#so when i actively deny myself that outlet it just...sucks

[permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88]

So, how does one maintain their joy of talking about fanfic plots/OCs with others, without going overboard, becoming unhinged, and unleashing a constant stream of consciousness about said plots/OCs that seemingly never has an end in sight, thus overwhelming the recipient of these discussions, even if they're too kind to state that they're overwhelmed outright?

Alternatively, how does one stop internalizing that they are, and always have been 'too much', 'annoying', and 'over the top', and actively silencing themselves/making themselves smaller, based on perceived moments where the recipient of the above conversations isn't responding as excitedly as they usually do, and thus must be tired of/annoyed by one's constant rambles?

Asking for a friend (it's me, I'm friend).

[curious-glitch]

Advice Porn, Doomscrolling, and Achieving Greatness

I just read the Paul Graham mega-essay on 'How to Do Great Work'

It was brilliant as always. My key takeaway - follow your curiosity and act earnestly, and everything else will fall into place. It also largely validates my long-held ideas to lean into what makes me weird while being intellectually honest with myself.

My bigger meta takeaway is that I get too hung up on the comfort of advice porn. It feels good to read something that validates my beliefs on how the world works and how to achieve success. Today it's Paul Graham, yesterday it was Kevin Kelly. The other day it was Tim Ferriss. They all say the right things, and they all gel with my world view, and I feel great after hearing them. But how does that translate to what I do?

This brings me to the other gem from the essay that struck me:

"Just as we overestimate what we can do in a day and underestimate what we can do over several years, we overestimate the damage done by procrastinating for a day and underestimate the damage done by procrastinating for several years."

I'm definitely guilty of this. I keep putting off stuff that I wanted to do from years ago. I read my notes from 8, 9, 10 years ago, and my aspirations are still largely the same - establish a writing outlet, do master's, work in a tech company, start a business... I'm lucky to have a good idea of what I want to do, so why not do it? This is especially striking when I see people like the environmental science guy, or the Data Machines lady, or even my artist friend Miggy, who 8 years ago was struggling in the same office as me, and now dominating the art scene as Distort Monsters. These are mostly my peers and they have gone so far and achieved so much. I won't deny that there's a hint of envy for what they have achieved, but it's also inspiring, and it makes me want to get started with my own projects, especially the creative ones.

But this is where discipline has to come in.

The doomscrolling death spiral still torments me as the ultimate productivity leech. I spend hours and hours swiping down the Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter newsfeeds. It makes me feel bad about not accomplishing things, which makes me want to scroll through the feeds again as a temporary salve. I can feel my attention span and focus getting dangerously short. Whenever I steel myself for a focused activity, I keep getting tempted. I've tried to purge these apps from my phone (and that helps quite a lot!) but I keep going back to them. Plus there are other sources of distraction that sap my attention, like Youtube and NFTs. It almost makes playing games and watching shows (who others may consider pure time sucks) as productive because I at least complete something while focusing on an activity. So I have to keep reminding myself - boulders > rocks > pebbles > sand

Having said all these, I believe that I'm getting better with acting on my dreams. I follow an okay cadence of writing once a day, walking over 12K steps everyday, hearing mass once a week, completing one book a month, and publishing one post per month as well. I'm doing alright with my teaching job and relationships. I am eating less, sleeping a bit better, and working out more. My biggest hack to get to these goals is a simple one: listening to audiobooks and podcasts while walking and working out, while taking in the view and the air and the sunlight, while taking occasional notes along the way. It's a four-birds-one-stone activity that relaxes me and enlivens me while also making me feel like I'm cheating time.

Where I have to improve is the follow-through. Another hack that works well for me here is to use good 'ol pen and paper as a way to organize my thoughts and connect the dots. Then I have to do a much better job to convert these raw notes into longer-form writings that I could use, share, and publish. I have to put more of myself out into the world. I need to keep reorienting my focus outward rather than inward. Yes, I should still create for myself, but with the motivation of benefiting others (like having an idea click so I could share them more convincingly) rather than out of vanity. I should keep imbibing the value of consistency, to direct my tendency for inertia in a positive direction - as a way to build momentum rather than a reason to be static.

[yet-another-saberface]

Fate/ & My Anxiety

Okay, so, I kinda had a rough day today, but that rough day really made me want to write this. I’d been thinking about it for a bit, but now I’m sure that this is something I should put out there, because I’m sure at least someone out there has had a similar experience. And if I write this correctly, it should be an interesting read anyways. (Post now updated with a cut & pretty gifs and things! I tried to keep the gifs more positive to offset some of the more serious parts of what I’m discussing.) So uh... Enjoy I guess? It’s kinda what it says on the tin.

Warning for serious mentions of anxiety and stuff. But I try to keep it lighter than it could be. For anyone else that might have some anxiety problems like me, it might help you to read this, because it’s really just a discussion of some themes I’ve taken away from the series that really helped me with my own anxiety. But whether you read it or not you should probably take a sec to breathe, that never hurts.

So. I’m going to be upfront about this. I have anxiety. Not just a normal amount of stress, but actual, diagnosed anxiety. I am not medicated, but at the moment that’s mostly because my doctors think that trying medication during this whole pandemic situation wouldn’t actually let them know if it would help me in the long term. I’ve been living with anxiety for pretty much my entire life, but I just thought everyone was stressed out, and that life sucked, and that I was bad at dealing with it. But that wasn’t the case.

But one thing is going to ring true for me regardless of what the state of my anxiety is, be it in the moment or over the course of my life. And that’s that like most things, media helped me with it before I even realized what it was. As I sit around in quarantine and try to manage my fluctuating stress levels, I’ve found myself drifting back to the Fate Series, and FGO, after taking a break from them for few months, arguably even the past year.

At this point, it’s been around 3 years, maybe even 4, since I originally discovered Fate. And I’m not going to lie, I didn’t get the best possible first impression, because I started with the Deen anime from 2005. I’d seen Saber before, had no idea who she was other than some chic I vaguely looked like with a good character design and a sword, and saw her on the cover of an anime. So I watched it. I had no idea what the hell was going on, and was trying to piece everything together as I watched, but I watched to the end. And I liked it. It definitely wasn’t my favorite show. But when I heard that it was “the bad one,” and that there was more, I gladly went to go watch it.

And that might not make sense at first, but I’m emitting a huge detail. I was, and still am, a huge mythology nerd. As I was watching the original Stay Night anime, I was fascinated by the portrayals of these characters that, technically, I already knew. And I was really into the idea that there was more of that.

So later that year, I watched Fate/Zero. And I’m gonna be honest, I was too young to really appreciate everything it had to offer, and I’m planning on going back to it soon, but I loved every second of that show. When I got the chance, I binged through it, and it was heavy stuff, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from it.

And after that, I started looking up what else there was. I watched Carnival Phantasm in maybe 2 days tops and adored it. I procrastinate on watching a lot of stuff, because I found myself having less and less time to myself, but that same summer I watched Zero, I also started playing FGO. I started the game for the characters I already knew. I stayed because I found a story I was genuinely invested in on its own, and a community that was really fun to observe, if not be an active part of. I still remember sitting down on a day when I had nothing to do and finishing Okeanos all in one go. Or laying down after a long day at school and doing the same to a ReRun event. It was a great stress outlet, and I was invested.

