck dude. Like, you think i’m gonna murder your daughter or something ffs?

I think I got most of it. I’ve got some stuff with my current living situation, but it’s really peanuts compared to everything else. I‘m also like, idk fairly happy right now too in general so. I’ve grown a lot, and that gives me some comfort.