Impossible Futures

 I saw a glimpse of a possible future once, and for a while I was happy. 

And then when I realised that was just a fantasy my heart broke all over again but I still can't let it go. The fantasies have always been more compelling than reality - how could they not be? - and this one seemed so close, so modest, so achievable. But that's all it is, a fantasy, and I have to try and face reality again without it. 

No wonder I can't stop crying.

And I can't just turn off the feelings, and I probably could try and do things differently, but maybe it will be enough to just cling on to this one truth, that all it ever was was an impossible future, like so many others I don't mourn because I never believe in them. 

Another Tuesday, another blog

 Because there's things I want to say but nobody needs to hear. Because I want to keep smiling and carrying on like it's all ok and then maybe it will be. Because I know the thing to do to break habits and form new ones but just can't make myself do it. Because the only way that has ever stopped this before would be giving up too much. Because there is a disconnect between my feelings and my rational thoughts and the feelings win every time. 

Because I'm tired and I know tomorrow I'll get up and try all over again but right now I really don't want to. 

I don't know how long I can keep doing this to myself

 I have an idea in my head of what my life should be like. It's fuzzy, sure, and probably a bit unrealistic, and I know not every day will be perfect, but it's there, it's what I'm supposed to be working towards. And I keep falling back into the same ruts. I try and break free from the negative thinking but reality keeps hitting me in the face. I try and do something different and old instincts take over. I promise myself I'll stop wanting something I can't have and I end up hiding in the toilets crying time and time again. I'm sure every thing I'm writing here I've already expressed before in a blog post, probably more than once. 

I don't know if I lay on the kitchen floor crying over a man, or over my lack of creativity; if it was caused by a blood sugar drop, fluctuating hormones or my own ingrained thought patterns. It largely doesn't matter. Nothing matters. It's hard to believe change is possible when you keep making the same mistakes. When you keep ending up at the same place. But I don't have to believe. I just have to keep repeating the mantra "This Too Shall Pass" and go sleep it off and hope tomorrow is easier. 

And then she is to darkness

 Sixteen years. Forty-eight events (give or take). And three rules versions (just).

I think I will forever feel like a newbie, but I have to admit, that is a pretty long-lived larp character, especially a one-hit wonder who nevertheless would wander around mass battles, trying to keep an eye on people she loved. She definitely developed over time, from "basically me" to "basically me, but somehow shyer, braver and one of the best healers around". She got unsought recognition from her faction, her group, and her friends, leading to highest tier training, medals, and unexpected romance in that order. 

In a just world, she would have died on the battlefield, having been taken down while trying to save someone else. But, as I often suspected would happen, she just failed to run fast enough one night, was felled with one blow and dragged off to be murderised under the Murder Tree while everyone else was too busy fighting off the rest of the attackers to organise a rescue in time.

She got a lovely eulogy by the 1IC at muster the next morning, and if her legacy is the Dragons thanking their healers more often than not, then I'll be happy. 

And now I have to work out how to larp and be a different character  - someone who is still basically me but in a different way. I didn't quite manage that for the rest of the weekend gone, as I somehow forgot just how shy I am and tried to push myself a bit too much. But I've got  a couple of weeks to come up with a plan, as well as get new boots and a less distinctive hat. 

It took me several years to admit I actually liked larp

 I said those words (or a version of them) the other night and as my next booked larp event draws closer the brain gremlins have gone on the attack again. Historically, I definitely mostly enjoyed myself whenever I went. There are lots of people I only ever see there (and on Facebook) and I miss them. I like visiting that other world and taking a break from this one, and coming back with stories of some of the ludicrous things people did or said. 

But what do I actually do there, and how much different is it going to be without Jess? 

This might be why I'm repeatedly putting off actually making arrangements to get there. It would be much easier to stay at home and feel like I'm missing out, than cope with all the hassle and possible feeling of extreme loneliness once I get there. 

And it's not like I think I'm actually any good at any of it. I certainly can't do any of the elaborate costumes some do - just don't have the makeup/craft skills or even the right sort of eye to buy elements to put together. I'm still as shy as ever, not really that great at staying in character, can't fight for toffee, can't sing or play an instrument...I just turn up, drink some drinks, listen to other people chat, and hopefully say the right words for the right length of time to be useful without needing too much healing myself. 

But then I have the same sort of reservations about tabletop RPGs. Despite GMing for well over a decade, I don't think I'm any good at it. I certainly struggle with plotting, preparing ahead of time in sufficient detail, and my descriptions are vague. As my son will quickly tell you, I tend to spend a lot of time "um"ing and "er"ing and trailing off sentences....And on the rare occasion I get to play, I suffer a lack of imagination with character creation and actually proactively doing things instead of reacting to situations. And we play D&D pretty much exclusively because while I'm ok learning a new system, teaching one is a whole other kettle of fish. But I still have a (mostly) regular game and people seem to like it? So maybe I'm not that bad.

And of course, there's my new hobby. I would, charitably, call myself "a bit of a klutz", but thanks to a couple of taster sessions from an enthusiastic colleague, and an offer of a regular lift, I started going to Ceroc lessons a while back. I...am not terrible? I may even be good? I certainly picked it up faster than I thought I would, and even manage polite conversation most weeks. Contrary to many years of asserting otherwise, it seems I can dance even when sober, even if I still laugh to myself every time at being one of the "ladies". But I think learning to lead is many years of practice off in the future.

So, I guess I do like larp, I like GMing and I like dancing. It doesn't actually matter how "good" I am at any of them. I just need to keep going. 

"A named thing is a tamed thing"

 Limerence

I don't know when I first came across the word, but I was re-introduced to it recently and this time I read more and absorbed more and something finally clicked. 

I wasn't crazy.