But the more I look back on all of that, I start to see details that explain even better why I was so invested. I don’t have a single favorite Fate character, but I will admit that I adore Saber. She’s what drew me in, my friends who know Fate apparently think I look like her, and we all know the Excalibur scene from Zero looks like it should be in an actual movie.

I won’t claim to be a character expert, despite being a writer. I didn’t write Saber, let alone any other Fate character. But the more I think about her, the more I start to realize that yeah, I understand a lot of what she’s gone through. Do I know what it’s like to be a King and run a country and what that entails? No obviously not. But I do know what it’s like to feel that you have a duty to everyone around you to not screw things up. I understand how someone could feel extremely guilty when they do eventually screw things up. There’s a lot of ways to look at any character, but I realize now that from the beginning that that specific idea was the lens through which I understood Saber.

And it holds true for most other characters. With Shirou, did I understand losing your parental figure or an undying desire to be a hero? Not really. But I did understand the fact that he felt like he wasn’t good enough, and that he gained value by putting himself on the line for others. I may not have risked my life for another person, but I’ve definitely put myself through mental stress enough to induce multiple panic attacks a day for other people.

And now we get to the part of this... I don’t want to call it an essay. The part of this post. Where I talk about Gil.

Am I aware that in most (early) depictions of him in Fate, he’s a horrible dick of a person who deserves no respect? Yes, I am.

But I also know that when I think about some of the less horrible aspects of him as a character now, there’s stuff in there I should take away that is good. I just went on an whole rant about how I can understand low self esteem and self sacrifice and crushing responsibility and the pressure to not screw it all up. And these days, I can’t stop thinking about how Saber admitted to a lot of that and (this is obviously a gross oversimplification but you should get by now that this is personal and specific) the response from Gil and Rider was “It sounds like you aren’t living life as happily as you could and are setting a bad example of how to live life for those that look up to you.” And that idea keeps coming back to me in every moment when I’m having an anxiety attack, or cram studying even though I know I’m ready, or finishing something due two weeks from now tonight because I won’t have to do it later. And it only hits me harder because I know I’m not a King or anything lofty like that, but I am a labeled “gifted student” and a support person for many of my friends and a designated “responsible one” and all of these other things. And yet I’m preaching for them to do as I say not as I do when it comes to enjoying life and taking care of yourself.

I don’t know if I fully internalized that message when I first watched that scene. But I must have in some capacity because it still haunts me now, reminding me that maybe I shouldn’t be giving into all of this stress. And I’m trying, I really am, to keep that in mind as I fight against all of it and try to keep things under control.

And then there’s Babylonia. When I really get down to it, I have a pretty strong emotional connection to this part of FGO. I joined the game pretty late, roughly right after Camelot’s release, so I had a lot of catching up to do. But I caught up, and I got to experience this story that I’d heard was one of the best in the game as it came out. If I wanted to I could say a LOT more about Babylonia, and maybe I will in the future. 

But I’m not going to deny that CasGil has been a pretty prominent presence in my mind ever since when it comes to stress and responsibility. (Heck I could probably talk about just him specifically for at least a good 5th of what I have so say about Babylonia. Maybe I will someday.) I mean, it’s kind of his thing, you see the fandom joke about it all the time how he’s the Gil that doesn’t sleep because he just keeps on working and working and working. And that’s why there was this one moment when I was watching the Babylonia anime that now stands out to me. When Gil goes with the player out to the observatory, he just leaves. He doesn’t bother apologizing to anyone or explaining his actions, he just goes. And we know, as basically an outsider, that this is him taking a break. He needed a break and so he just took a break without any clarifications or explanations or apologies. Sure he might justify it to the player has needing to do some other work out there, but that actually makes it hit harder for me. Because he’s justifying his breaks as more work.

I used to be lucky enough to have a clear cut line between what was my time and what was other people’s time (that I was giving them out of my time) and what time belonged to school/work. And now all of that has been thrown out the window and I’ve been having to teach myself how to do what I just described.

Take a goddamn break without having to tell everyone else how sorry I am for taking a day to actually rest and breathe and all those other important things. And yet I still have to justify those breaks to myself as time to take care of other things. 90% of the time, those breaks aren’t breaks to me, they’re time to work on my novel instead of my essay, or something like that.

And then I glance down at my phone and I’m hit with most of what I just wrote flooding into my head. And I try to tell myself that no, it’s okay to just take a break. And that I should be allowing myself to enjoy being alive instead of being a slave to expectations and responsibilities. And that as a person I know other people look up to I should be setting a better example of how to take care of yourself. And sometimes it works. Other times there’s more things at play and it doesn’t get through to me the same way, but it’s something that works. All of the hours I’ve spent with those character remind me that what I’m doing isn’t okay on a pretty regular basis at this point. And I’m really glad for that. And I hope that all of this stuff will continue to help me as it’s helping me right now.

At least I know that when I feel like I’m freaking out, I can open FGO and play through a quest and I’ll usually feel better. So I’m just gonna keep trying, keep managing, until I find a place where it’s finally all okay again, as much as it can be.

(P.S: More reasons that CasGil is my grailing target right now? Yeah that’s true but these reasons are deeper than “I got a Merlin look at that” or “Grailing Jalter is useful.” He’s a character that’s genuinely important to me and I think that finally investing in him is going to be really satisfying for me.)

[aleapoffaithfiction]

XI.

"I know you think I'm crazy. Maybe that's because I am. About life, about this moment, about you." ― Crystal Woods

“Fine as hell. She fine as hell. Hungry as hell, but fine as hell nonetheless.” I nearly choked as I dropped the po’ boy back onto the plate in front of me and stuck up my finger for both Odell and his iPhone camera to see. The crispy shrimp were flavored and fried to perfection, and Chef Pierre certainly didn’t hold back from piling them into the buttered toasted French roll. With the shrimp is shredded and lightly cooked crunchy cabbage, sliced tomatoes, and a drizzled remoulade sauce that nearly made me melt onto the floor.

It’s not even noon yet and I’m already eating a heavy ass lunch. Actually, I’ve been overindulging ever since we arrived here last night and have no intention on stopping until we’re back in the northeast. My stomach has morphed into a bottomless pit that is willing and ready to withhold any dish offered and the man who brought me here seems to want to do nothing more than leave me with a swiftly gained ten pounds lingering around my waistline and thighs.

“Now if I go home looking pregnant, don’t try to deny me because I’m absolutely going to blame it on you.” For breakfast, we indulged on freshly made beignets drenched in powdered sugar. While I had coffee, he settled for hot chocolate and we sat outdoors in the midst of the cool Baton Rouge air on a plush deep beige sectional on the back patio of the four-bedroom, six-bathroom contemporary highland home we’re residing in for the next two days.

With only our teeth brushed, we lazy lounged around in our nightclothes with nothing on our feet. Rather than the television being on, we used one another as sources of information and I was able to understand why Baton Rouge and New Orleans made and raised him. Though he spent some time living in both Georgia and Texas, Louisiana is home. He’s a 504 boy to the core.

