I’ll never be able to move on as long as the air between us still lingers with the possibility of a future. I’ll never be able to look for a new happiness if there’s even a chance it might be standing right in front of me.
I know this probably goes without saying but Alec and Magnus as individuals are so fascinating and complex. Each with such well-rounded, real struggles and stories. They are both so strong in different ways and vulnerable in others. It would take me far too long to name all of their unique qualities that make them the amazing, fleshed out characters that they are, mostly in part thanks to the insightful performances of Matt and Harry. But the depth that they have seriously blows me away. Alone, they are some of the most interesting, flawed, intriguing characters I’ve ever seen. And the fact that they are in love with each other and compliment each other and help fill in each other’s missing pieces in this sweet, chaotic, inexplicable RIGHT-ness is so incredible and we are so lucky to have these characters in our lives.
To my friends, the ones still here, my new ones, my old ones.
Life is fucking unfair. That’s the way it is. It sucks.
For me, it’s a matter of picking up your pieces and carrying on, forced smile or not.s o many others are in the same position as I am. It’s unfair.
I deserve to be here.
What happened to me is not who I am.
I had a talk with my on-call therapist, calling her happy as I was, because she asked me to.
I was up, up up up. Soaring. Smiling, dancing. Talking in ALL CAPS because being excited is exciting.
I had to wait until 8am
She asked me
And really thought about it. We laughed.
And I think the simplest answer to give is that I was comfortable, but she told me that I was comfortable behind covered windows and silent nights too.
So I thought about it some more.
“I feel accepted”, I said. “Validated”. Real.
And for my trauma to make me feel, not feel, cry, scream, kick and puke. Isn’t that unfair?
That a father, someone sworn by blood to care, reduces you to a work of fiction? Of pity?
But I care, I said. I don’t care. I want to change. I want it gone. I want me to rise, to feel, to laugh.
I want to smell hot chocolate and not get the urge to run.
And I cried. I cursed her for taking my happy away.
“But you are real” she said. “And you are healing.”
I told her life is unfair. And she told me, she was silent, but after she told me:
“Yes it is”
And it is.
It fucking is. And I curse mental illness. I curse the long road of recovery, I curse all the nights howling because I can’t speak, I curse hyperventilating, I curse confusion, I curse alcohol, I curse running until your legs give out, I curse food, meat, sleepingpills.
I curse wanting to understand, I curse privilege, I curse all the things I can’t help. I curse sadness, I curse loud noises. I curse it! I curse it all! How it sits and festers inside of you! I curse it! I curse looking at yourself in the mirror and wanting to rip your skin off. I curse alternate universes, I curse screaming at your phone, I curse the feeling of loneliness, of being disgusting, of being unreal. Of the never enough.
I don’t want to be the victim anymore. I dont want to curse, i dont want this anger. I want to heal.