This is the letter I would write, if letter writing were still an option.

Dear ex-otter,

Tonight, as an assignment for one of my social work classes, I went to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. It was incredible. The people there were warm and welcoming. They gave hugs, not handshakes, and everyone wanted to make sure I was ok. When they asked how I was, they wanted a real answer. People spoke openly and honestly. There was an emphasis on acceptance without guilt; taking one day at a time; responsibility; allowing life to happen.
Ex-otter. It made me miss you so much.
And AJ, I thought so often of AJ. I wondered how he would have been at such a meeting. I imagined you accompanying him for support. I could see you standing up and talking and directing attention to yourself like you always did. And AJ left in your shadow. The little brother.
You have no idea what it's like to be the youngest just as I have no idea what it's like to be the oldest. We could have learned so much more from each other. Our relationship wasn't over when you ended it; when AJ died.

What if AJ had gone to and stuck with such a program? Would he have OD'd that night? Would he be dead now? Would you still have left me? What if, ex-otter, what if?
The warmth. The love. The acceptance. The self-reflection. The responsibility. The spirituality. Could this have changed all of our lives?

You were in my dream last night. You and two of our mutual acquaintances, as well as a girl named Sara (no 'h') took a road trip to the Grand Canyon. Or Mt Rushmore. I saw pictures of you sleeping in the back seat of a car, and at first I seethed because I thought deafgirl was with you. I felt much better when I realized she wasn't. Later I saw you, and your hair was bad. So bad. It was about an inch on top, then you had a bluntly cut mullet in the back. I mocked you incessantly and frequently mentioned how bad your hair was. You didn't really care. I think this is how it would have been in real life too. You didn't hear anything that wasn't what you believed. When you did allow something to flit past, you got angry.

Ex-otter, I don't know how to describe this feeling I have. I don't want you, but I want so badly to let you know about this experience. I want you to go to an NA meeting. Once an addict, always an addict. I tried to tell you that. I don't think you ever really heard. Drug use is suicide, whether you're conscious of it or not.
Oh, and I need someone so badly right now but all I have is me. I don't really miss you anymore. But at the same time I do.
I wish we could talk about AJ. I wish I could talk to you about how angry I get whenever I have to shelve a book about deaf culture or deaf people. I wish I could talk to you about anything at all. There is still this confusion in my chest. I am still waiting for someone to touch it how you could. Still waiting for a new scar to love.

I don't think you think of me often. I think you've buried me and it's gonna be a long time until I re-surface. I think you will regret how all this happened; but you can always plead temporary insanity. Death can do that, right?
There is still some great loss within me. Sometimes crying can fill it up a little; loosen the strings. I miss feeling like my life could continue with no problem because I would always have someone there beside me. I am so lonely. And scared. The winter is coming. A month 'til it'll be a year since he died. Two months 'til it'll be a year since you left me. What am I gonna do? Will it be a celebration? Will I hear from you?

I want to say I don't know what to do, but that's become such a lie. Such a phrase uttered in times of sadness. I know what to do. It's take one day at a time, and if I can't make that, then just get through five minutes. That's what they said tonight at NA.

Look, I hope you're doing ok. But honestly? I don't think you are. I can still feel you, even though we're so separate now. I believe in my intuition. It's going to be a long time before you can move on; provided you ever do. I hope you realize that when you're ready to do so, you can reach out to me. You have such potential, ex-otter. I wish we could have seen it through. Those times can never come back and yeah; we won't be together again.
And can we ever help each other? Only if you apologize. Only if you open your eyes.

Goodbye.
Love,

scuffy

what is me

We talk, the Librarian and I.
I spent the entirety of my break talking to him about economic collapse and the backlash in society. Why can't we continue this conversation? Why can't someone near me talk to me like this? Why did the last Beard have to have good conversations with me, then drop me like I was lead weighing down his escape?
"Maybe I'm undateable." "No, I don't think that's it. You're just unique and it's going to take a while to find someone because you don't want to settle." It's true. I want what I want, nothing less. This is what wears me down. This is what keeps me bound to my past. Trying to figure out what has happened to me that now makes me unappealing to others. Wondering why it was that in the past I could be loved. I was less stable then. Do people want insanity? Do people want the habits I've tried so hard to unlearn? They said they didn't at the time, but the more I work towards the goal of "ME" the less it seems people want it.
And I wonder why it matters anyway.
Be alone.
Be wonderful.
Just don't be anything but yourself.

and then there were 100.