“How they say that shit? Something about cushion for the pushing.” The silly little smirk dancing along his flawless lips was enough to make me launch my plastic fork in his direction. His mouth knows no boundaries sometimes.

“More cushion for the pushing? That?”

“Yeah, that baby. No complaints over here. I told you that you have to get the complete NOLA experience and food is a major part of that. I know you’ve been down here once before, but I know you ain’t eat like this.” I didn’t. Celeste’s selective eating limited everyone’s opportunity to explore the different spices and textures of New Orleans’ famous dishes and I mentally complained about it the entire time. The morning I wandered off to find coffee and breakfast while in the midst of a brutal hangover was the first and only time that I was able to have a dish that I felt was worth the trip and the irony in that is, it’s the same morning that I saw him.

“You’re still recording? I look crazy when I eat. Turn it off.” Like the professional athlete that he is, he was able to dodge my attempt to grab his phone out of his hands and he jogged to the opposite side of the cool grey marbled kitchen island. Its width kept him out of my reach.

“You fine though.”

“Turn it off.”

“Tell me I’m your favorite person ever first.”

“Get out of here.” I don’t have on make-up; not even a smidge of concealer. I know my eyes look like they’re shot to hell. I’m absolutely going to pay him back for this.

“Say it.”

“You’re my favorite person ever.”

“And that I’m the best boyfriend ever.” Boyfriend?

“Beckham.”

“Say it.”

“You’re my boyfriend?”

“I’d like to think so, but you tell me. Am I your boyfriend?”

Suddenly the delectable sandwich in front of me no longer mattered and neither did the fact that his camera was still creating a memory of my every reaction and response to his words.

I’ve been single for four years. Two years ago, I found myself in a silent embarrassment over the reality of it. I’m certainly within the years of my life where I’m supposed to be actively either anticipating or seeking out some sort of companionship and yet, I found a comfort zone in keeping that particular slate as clean as possible. Sure, my lower region suffered in a cry for pleasure that went beyond anything that I could do on my own, but there was a peace of mind that I clung to and could no longer sacrifice after Shamel begrudgingly sucked the life out of me.

I needed a decent amount of time to evaluate the failures of and within that relationship and to mentally regroup. The emotional turmoil took me to a dark place and men were not something I viewed in a positive light, so how could I ever accept one into my life? If anything, any man interested would have become a passionate punching bag; paying for the mistakes of the man prior to him.

Some months back, I don’t want to say that I gave up hope because I wasn’t hoping for anything in particular, but everything about being with someone felt completely irrelevant to the place that I’m at in my life. I closed the gap that I once had to nurture that particular type of connection while being in the midst of the height of my professional career. Despite the pressure from family, the distasteful questions about a husband and children I get when interviewed by other media outlets, and the ignorant talk about my fertility clock ticking away along with my childbearing years, none of it seemed to matter.

I found solace in the comfort of my home and couldn’t bear the thought of anything or anyone coming in to deliberately invade that space with their own desires, requirements, and opinions that I need to appease all for the sake of having them. I built a bubble around myself for self-preservation outside of my Edgewater personal space and like a vicious tornado, a Louisiana bred freak of nature athlete came blitzing into my life and overran every bubble, wall, and defense mechanism I spent a ridiculous amount of time perfectly creating. Like Ernes Kanter, I became a defensive liability to my damn self and I haven’t been able to block anything he’s ardently done or sent my way.

If anything, I’ve clung to every rush of excitement and the moments filled with wonder about just how much he’d impress me next. I’ve cherished feeling like a young school girl in Brooklyn blushing from across the room at the most mindless act my crush would do all for the sake of garnering the attention of others. I’ve found myself enthralled in a new world that interestingly intertwines with mine in a numinous beauty that I’ve never experienced before. It’s the first time I’ve ever undeniably wanted someone; flaws and all.

The unknown will always be fearsome but nothing amazing ever comes without either believing in what could possibly be a major failure or taking a risk that you’ve never taken before.

“I’d like to think so.” His naturally arched eyebrows arose in an elated surprise at the response he’d been given and he leaned his upper frame over the counter in a draw to be closer to me.

“So, say it.”

“You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

Our smirks were in unison as he leaned his torso over the island top in anticipation for me to do the same. He’d finally obliged me and stop recording, but not before getting my response about him being the best ever. Our lips softly met, sealing the deal we’d made in order for me to get what I wanted but most of all, because I’d given him what he wanted twice over. I nearly became unbalanced at the sudden rush of shudders fluttering through my frame in a raging response to him. To kiss him is to be inebriated in a manner that no man-made drug is capable of achieving. It’s a trip that I can’t get enough of and want to be stoned by endlessly.

“Now if Larenz Tate comes and tries to scoop me up, I might have to say things differently.” And with that he sucked his teeth.

“Man, forget you and your shrimpy ass breath.”

“As if your breath doesn’t smell the same way.”

“Come on and finish eating that. We’re going out.”

“In the daylight?” As my backside met the seat once again, both of his adorably almond shaped eyes lowered in confusion at the question. We’ve never gone anywhere in the daylight. Actually, we’ve never been anywhere together in the first place. It’s not realistic. Our nighttime meet ups at either his place or my place already come with risks that neither one of us are ready to explain if we’re caught beyond the few people on his end who do know that we spend time together. It’s not even a we factor; it’s all me. The consequences would be beyond anything he or I could explain.

“You trust me, right?”

“I do trust you.”

“Then you trust that I’ll protect you and that I do have your best interests in my mind and heart. So yeah, we’re going out in the daylight. I got us.”

“O, what are we doing?” It’s a question filled with so many wonders about who we are for one another and where we’re going with all of this. I’m not even ready to comprehend what we’ve done by adding titles into this mix.

“It won’t always be this way baby. Finish up. I’m going to get our jackets and your bag from upstairs.”

When I was left alone, I had one last bite of the sandwich and discarded the rest. If I eat another bite, the top button on my jeans will eventually pop off due to the pressure of my outlandishly full belly. I’m not eating another bite today. Nothing. If do have anything, it’ll be a salad for dinner. Maybe some fruit too, or yogurt. I don’t know. It’ll be something healthy. I’m not about to allow him to walk around flourishing with his washboard abs while I can barely contain a lower belly pudge. I’ve already slacked off with my gym attendance, so I at least need to be disciplined about what I’m putting in my mouth.

“This bag?” The black Alexander Wang bag he held up is one I’ve had for a while and it’s the one I take with me whenever I’m traveling everywhere. It has this versatility to be able to serve as a bag that I can randomly throw everything into and carry with me wherever, but it’s stylish enough to throw on for a nice afternoon outing with friends…or rather my man, this particular time.

“Yes, that one.” Although it’s in the lower seventies and certainly a comfortable enough temperature for me to be able to be outdoors with just this long-sleeved Thrasher shirt, he insisted on me wearing my leather jacket because the temperature’s going to drop at some point this evening. Even if it does, it’ll never feel like the freezing temperatures we deal with up North.

“Where are we going anyway?”

“The French Quarter.”