Since about age thirteen or so, I've been plagued by persistent, all-consuming, crushes. They were torturous, heart-breaking. When I was younger, of course I knew I wasn't going to "grow out of it" - I was in love. Even when I knew there was no realistic chance of a relationship. It drove me mad. As I got older, I naively assumed they would stop when I finally fell "in love" properly, and was in a happy relationship.

They didn't. 

Which just added an extra layer of guilt to the already heady mix of emotions. Jess was, of course, very understanding, and I gradually learned to accept that I wasn't a terrible person for feeling these things that I had no control over. But not having control over feelings is one thing, not being able to control my fantasies, not being able to resist checking social media or looking at photos - those are definitely things I should be able to avoid doing, right? I'm just weak. Or selfish. I can't really overemphasise how much of a mindf**k it is to want something so much while simultaneously knowing it would be terrible in reality and probably ruin several people's lives.

Eventually, repeated desperate googling led me to discover there was a word for what I felt, a specific one, not "love" not simply a "crush" but something else. And more importantly, it wasn't just me. Other people felt this way. Enough that a word had been created specifically to describe this feeling that I'd so struggled to adequately explain to everyone before. 

Ok, it's not much of a relief to realise you're not the only idiot that keeps feeling this way, but it did mean I had a different way of framing my feelings. I wasn't repeatedly "falling in love". I was just "limerent". I wasn't betraying Jess in some deep emotional way, it was just brain chemistry. 

And brain chemistry can be fixed, right?

Unfortunately,  the blog title is a lie. Naming something and taming it are two whole different things. It's nice to think that just because I know it's essentially an addiction I'd be able to get a handle on it, but addictions are hard to break for a reason. And the most obvious thing to try, complete avoidance, just isn't always possible. Sure, for one person, maybe you can just cut them out of your life and hope you eventually stop thinking about them. Maybe. But if I don't know who the next object of infatuation will be? Do I avoid all people? Or even just avoid feelings of attraction? How is that supposed to work?

It can't, of couse. Unless maybe I became a hermit or so super-practiced at mindfulness that all emotions just wash over me without catching on. But I can set boundaries. I can keep plugging away at trying to improve my overall mental health. 

And, I suppose, I can try counselling and try actually being honest about how much this bothers me, insead of just shying away from the subject because I'm 41 and really should have grown out of this bby now.

---

(Title quote from Joanne Harris - Runemarks)

Vagueblogging

I had half a post written and more I wanted to say but I deleted it because it was going nowhere. And I think I mostly just want to acknowledge that I finally decided to be an adult today and Use My Words instead of speculating, fantasising, obsessing and worrying, despite the possibility of Consequences.

The outcome landed smack bang in the middle of what any reasonable person would expect: no Dreams Fulfilled but no Life Shattered either. 

Turns out honest communication can short-cut a lot of problems. Who knew?

I would say I wish I'd done this ages ago, but then maybe I actually wouldn't have ended up with another friend and a new hobby, so who's to say what I should or should not have done. But now I'm just hoping I can scratch out that one bit of my mental model of "what I want my life to look like" and free up some time and energy to do other things. Like find a counsellor, or any of the dozen other things I know I should be doing to try and rebuild my life in a hopefully less broken way than it was before. 

Pride

 I have complicated feelings about Pride. Beyond the whole "argh, people" thing, I never quite felt like I belonged there. 

A lot of it is internalised biphobia I guess. I've mostly been attracted to men throughout my life, so am I really bi? Is it just a convenient explanation for why I was so unfazed by my partner's transition? Aren't all women a bit bi?

It's not like I've really suffered much because of my sexuality; my teenage and young adult years were spent just assuming I was straight, and, sure, once Jess came out the microagressions got a bit tiring but that was nothing compared to what she had to go through. What all trans people have to put up with: now possibly more than ever. So when we first started going to Pride, it was because Jess wanted to, and somehow I always felt like I was going to support her, nothing to do with me.

Today was the first in-person Pride since COVID, and therefore the first since Jess died. There was no way I wasn't going. For her, obviously, but also for me. 

To prove to myself that I could. That I could cope with the people. That I could cope by myself. And that I was allowed to be there: just me, in my pretty subtle pride top, existing. And I had a good time, in my own quiet way. Met hardly any of the people I know that went, didn't dare attempt bar and didn't feel like queuing forever for food, but I managed the march without issue, I wandered round the knavesmire a bit and found a local cover band that I will probably never get round to hearing play again. 

Now my feet ache quite a lot, and I feel like another milestone, another "first since" has passed. And more importantly, not once did I feel like an imposter who had no right being there.

Yes, it's been a while, no I'm not going to address that

 It's the hope that gets you.

Maybe this time it will be different. This new drug/dose combo will be sufficient for you to make and maintain the lifestyle changes, and you'll feel great. You'll actually keep up the new habits this time. Ok, the last diet didn't work, but this one will for sure. You're a new, better person now! You're not going to keep making the same mistakes!

After everything you've been through, surely you've learnt some perspective. You know this won't last forever, so it will be easier to handle. You managed last time you made a phone call, so another will be just fine. You're forty-one now, for gods' sake, you can handle a little disappointment. 

But it's not just about you. Oh no.

Maybe you read the signs wrong. Maybe they didn't notice you were flirting. Maybe there's still a chance. Surely that couldn't happen here. Surely now people will demand change. Surely someone will do something to stop it.

And then you find yourself at the bottom of a pit again. Just like before. Habits slip. Health deteriorates. Thoughts stuck in cycles oh so familiar from oh so many years before. It feels like the end of the world. You freeze up. Everything upset is a killer blow. Nothing ever happens. The world keeps getting worse and worse. 

And once you climb back out, you look down into the pit and think, "Well that can't happen again. What can I do to stop it?" 

And you do it.

And you hope.