I want something complicated. I want to work for the love and work for things to happen. I want beauty and passion and mutual adoration. I want to let my defenses down and revel in the openness of someone in my arms. I want initiation. I want full disclosure. I want the boy I thought I was gonna have, right until he said he just wants friends. I want everything he is, but in someone who is going to want me too.
And this is where I am right now. An hour crying, sobbing, pulling out my U-lock cuz some guys in a car threatened me .. crying crying and what the fuck is the point?
I can't deal with this. I can't deal with the games people expect me to play so they'll pay attention to me. I can't pretend I'm not interested so someone will be interested in me. I need to kill my hope and expectations. Otherwise I'll only ever be hurt.
I .. ugh.

my melancholy

"I don't think you feel about me the way I feel about you."
"I'm sorry."
That awkward laugh; the one that means he feels uncomfortable. The one to fill the dead space between a confession and a lack of response.
Not lacking. Just none possible.

I said, "I don't want to have hope. I don't mean that in a negative way. I just have to accept that I'm not going to find anyone in Providence. I'll find someone eventually. Just not now." I want to strangle my hope. "I am not good at single." I want to embrace my solitude.

When did being in a relationship stop being something that just happened to me and instead became a goal? When did this become something that I wanted?
How long will this continue? When can I just accept that I am single, that it is fine, that a relationship is not that important?

I never understood all those women that complained about being alone; about wanting a man; about "finding the one." There was never any point of reference for me. But I know from previous experience that it's when you stop looking that love rears it's confusing head. I don't know how to turn this off.

Why can't I leave myself alone?

you don't know what this is

I use your name as a way to pass the time. I spend hours drawing lines to please you. But you don't know that you are just an excuse because I cannot create art for myself. I find trinkets and put them in an envelope to send to you. You don't respond. I don't care.
You are another way for me to fill my days. I dedicate all creative energy to you. You are the light and I am the moth and this glass that separates us is the reality of the situation.
We are not together.
This doesn't bother me. I don't think you realize that. You don't want me to love you, but there is no alternative. How could I not love your honesty? How could I not want you? Because I do. I want you. But I am content with the part I have, because it's something. It does not keep me from living my life. It just gives me a thought to linger on.
This does not destroy or chip away. You will love someone else. This does not hurt me. Nothing about you does. But please, don't think I'll go away just because you're busy. Don't think you mean that little to me.
Live your life, but allow me on the periphery. Live your life and let it be enriched by me. Live your life without the fear you are cultivating but not expressing.

Please sing to me.
I may be hopeless, but I still have hope for us.

"Us" as platonic because we both know that's all either of us are capable of right now.
Just let yourself go.

curious indeed

I think that, for the first time in a very long time, I am not romantically interested in anyone.
Not even wizard.

No one at all.

t/walking

We walked around the damp patches of concrete, looking alternately at our feet and each other. She told me of the secret acts the boy she liked used perform. Things like paint obscure things outside her place of employment; things only the two of them would understand. His band played a song that mentioned something they once discussed. For years they played these secret games, but in person would never admit to each other what was going on.
What is that like? I say that I want someone who would surprise me, who would show their love in tiny ways. It seems so romantic to have these secrets that are never mentioned in person. She says she wouldn't do it like that again. She says that if an opportunity like that arose again, she would take it.
Where is the room for romance and mystery when you're pushing 30? Are these the settle-down, get-your-life-in-gear days? My roommate feels lonely because her friends are all paired off, getting married, having kids. Where does that leave us, the late 20-somethings? This is a position I never thought I'd be in. Being in a relationship was never a need or a worry of mine. I finally understand what all the lamenting has been about. I told her, "none of my friends are that way." She said, "maybe I need to expand my social circle."
She is friends with "normal" people. I have always only had outcast friends; those people that are awesome but just can't quite fit into what the rest of our culture likes. Either that or they're like me and don't WANT to fit in. To me, at this point and time, fitting in would be giving up. I wouldn't really know where to start anyway.
Grow my hair out, I guess.
There are all these things a person can do to gain acceptance. When I dressed like a boy, had weird hair, was strictly vegan and was dating a man (as opposed to a woman, which was expected and would have granted me access to the queer community), I didn't fit in anywhere. When I was married, that gave me a pass into that little sect of society. When I started eating more freegan style, that allowed me to connect a little more to different people because suddenly we could share pastries. When I started dressing more feminine, people started treating me differently as well. I'm divorced now. I still identify more with veganism than with anything else, but I am not vegan. I identify as queer but I wear skirts. I'm bi but I mostly date men (women are frightening for me to approach). My hair is the only thing that I've kept the same by continuing to change it constantly. What will I do when I need a job as a social worker? The ultimate sell-out?