“Are we seeing someone there?” He’s spoken about more than enough people that he’s either related to or good friends with for there to be a reunion of more than fifty people back at the house if he made a couple of phone calls. Like most people do when they return home, I’m sure he’s going to want to make his rounds to show some love to those that he knows. If not everyone, then his parents and siblings. Maybe they’ll be at the game tonight.

“You’ll see. I think you’re going to like this.”

He offered nothing else as we slid into the backseat of the awaiting vehicle.

Our arrival into the crown jewel of New Orleans didn’t go without the driver taking the scenic route and allowing me to marvel at the sights of the historic neighborhood. There’s something so chic about the vintage and antique restaurants and stores being perfectly blended in with the modernized boutiques. Everything about it is like a timeless portrait that you cannot stop analyzing.

The vibe is so unique and rich with culture. It’s almost unbelievable that people are actually from here. Just from looking around, it feels like a place that you’re only supposed to travel to and unreservedly experience so that you’ll have marvelous stories to go back home and tell your folks. It’s fitting for the handsomeness alongside me to be from here. Its vibrancy is everything that he is.

“What is this place?”

“Preservation Hall. We’re actually about three blocks away from the Mississippi River.” On the outside, the building blends in to the point of nearly being unremarkable. If I were randomly walking along the streets alone, I surely would have bypassed it without a thought or concern.

“Wow. This place is super old-fashioned.” Its interior is tatty and weathered but in a manner that makes it look like something out of a timepiece style of film. I’d say maybe as far back as the late 1700s or maybe the early eighteen. The portraits of musicians donning the walls and the instruments resting alongside the chairs on the opposite of the room is a dead giveaway of this being somewhere performances are put on.

“This place is legendary. It used to be a private residence in 1750 and then it turned into a tavern, an inn, a photography studio, and I think an art gallery as well. The doors were closed for a while after that and they reopened it in 1961 to serve as a sanctuary to preserve New Orleans jazz because the popularity of it pretty much died out when modernized jazz and rock and roll took over. So, this place is a safe haven where musicians and people gather to celebrate and remember the old New Orleans.”

I find it interesting that there’s no bar. I like the idea of people being completely sober while getting lost into the beauty of the music or maybe they all pile in after having gotten drunk elsewhere and spend their time cutting up on the tattered floors. There are only cushions on the floor and benches for people to sit on. I don’t even think there’s a bathroom. This little hole in a wall sanctuary is the embodiment of an intimate setting.

“What time do the doors open? What time does people usually come?”

“No one’s coming. I told you I got us.” He withdrew my jacket from my shoulders as older men began to trickle out of a backroom and make their way to their desire positions before us. “I told you I wanted you to experience the goodness of my home.”

“Odell, thanks for dropping by and bringing your little lady with you.”

“Aye, you know it ain’t nothing Charlie. Thanks for having us.”

“You know I’m Saints pride till the end, but I still root for you because you’re home grown pride. Get back strong, son.” He nodded in respect to the elderly man and saluted him for the post injury encouragement.

“Appreciate it. I’m working on it, sir.”

“Little lady, he told us to give you the soul of the city and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. You just sit back and enjoy. It’d be even nicer if you danced too.”

“I’m excited.” And I am.

The perks of my career have allowed to me walk along backstage areas to take in the intimate moments of some of the world’s most famous musicians and I’ve either stood in their designated V.I.P areas or in the sound booths to take in small or grand scale productions. I’ve witnessed some come ups too. I was in attendance at Drake’s first performance at New York’s famous S.O.B.s as he was buzzing on the heels of his So Far Gone mixtape.

I was there seven years ago to hear J. Cole perform cuts off of The Warm Up for his first ever performance. Friday Night Lights released November of the same year. I’ve seen Hov more times than I can count. The Watch the Throne Tour is still one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. Rihanna. Beyoncé. Celine Dion. Mary J. Blige. Outkast. There are too many to name. Last year, I saw and rocked out to the Bad Boy Reunion Tour twice and yet absolutely none of the performances I’ve seen over the years were quite like this.

The raw authenticity of the music filling the space felt like the jazz radiated right out of the depths of their bones as they played it with grit and pride. What started out as the shimmying of my shoulders and my hand slapping into my thigh, turned into me standing up on my heel clad feet and freely dancing around the room with my arms loosely swinging in the air to the medley of the trumpet while my hips grooved with the bass drum. My lover left the current dance crazes outside and instead opted to take ahold of my hips to be just as uninhibited as I felt, as he twirled me around and laughed at the dizziness, we danced ourselves into.

If the hall had been filled with patrons, it wouldn’t have mattered. I could only bask in him and the captivating aura radiating from his striking frame. My own roared in a yearning for him to do things to my body that no other man has ever done before. My inner thighs tingled in a call for his fingers to graze them. My seeping center throbbed in a plea to be filled with the company of him. The electrifying turned sensual jazz told the narrative of my body and I can only hope he’ll analyze and immerse himself inside of my story soon enough.

“After that, you gotta eat some crawfish.”

“If you feed me one more time….” We worked up enough of a sweat to need the air conditioning turned on the coolest setting in the SUV. Though I danced off the breakfast and early lunch we had, I don’t need anything else right now.

“You’re definitely eating some tomorrow. You’re not getting out of that.”

“Those things are ugly.”

“So are shrimp and fish, but you eat it.”

“No, crawfish are uglier.”

“Uglier than shrimp with the heads on them? You lying your ass off. Now those shits are ugly. We’re going to have a boil right outside by the pool tomorrow. It’s already in the works. You gon’ love it, watch.” I readjusted the Off-White cap I randomly picked up from the numerous accessories he had laying on the dresser and rolled my eyes.

“I’ll try one.”

“And then you’ll try another and another and next thing you know, you’ll be sitting right beside me going in. I’m not even worried about it.” And he isn’t. He’s been assured in me loving the renowned NOLA boil since he first spoke about it a while back.

“Is this Newman?”

“Yeah, baby.” I don’t know if it’s just me, but his accent seemed to instantly thicken as soon as we’ve stepped off of the plane and it’s been an oxymoron of pleasuring torture ever since. “Baby” seems to be sticking as my pet name, but it’s the manner in which he says it that melts every part of me.

Once the vehicle came to a halt, we were out within minutes and making our way to the football field that birthed what would be the beginning of his legendary football legacy in Louisiana. In the research I did on him prior to the rant, I learned of just how well he had done for himself here. He was a three-year starter and was awarded the titles of All-District, All-Metro, and All-State twice. In 2010, he was named District Offensive MVP, AA State Offensive MVP, and was both the offensive and team MVP for the Newman football team. He also played in the All-American Bowl in January of the following year at the invitation of the United States Army. His college recruitment had been over a two-year campaign and he had full ride scholarship offers from twenty different colleges. Miami and LSU were his top choices and we’re all well aware of the home pride choice that he made when it was all said and done.

“The alma mater of both you and Eli.”

“Yeah, his brothers too. They all wore the number eighteen. Cooper’s kids are students here now.”

As his eyes panned around the field, I observed him quietly reliving the nostalgia of his time here. The entire coaching staff has raved about him every chance they’ve been given to do so. It’s always a comical time whenever the Giants play the Saints because as much as people want the Saints to take the victory, they’re just as excited and looking forward to seeing him get out there and put on one hell of a performance.

