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♡ lifeline
November 2, 2022 • 17.10

She asks if I want any advice. She's been reading about how people with ADHD manage the condition in their morning rituals. I hate how ADHD is now regularly used by people whose identities don't extend beyond that initial stupid point. ADHD is like their fursona. Nothing behind its vacant dead eyes.

Last night's sadness stretches into today, and last night it turned out to be stretching out this whole time, from all the prior months. It manifests as a slight all-day nausea and unsettledness. Today I keep thinking about how opaque different parts of her life look now, how she shares it with other people and not me. I feel uncomfortable about talking at all because I am not myself. I tell her maybe later, if I ever feel like myself again, which probably just sounds like eye-rolling melodrama to someone who gets to hear it. And I don't feel comfortable enough anymore to tell her when it feels this way. I don't feel like it matters. I feel like I've already pushed her past her patience and short of a blade to my wrists nothing about these persistent discomforts is going to warrant an in-depth amount of response or compassion. I am not someone she expresses love for. I'm outside.

She talks about how she doesnt think she'll live that long, which I hope is not true. I hope she lives long enough for me to be myself again. I don't want to ruin our friendship through my sadness.

I find myself frowning all the time. In the shower, outside, I hope my smile doesn't just change into the shape of a frown.

I am not myself. When I'm myself, I talk and I'm consistently perving. I'm not like that now, which means the darkness is in everything. It means my responses are just there to keep some potentially temporary emotions from completely cratering our friendship When I'm a verbose pervert, the darkness is outside the door. That's life at its best. But after the darkness pressed against the door for long enough, spilling through the keyhole and the once-bright slivers, it would knock the door down, breaking everything, splintering things that shouldn't splinter, and crawling into me, making me, and she somehow dragged me out of what I thought was everything, out of the darkness that looked like it was coming from my own eyes.

She could do that. She could reassemble the things that no one should have been able to fix.
She was my lifeline.
Dairyland