It's bad enough that one of my goals in life is to find a partner and get married. That is the opposite of where I used to be. I was once very much opposed to the idea of me getting married. Now I long to find a partner and settle in with them. Not settle down, because I'm not ready yet to pick one place and stay. I want someone to share the rest of my life with me. I want someone to grow with, to see change, to love and be loved by. These are things I have always taken for granted. It is good that I am single. I know this. This is a time of great personal growth for me. I know this as well.
Let's be honest. I miss the attention. I miss being adored, loved, doted on. I miss having someone that I know will be there for me. I need someone solid. I need someone to help ground me, to call me out, to pick me up, to be vulnerable, to be open, to share their honesty. I don't think this person can possibly exist. But the older I get, the greater the chance gets. It would be very rare for a 20 year old to exhibit those traits. But a 30 year old? Maybe.

Trying to come to terms with and accept that I might be single for the rest of my life. And I must become truly ok with this idea.
Otherwise, I will never get anywhere. Not with myself. Not with anyone.

Oh, self-righteousness. How I loathe you.

There's a poster in this room that, when I just catch a glimpse of it, reminds me of one of my mother's wedding pictures. She is standing by a window in her simple white dress, her long hair wavy and covered by a sheer white veil. She is looking at the window, so distant. I think she is holding flowers, but I can't remember. My mom and dad got married when she was 20. She had my brother at 21. She was so young. In my eyes, my parents have always been adults. Would I have been friends with my mother? What was she like? I have seen pictures, and we looked so similar as teenagers. What happens next?
That was a different life for her. We used to have drawers full of photographs. I would look at them, and I always loved that picture. It's so serene, but full of longing.
My parents split up nearly ten years ago, but they still hold grudges. I probably would too. Sometimes there are hurts so deep that it's impossible to forgive them. Both my parents found new partners better suited to each of them. Should I look on this as a hopeful thing? To go through 20 years of an unwelcome marriage just so I can painfully divorce the father of my children and finally find someone right for me?
Time is such a fucking asshole.

a state of being

april 12, 2001:
"I am intact, just broken in ways I can't repair alone. but no one can bear me long enough to help. I can't even let them get close. when I do they just look and touch the wound, then leave me to hurt more.
and I let them, because at least for a little while I was being touched. I could almost believe it would last, though inside it never does. it just falls away and I am left with only me and more self-induced scars."

How long can I lament before I can accept that this is who I am.

to live it?