“Nelson Stewart said that you were the most hardworking and explosive player that he’s ever coached. He called you the popular guy because people loved t0 be around you and also said that your energy rubbed off on your teammates.”

“Coach Stewart is one of my favorite people in general. He’s always been a stand-up guy and still looks out for me till this day. He’s sometimes a voice a reason for me whenever I’ve had an off game or a poor judgement call in sideline behavior.”

“It’s one thing that he said that was interesting to me and now that I’ve gotten to know you, I understand it so much more and know it to be true. He said that you don’t like the spotlight.” He doesn’t. All he has is a passion for winning. He’s not the guy that feels like the game winning play needs to run through him. He’s not watching the stats and obsessed with making sure his outshines anyone else in the league.

He’s not the guy who arrogantly talks down on teammates and opponents during press conferences or post-game interviews. He’d rather just win with his team while being allowed to be himself in the midst of it. It’s easier said than done, though. None of that stops him from being viewed as the most polarizing player in the NFL.

“I don’t. I just want to win. That’s why I play. I play for the love of it and to win championships. The additional accolades are cool, but I’m not really chasing any of that. I don’t need a bunch of ESPYs or MVP awards. If they think I deserve them then that’s fine, but I’m focused on nothing more than earning those Vince Lombardi trophies.”

“Can I ask you something? I don’t want you to think I’m turning on my journalist cap or anything like that, though.” He lightly snickered and used his large palm to grip my thigh in encouragement to proceed. As we sat in the bleachers, a custodian walked along the field tending to the grass. His age was a clear sign that he didn’t care too much about who either of us are or what we’re doing here.

“You can ask me anything.”

“Is that something you miss about your days here? The lack of a spotlight?”

“For sure. When you’re entering the draft, there this surreal excitement about the possibility to go pro. You don’t think about or care about everything that it entails before you get there. The goal is just to get there. Now that I’m there, I know now more than ever how much of a business it is. Sometimes it feels like it’s more about the business side of things than the sport itself. That can be frustrating. Then there’s the media and you know that I don’t have the best relationship with that side, no matter how much I try to keep my composure when I’m asked antagonizing questions or having the past thrown in my face even if the moment doesn’t call for it. It’s why I view you and a few others as a breath of fresh air. You don’t do that.”

“Journalism and the media itself have shifted due to the internet. Clickbait now holds a major importance in the way that the information gets out there. I hate it, believe me. Going viral is a thing now. The internet rehashes shit, daily. Social media journalism is the worst of the worst because nine times out of ten, it’s bullshit and it circulates faster than the truth does. I just try to put myself into the shoes of others and I know that I wouldn’t want to be misunderstood or deliberately have my genuine emotions ignored all for the sake of entertaining others. Regardless of the perks and millions that comes with being a professional athlete; you all are human beings. I think a lot of people look at the luxuries of your lives and have this unfair viewpoint that you don’t deserved to be humanized.”

“I think so too. It’s super crazy to hear people say things like I’m entitled or how they have the right to rip me to shreds because they’re season ticket holders or some shit. I don’t want to sound ungrateful because I’m not. My family is well taken care of because of the fans. I get to utilize what I was born to do because of them. I have to give them some credit for you coming into my life as well. So, I’m grateful, thankful, humbled. All of that. I just want to feel a bit more carefree again.”

“I get it. That’s fair and deserved.”

“You always get it. That’s why everyone in the sports world loves you. They gon’ have to fall back though.” His facial expression is what sparked my laughter. It was quite playful but his tone was not. Though it flatters me that I’m beloved amongst those that I report on day after day, I don’t take anything beyond professional talk seriously. The flirting doesn’t mean much of anything to me because men will be men. Luckily, nothing has been said or done that falls along the lines of sexual harassment. God willing, it’ll remain that way.

“Let me ask you this though. Did you start running through girls here or at LSU?” It was his turn to laugh and he did so with the typical male reaction when they’re getting ready to lie or downplay their behavior; with widen eyes and his head jerked back.

“Running through girls? I never ran through girls.”

“My mental lie detector test is going nuts right now.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I really didn’t run through girls like you think I did.”

“Pretty boy athlete? Yeah fucking right.”

“Pretty boy? Oh, so you think I’m cute?” The silly little smirk on his gorgeous face prompted me to roll my eyes.

“Don’t switch the subject.”

“I really wasn’t bad as you think I was. I had fun but it wasn’t that much fun. I didn’t want too much of that distracting me from my long-term goals.”

“Oh, so you waited until you were in the NFL to do it?”

“What? No.” Why do people laugh when they lie? At this point, I can’t even refrain some laughing.

“Yeah, okay. I will say, you do stay pretty lowkey with your shit. You’re not as caught out there like a lot of the other ones.”

“I’m not that bad. I promise I’m not. I guess I can see why it would seem like I am, but I wouldn’t really say that I’ve been out here tossing myself around heavily. I haven’t committed myself to anyone in quite some time though, so that’s left the window open for flings and some meaningless sex from time to time, but there is no crazy number for me to tell or brag about.”

“What if I want to know the number?”

“I’d tell you. You want to know?” Yet again, his hand squeezed my thigh and he followed with a caress to soothe what didn’t cause me any discomfort in the first place.

“No.” His past is his past. What is knowing that number supposed to do for me at this point? What is it supposed to mean?

“It’s been a minute for me in that particular area, though. I’m talking about maybe since late spring.” Late spring? Okay, I definitely wasn’t expecting to hear that.  

“It’s been a minute for me too.”

“How long of a minute if you don’t mind me asking?” And this is where the embarrassment comes in. I usually do my best to avoid admitting this because it turns an unnecessarily amount of attention on me and then comes the snide and sometimes condescending pity that I don’t need.

“It’s been four years since I’ve been with a man in any type of way; romantically and sexually.” Silence took over. When his eyes washed over me, there was no pity within them but rather an innocent curiosity. He wasn’t sure if he should proceed or not.

“Did he hurt you badly?”

“I don’t really look at it as hurt. I didn’t love him enough for that. I wanted to though and I tried to. More than anything, he tried to break me down from the inside out and there were parts of me that fed into it. Then there was the resistant side of me that fought back and it turned the time that I was with him into pure exhaustion mentally and even physically. He was draining.” If anything, I’ve gotten spoiled with how normal things have been within my home. I regretted when I allowed him to move in with me just two days later and that feeling never left. My posh little apartment turned into my personal hell. I dreaded being and sleeping there.

“When did you decide to leave?”

“All of our fights were verbal, but they were vicious. I knew at some point they were going to become physical and that I needed to get out there. He never really had a possessive and obsessive state of mind for the most part. We broke up to make up plenty of times. There just came a point when I was like fuck this, I’m over this shit and I’m never looking back. I know this is going to sound so doormat like, but I hoped that he was cheating on me. I had my suspicions that he was anyway but I never really went seeking. I wanted him to have fallen for someone else, so he wouldn’t give a shit about me telling him it’s over and putting his ass out of my apartment. He didn’t leave without a fight but he left. There were those few calls for forgiveness but he eventually stopped.” And I changed the locks, so that he couldn’t pop up on me since I never asked for my keys back.