I was standing in the window, tears streaming down my cheeks, Lucero playing. That's how he found me when he came into my room for the last time. That's how he found me when he broke my heart.
Days passed into months. I have not succumbed to this sadness, but it has poisoned me. My inside self, whatever it may be called, can never return to the health it once boasted. Like when I lost my innocence all those years ago. Had my idealism stripped away. I have lost the illusion the world once presented to me. I play by the rules but I have my own secret game, too. I have my own secret game and it's so rare than anyone else understands it.
I love you. I know you don't want to know it, or hear it, but I do. There are connections that some people create that stick barbs in our hearts like harpoons. These things take time to extract and sometimes the gaping hole just never closes. The scar tissue is flawed and nothing ever works in the same way again. The body adapts, but we remember how it used to feel. We remember when love was something to be cherished, not something that we put our hearts on pause for.
I told my therapist that I felt like my sorrow was part of my life. I have spent so much time focusing on other people. I said, "I don't have anyone to focus on now," and she replied, "what about yourself?" I don't know how. I mean, isn't my focus on myself what drives people away? "You feel so deeply," steel had told me. Wizard agrees. I feel everything. Everything matters. Everything is sacred, and I don't know what to do with this overwhelming flood.
It was always a person, then an event, and both, and more. There has been my suicide attempt that I've never forgiven (ten year anniversary). There has been my ex-husband, and what happened with us. Dru's death and ex-otter's changes. Without these things, who am I? "Focus on yourself." Don't you see, that's what I want to get away from?
I don't want to be this person. It has never worked for me. Why can't I be someone else; someone that isn't anxious, that isn't alone all the time, that doesn't spend so much time in self-reflection? Why can't I be what I am not? To slip under the covers of conformity sounds more and more like bliss. I've struggled against the status quo for my entire life. I have never wanted to be what everyone else is. I have always fought to be my own person. But I'm so tired now. And this way of life hasn't really worked for me. I'm 28, I'm young, but I feel so old. I have no one to love me and take care of me. If I miss my medication, I go crazy, and when I start it again I go crazy readjusting. I don't want this life. I don't want this brain or this body or these memories.
These are the times I do want to die. I'm not going to kill myself. But I want to. I know this feeling will pass, that I just have to ride it out. Honestly, I just want to lay down somewhere and cry until I pass out. Lay in a park in the sweet grass and be ignored by the people walking by. There's something in me that I lost a long time ago. There's something in me that took its place. It doesn't fit very well. Like me. I don't fit anywhere.

Looking for my puzzle piece. Listening to Lucero, and sad songs. By the window, no tears. Still remember the feeling even if I can't remember the exact song. Still remember his voice and his arms and my collapse. I wonder if he felt my heart crack. I wonder if he felt me slump.
Ten months, ten years. This must mean something.
But there isn't always meaning behind everything. That is such a hard lesson to learn. What if there is nothing behind all this pain? What if this really is all just random? What if chance is how life works? What if we're not really connected, what goes around does not come around, and the dues never get paid? What if all that I have done is worthless? What if it's all for nothing?
To turn off these thoughts, to fit in a place, to have a circle of friends, to have someone that loves me, to have someone to nurture, to believe steadfastly in something: things people take for granted. I can't be lost, because I've never been found.
This is the theme of my life.
The meaning of life? There is none.

I can't wait to feel something again.

"just because I couldn't say doesn't make me a liar"

There have been ... disappointments lately. This is nothing new. What is surprising is that I was expecting different.
I do not mean this in a self-defeatist way. Why would things be different, though, if my behavior has not changed? I swore off casual sex in words, but my actions have shown a different truth.
I can't escape from these easy emotions. I can't escape from the rush of desire and feeling hands against my skin. I can't give up these dreams on the path of least resistance. I have a great soreness just beneath my sternum and I do not know how to heal it.
Listen to songs that make my heart blossom, only to find there's nothing within the bud. I still have this emptiness. It's been with me for most of my life. I remember what it was to need to hold someone so closely that it made my bones crack. I remember needing, needing, needing to be pressed against someone tightly. It wasn't a want. It was a desperate desire that could not be set aside.
I feel that now, yet there's no one anywhere to fit into the curves of my torso. There are no arms to grip me; no clavicle to catch my tears. Basin spilling out my joy and sorrow.
Listening to heartfelt songs, so that I feel this way again.
Listening to the words I do not write; that are not written for me.

I want a romantic. I want someone to pick up my poetry and art and envelope themselves in it, so I can see my muse as reality. I want someone to cry on my chest. Someone who will look at me and be unable to look away. I want someone to be my refuge. I want to shelter them.
These people do not exist.

If you had these words for me, it's wrong you held them back.
If you had these feelings, why didn't you share them?
I don't know who I am either, but I'm so close to it. I don't know who you are but I'm willing to learn.
My life got stuck almost a year ago. I have been moving in fits and bursts. What if someone just came along and pressed play? Is my life gonna move along again?
I can't hear anything but the sound of someone else's voice.
I don't even know what I'm saying.