“How did you two meet?”

“Through Celeste. I needed a new physical trainer and she raved about him. She had been working out at the gym he owns for quite some time and she swore up and down he was the perfect guy for me. To appease her, I didn’t resist her matchmaking bullshit.” And I should have because every guy she tries to send my way usually has something about him that doesn’t mesh well with my personality. Her desperation to be able to take the credit for having found my life partner is so damn maddening.

“So, did you make the choice not to date or no one caught your interest?”

“A bit of both. Initially, I need a break from it. After that break, it was a whatever type of thing. As you said, no one drew my interest. So, it just became me and Bob.”

“Who is Bob?” His frown of confusion caused me to raw in laughter. “You don’t have any pets.”

I do have pets. Eris and Mowgli are my babies. He just doesn’t know it yet.

“Bob is in my nightstand draw. It’s all black and has five different vibrating settings on it.”

That’s something that I only share when I’ve had a few drinks in me and my initiate life is in the middle of the floor for discussion. I don’t know where I found the comfort to blurt that out to him so comfortably but now that I have, not only is it hilarious but it’s nice to know how comfortable I’ve become with him. In the midst of what we’re building together despite any hesitance I’ve had, he’s genuinely my homie just as much.

“That’s interesting.” His eyes were still widened and his mouth was still slightly agape at the revelation. I know married women who still partake in self pleasure, so he’s not even about to burst my bubble over me making sure I’m handling the urges I do have.

“Uhm.” With another squeeze of my thigh, he normalized his face and stood to his feet. As his hand met the back of his neck, our eyes met and we instantly laughed at the flustered facial expression he wore. I didn’t intend to evoke that out of him, but it’s hilarious to see it.

“We have to get back to change for the game.”

“Change? What’s wrong with what I have on?”

“You’re not decked out in LSU colors, that’s what’s wrong.”

“Oh gosh. I am an NYU Violet. No Tigers gear for me.”

“An NYU what? NYU isn’t known for shit other than academics.”

“Excuse me? I’ll have you know that our fencing team is division one and has won thirty national championships.”

That may have been the funniest statement I’ve ever said to him. He laughed the entire walk back to the car and just about halfway back to the house. He even took it upon himself to make matters worse by Googling my alma mater’s sports history and rubbing in my face just how terrible all but the men’s cross country and women’s golf team is. Both our women’s and men’s fencing teams haven’t won titles since the seventies. What was I thinking bringing that up?

Because his laughter is so loveable, I even embarrassingly mentioned how I once considered joining the fencing team even though I didn’t have a lick of experience. That revelation was what brought the tears to his eyes. I’m pretty damn athletic. Well, I used to be. I would have picked up the basics quite easily. Mastered it? Now, I don’t know about that.

There was no way I’d be able to be along the sidelines with him nor would I be able to discreetly sit among the thousands of spectators celebrating their state team, so he set it up for me to enjoy the game in a Tiger Den Suite. I mentally prepared myself to be alone in here, but that wasn’t the case when I stepped inside. Instead, I was left to enjoy the company of mother and his three siblings.

The same Air Force 1 collaboration he gifted to the entire team, were donning all of our feet and his as well; well one of them. In the pictures that we took before he left out to go and stir up the crowd with his presence, we looked like a corny high school couple who deliberately matched our attire so that people would know we were together. While the photos will be nothing we can ever share, they’ll serve as nice keepsakes to be able to look back on at some point down the line.

In being here with his family, it’s a small reminder of the things that I’ve missed from my own. The manner in which Heather supports her children’s every endeavor is commendable. He no longer plays for this team and yet she’s still here dressed in their colors with his name running across the top of her back in pride for the legacy her oldest child left out there on the team’s home field. I’m willing to bet no matter what profession he chose for his life; she’d be just as prideful about it.

I’m not sure what my mother wants from me. I can’t even begin to pinpoint what I can do to make her proud and I’ve grown tired of trying to figure out what it could be beyond allowing her to control my decisions. She’s expressed that I should already know that she’s proud and if she weren’t, I’d surely hear it about it. I’d like her actions to match that. Whether she’s interested in what I like or not, it’s about the sacrifice for the sake of showing your children that they’re supported. If I’m blessed with kids, I intend to do that to the fullest extent.

“You and my brother are cute.”

“Huh?” I nearly choked on the half and half iced tea and lemonade I’ve been drinking. My eyes shifted over in Jasmyne’s direction. Though Sonny isn’t biologically her brother, it doesn’t stop her from treating him as if he is. He’s been on her lap the entire time we’ve been here.

“You two are cute.”

“Are we?” I asked such a dumbass question because I truly don’t know what to say. Do I confirm it? Do I deny him and downplay it all? How can I?

“Yeah. I can’t believe you like him. You’re so cool and my brother is not. Mom and I still don’t know how he pulled it off.” Our giggles were low and yet infectious. Her words were spoken like a true younger sibling. Both she and Kordell have no issue with teasing him and purposefully ganging up on him together. At some point, they’re going to teach Sonny, who views O as the best thing since sliced bread, to do the same thing.

“You two are hilarious.”

“If only I can tell my friends that he’s taken. I’d love to see the disappointment on their faces but most of all, it’ll make them stop talking about him. It’s so annoying.”

“Jazzy, you can’t…”

“I know, I know.” She cut me off. “I wouldn’t do that. He already spoke to me about it. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. I don’t tell his business.” And here he and I are, putting people into positions to keep the secrecy of our connection secure. They’ll have to watch what they do and say in front of others for the sake of protecting something that they’re not technically apart of. It’s not fair when you really take a step back and think about it.

“He spoke to you?”

“Yeah, to all of us. He just said that you guys want to be private.” He made it sound so simple.

“But you know that you can reach out to me at any time for anything, right?”

“I can?” In an instant, her eyes lit up.

“Of course. Call or text me whenever.”

“Will do.”

Though I wasn’t alongside him, I could see and even feel the joy radiating from Beckham’s body as he engaged the crowd from the sidelines of the field. He hails Death Valley as the greatest place he’s ever played the game of football in and it shows tonight. Even with the medical boot on his foot, he’s been in and out of the crowd, dancing along to the sound of the band and taking selfies in different sections filled with students. He’d even gotten the band to perform a song and chant that’s been banned from all collegiate sporting events as his mother explained it. I’m sure whatever disciplinary actions or fine that are to follow due to his request will be properly paid for. It’s the least he can do. 

“So, what did you think?”

The city became ours. Inside of a blacked-out BMW with a playlist filled with songs R&B songs that were birthed in the nineties, we cruised the streets of the now simmered down city after a victorious win in Tiger Stadium.

“I see what you mean when you mention the energy being unmatched. There’s something different about it. I’m not sure what it is, but I get it.”

“I feel like the energy in Death Valley still surpasses any Saints game at the Superdome.”

“You’re biased.”

“So, what.”

“I’m not knocking it country boy. You can be biased.”

“Country boy? Oh, you got jokes Brooklyn girl? Or should I call you B? Son?”

“I love your accent though, it’s super cute.” He sucked his teeth at my teasing.

“You sounding super tough like Remy Ma is cute too.”

“First of all, Remy’s from Castle Hill. That’s in the Bronx. I’m from Brooklyn. Get that shit right, don’t be disrespectful.”

“See? Aggressive.”

“Shut up!” We both were amused. I don’t know why people think New Yorkers sound aggressive. It’s not even that. We don’t have time for the bullshit and our tones will let you know. That’s all.

“What’s this, your get laid playlist?” Ginuwine’s “Stingy” had been playing for a little under a minute and I’ve been fighting all of my urges to sing along to it. If I were in my car, I would have been having my own karaoke session going on.

“Nah. I usually have on trap music to get me amped up before the games but after them, I’ll throw on things that are more mellow. So, this is my chilling out playlist. Why? You don’t like it?”

“I love it.”

As soon as he brought the car to a full stop at a red light, he removed his seatbelt and leaned over to intertwine our lips. His addicting taste ignited the rage of fluttering that awakens within my core any time a part of him touches me. The grip his hand held on my inner thigh only further pre-worsened whatever salacious dream that I am sure to have when I close my eyes tonight or rather, this morning.

“Don’t start nothing you can’t finish.” My warning sounded foolish. If anything, I should be telling myself that.

“I’ll make you throw that Bob shit out. Try me.” His minty breath slithered up my nose as his lips wrapped around my bottom one. The seat of my panties dampened in an instant.

Shit.

[abimckeag-blog]

In Detail, part one

now that I’ve identified the bulk of the experiences I’ve had throughout my life, I feel it’s only fair to explain how I’ve delt with them and what caused them to begin with.

I can’t always identify the roots of my issues, but I can normally come pretty close to knowing what triggered any self destructive behavior or negative mindset.

In this post I want to discuss my struggle with suicidal thoughts.

I know this is a topic that doesn’t get discussed as freely and often as it should.

according to an article written in May of 2017, over 9 million people in America alone consider killing themselves every year.

and to me, that number seems small.

I know several people who have also struggled with thoughts of suicide and unfortunately I knew several people who lost their battles.

I hope that if you are struggling right now you can draw inspiration from my story to seek out help, you should never have to deal with this alone.

before I continue I’m going to leave the number to the suicide hotline here, in case anyone can’t remember the name of that one Logic song, and because it’s a great outlet right at your fingertips, please take advantage of it if you feel the need.

1-800-273-8255, there’s an online chat option if you feel like a phone call would be uncomfortable, remember it’s anonymous, and NO ONE is ever going to judge you for taking care of yourself.

now onto my story.

until I was, around 9 I had no idea what suicide was, I didn’t realize that was an option.

I had a fairly standard childhood, I don’t remember that much to be honest.

I know my parents loved me and my siblings, but I also know they weren’t around much.

both of my parents worked full time and on call as anesthesiologists at the hospital in North Platte and we had a nanny to watch us during the day.

the bulk of my childhood memories revolve around time spent with babysitters and nannies and being forced to go to piano lessons and volleyball practice and dance lessons and the typical childhood stuff.

when I was young I didn’t want to partake in a lot of the stuff my parents signed me up for which I think is normal for young kids, I really wish I could go back in time and tell my younger self to suck it up and accept the blessings they were giving me.

but as a little 7 year old being forced to play soccer when all I wanted to do was build forts in my backyard, I couldn’t see how privileged I was to be given these opportunities.

to me, it seemed like the only time I saw my parents was when they were taking me to and from these things and even then my nanny took me to the bulk of the activities, so you’d think I’d enjoy going out and playing sports cause I got to see my parents, but that wasn’t the case.

I wanted to quit them so that we’d have time to stay at home and play hide and seek and just normal kid stuff.

as a little kid though you have no way of conveying that’s what you’re thinking, instead, all you can do is throw a fit and come off as a total brat.

so growing up with your parents not around is kind of rough and I think that really set me up for some not so great life experiences.

I never learned how to communicate with my parents, I never talked with them about important things like religion, boys, puberty, etc.

they sure tried to talk to me about it, but I never reciprocated that connection, I thought if I kept all my issues to myself then I’d seem stronger and more put together.

now all this detail about my childhood, which honestly was a great childhood, I am truly blessed, I know there are so many people out there with stories so so so much worse than mine, anyways, this just explains how I never learned to communicate or find a healthy outlet for my emotions because I only wanted to talk to my parents about all the cool stuff I did that day and not serious issues.

suicide had never crossed my mind until I was probably 11 or 12, I was a really early bloomer and my hormones basically turned me into a tyrant.

I was constantly mad at everything and I found that rebelling against my parents was going to be my new outlet.

I died my hair, I smeared black eyeliner on, I bought black lipstick, I wore all black clothes (still do, but it’s fashion), I listened to loud, angry music, I painted my nails black, I quit going to church, or when I did I was mad about it, I turned into the stereotype you’re already probably picturing.

but the thing is, I wasn’t just changing my outward appearance and physical state, my mental state was deteriorating.

it takes so much energy to be mad all the time and it was exhausting me.

I felt terrible about myself, I turned to starving myself and cutting myself and then eventually binge eating hoping it would somehow make me feel better.

I had a voice in the back of my head telling me it would all go away if I just ended it.

on several occasions I remember raiding our medicine cabinet hoping to find something I knew I could overdose on.

I remember holding a handful of ibuprofen up to my mouth hoping that if I swallowed it I would just disappear, but God was watching me.

he’d been with me this whole time no matter how many times I denied him.

something told me it wouldn’t be worth it, I told myself it wouldn’t work, I’d just end up getting my stomach pumped, and then everything would be worse afterwards.

I didn’t do it.

moving to a new town certainly saved my life in some aspects, for those that don’t know, I moved right before my eighth grade year, I transferred from a lutheran school to a public middle school.

it was quite the shock, it definitely was beneficial but also detrimental for my mental health.

I continued to struggle with the thoughts of suicide all throughout high school.

my junior year of high school was when everything peaked.

I’d made a dumb mistake that summer before without thinking about the consequences.

I lost a lot of friends and those that were once my friends were now the closest thing to bullies I’d ever experienced.

it made me sick to wake up in the morning knowing I’d have to go to school and see them everyday.

the things that were said to me were unbelievably cruel.

I remember driving around late at night just debating if I should drive my car into a light pole or a ditch, I remember considering driving head on into the oncoming traffic on many occasions.

but everytime I almost made the worst decision of my life, God intervened.

now I have never been an extremely religious person, I was raised in the church, my mom has always been on the worship team wherever we were, and my father is an extremely spiritual man, but it never translated to me until this summer.

so during this whole time, I never once sat down and prayed and asked God for advice, yet he somehow still got me through everything.

eventually, junior year ended, and there I was.

still standing.

I met a boy and I fell in love and we were together for my entire senior year, and then in late December, my self esteem dropped.

my mental health was beginning to deteriorate and thoughts of suicide rushed through my brain.

I tried to explain to him what was happening to me, but I couldn’t find the right words and he had issues going on in his life he needed to cope with, and eventually after struggling with thoughts of killing myself for 5 months, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I had a full mental breakdown in May and after months of living in a broken relationship, torn apart by my inability to love myself, we ended things.

it destroyed me for a few weeks, but I invested myself so heavily in my job and I changed gyms and started hanging out with friends whenever I could, I just sort of ignored it.

it was when nobody was around and I was home doing nothing that feelings of immense depression overtook me.

I struggled with the worst season of binge eating I’ve ever experienced this summer.

I wouldn’t get out of bed until 1pm on a good day, I’d stay out till 5am, and then repeat the cycle.

then I had my awakening, God was still watching me, he was hoping I’d find him on my own, but that wasn’t the case.

he sent one of my best friends to save me.

I spilled out everything, every bad thought, every raw emotion I’d been holding inside, and I felt free.

they told me about God’s grace and mercy and his never ending forgiveness.

they said “if God can forgive you, why can’t you forgive yourself?”.

I started to look in the mirror and instead of hating the person I’d become, I started appreciating myself for overcoming what I’ve been through.

instead of hating my body, I appreciated it for all the amazing things it’s capable of.

instead of living in regret for past decisions, I let them go.

I stopped dwelling.

but here I am today, laying on my bedroom floor, and I’ll admit that yesterday I wasn’t happy with myself, and the day before that, and the day before that, and even right now I know I’m not 100% content with myself.

and that’s okay.

I still struggle with thoughts of suicide, I have been for 7 years.

I will never be perfect.

I may never stop having dark thoughts, but I will never give in.

I know I have a purpose, I know I have worth, I know I am not useless.

and neither are you.

none of us are.

we are all beautifully and wonderfully made and God loves us so much, it’s completely unfathomable.

if you are struggling today and you need someone to talk, feel free to talk to me, I am here for anyone, but before you talk to me,

I want you to pray.

ask for guidance, ask for forgiveness, and know that you are loved, no matter how far you think you stray from the Lord, he is always right there beside you, just waiting for you to call on him.

now I know there’s a lot I didn’t cover in this, even though it’s very long, but I will continue posting these, hence why this is only part one.

each one discussing different issues I have dealt with and I’m sure some of you are experiencing.

I really hope this helped you, even if it didn’t, I hope you can understand for just a second that God loves you, he always has, and always will.

[knifekris]

and hey, you know what, maybe disliking the epilogue is my own fault. because my goal with any of my own stories or characters has always been to end on a hopeful note, or on the path to something better, or in the process of reaching a happier state. im not going to deny that shit sucks as an adult, and im not gonna deny that depression sucks and gritty themes can be a cathartic way to explore your own feelings from a different lense.

but i really dont get the fucking Point. i dont understand why youd be satisfied reading a story where shit sucks and thats it and its OVER. ive always used stories as an outlet to find hope for myself and homestuck has Been one of those stories, and for it to be so downtrodden and awful and hopeless and for people to enjoy that just appalls me. i dont understand why you would make the active decision to live without hope.

and fiction exists for people to do what they want with and there are no rules, i understand that, but i couldnt ever be HAPPY with this sort of ending. not when it takes back the growth of important characters or straightup destroys the concepts i thought were important to certain characters. i dont get it.

i understand but i dont GET it.

what im seeing is people saying that the epilogue is meant for older people who can relate to that kind of suffering and i.. man. what the fuck?

there had to have been other ways to explore these themes without taking these characters and completely fucking them over, both in characterization and just in general. i wouldve genuinely preferred getting nothing in place of this. hell, give me an announcement date for hiveswap 2 and ill repress this horseshit instantly.

i understand that happy endings dont always happen but. jesus fucking christ. it all felt so needlessly awful. what was the fucking point.

[silentstardb]

I Miss Running

So why don’t you go and run, you ask? Easy enough to fix, right?

On one hand, you’re correct, of course. All I have to do is throw on some sneakers, step outside, and take a jog down the street. Boom! I’m running. Heck, it’s finally getting cooler now; running outside should be easy. And what’s more, I work at the YMCA. Literally, what’s my excuse?

Well, time, for one. Part of the reason I took on two part time jobs - one in the early morning, one in the afternoon - was so I could have a big block of time in the day to work on my graduate classes for my MLIS. I take two classes, and both are reading intensive, so it’s not always easy to wall off a chunk of time to go running even on the rare occasions when I can get ahead on my class work (and those are very rare).

Another is - and I really, really hate to admit this - motivation.

I still haven’t found my drive to run again the way I used to. Used to be, I’d pack an extra t-shirt, shorts and/or sweats and take them to work with me just so I wouldn’t miss a workout. Or you’d find me at the Y on a Friday of all evenings running the indoor track. And yeah, I trained for 2 marathons, not to mention 5 half marathons. That commitment speaks for itself.

But the thing is, I wanted to run then. I felt like my day wasn’t complete if I didn’t run. If I didn’t get that physical outlet, relieve my stress, feel the sun on my face, the pounding of the pavement, the wind at my back, I’d feel like something was missing. The most exciting feeling would come over me at the thought of putting together a new playlist for my long runs, or pretending to race against people on the indoor Y track. They didn’t know it, of course.

So what happened? Depression happened. It took away my desire to run, my desire to do anything that required effort. It began to seem like a chore to me. No longer an activity I wanted to do, but one I did out of obligation, nothing more. And that will only sustain a person for so long.

I haven’t run a race since April of this year, and that was only because I had my kids in Strides Club to motivate me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have run that 5K either. In fact, I remember leaving that race feeling somewhat ashamed that I didn’t do better. I used to eat 5Ks for breakfast. This time, I felt winded halfway through the second mile. I knew why, or course; my conditioning had slipped, and I hadn’t sufficiently trained enough to feel comfortable on the course. But it wasn’t a good feeling.

I vowed to get back into running last month as fall was around the corner. I may live in the South, but I’m my happiest in the cool weather. You might even say I draw energy from the cold. For a week or two, I found times to run. How was it? It felt ... good. I had moments where I felt like I used to. Where I could get into a flow and just let my legs go on autopilot and enjoy the activity.

That was four weeks ago. I haven’t run since.

And I guess what hits me the most is that it doesn’t bother me. Well, I take that back. It bothers me, but not nearly as much as I’d think it would. I have these moments where I’m like “It’s a great day out. Why not throw on your favorite running shirt and shoes and get a nice run in and feel good?” And then I’ll be like “I just don’t have it. I don’t...I can’t...” And then the drive will be gone, and I’ll be off doing something else instead. Maybe classwork, or household chores (not the worst decisions I could make, of course) but something other than running.

On one hand, I know I’m denying my body a chance to heal itself with this physical outlet I used to love so much. But knowing isn’t the same as doing. It’s one thing if my brain knows what’s best for me. It’s another to communicate it to the rest of my body when it feels like I don’t trust myself half the time.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this is another way that depression really, really sucks. I hate feeling as if I’m whining about not having the drive to run, which feels small in the grand scheme of things. But I hate it. It feels like a part of me is numb inside, and I can’t wake it up. At least not yet.

This is just something I’ll have to keep working on. I hope that I’ll find the drive to run again, and maybe sustain it.

UPDATE: I made it to the Y this evening and jogged with my sweet wife. So that’s a step. No pun intended.