musings of a soppy sapphic

Imagine being the evil interdimensional being chasing your prey and hearing *that*

Just.

She stayed at the church hostel. She signed her name "Jane Terry". She tried to use a name that was meaningful, that reminded her of what she'd lost- but not a surname that could connect her to the families that had cared for her. They'd been though enough.

She kept her head down. She needed money. The possibilities raced through her head. She could share her athletic and gymnastic abilities at the local school. She could apply and expand upon her wound-dressing skills if she applied at the hospital. But... she needed to disappear. Her manner with people, especially difficult people, would make her stand out. The person who helped her understand other people the most was not there, and never would be again.

The hostel did a good enough soup at dinner time, but it wasn't enough. Her stomach growled. She tried not to steal; getting into trouble with the police would attract unwanted attention. It would have been easy to raid bins under the cover of darkness, but the hostel doors locked at 8pm. Still, occasionally, with a pointed stare, she'd knock over a roll cage or a supermarket display. She'd help the harried and grateful shop assistant put everything back, while slipping a couple of things into her coat. Protein bars. Beef jerky. Eggos were difficult because the box was huge, but if the box was broken... well. When everyone was asleep, she'd pick the pocket fluff out of the pastry crevices, close her eyes, and think about being small, in a blanket fort hundreds and hundreds of miles away.

One day, she walked past the library. There was a "Help Wanted" sign. She felt a spark of hope. She went in. The elderly librarian was preparing to retire, and needed to train someone up. Jane could tell that the librarian noticed that she was not like other people, but being a librarian, neither was she. She accepted Jane as she was, taking notice of the dark circles under her eyes and cheekbones that looked as if they weren't used to showing quite so much. She often "accidentally" made too much food and sent Jane back to the shelter with full Tupperwares.

In the weeks and months that followed, Jane relished the quiet order of the library. After her chaotic early life in laboratories, woods, basements, other people's homes, hiding, not hiding, hiding again, being on her guard 24/7, the pure logic of the Dewey Decimal System was a thing of beauty. She became an avid reader. She excelled in helping customers find not only what they were looking for, but other things that might take their interest. She channelled the friend she had lost when she read stories to the childrens' groups, who beheld her with wonder instead of fear.

Jane finally earned enough to put a deposit down on a small cabin. It was just what she needed. No bath, just a shower cubicle. She never wanted to look at a bathtub again. It was an hour's walk to the library, or a shorter run. She had enough money for some training gear, and she could always change at work. In a place of her own, she felt safe. Safe enough to sleep more deeply. Sometimes she woke in a cold sweat after nightmares about a tall man with white hair, hazmat suits, a handsome blonde young orderly, and faceless creatures with too many teeth. Sometimes she dreamed about the stubborn punk-ass who raised her, the friends she left behind- particularly an awkward, gangly, black-haired storyteller. The dreams were worse.

The librarian finally retired, trusting Jane to take over in her stead. She, along with her daughter and grandchildren, visited Jane regularly. She taught Jane to cook simple meals and helped her get into a cleaning routine- somehow, without Jane even realising she was being helped. It was obvious to her that Jane had spent a lot of time living rough, but had a fierce independence that was also brittle and fragile. The last thing she wanted was to push Jane away and have her back on the streets.

After a few months running the library on her own, Jane realised she could compile a couple of the store rooms. She completely cleared one out. With her own money, she bought an AV radio with all the gadgets. She made a poster for the AV room and hung them around the library. She phoned the local schools and asked if she could distribute the posters there. She gave some to students and asked them to take them to school with them. Eventually, they trickled in. She heard them howling with laughter, talking with people all over the world.

Sometimes, after she'd locked up, she sat in the AV room. She tried to tune in manually, but eventually she would give up and stare at it until her brain waves danced in time with the radio waves. She would listen to her four friends in their respective colleges, talking about their classes. How their friends and siblings were doing. The DnD campaigns they were planning for Spring Break. How much they missed Jane. She made sure to unplug the microphone so they couldn't hear her laughing. Or crying.

She would change into her sports gear and run back home, tears drying in the wind. She would shower, relishing every drop of water hitting her body instead of feeling water envelop her. She would put on the warmest, fluffiest pyjamas and light a fire in her log burner. Wrapped in a blanket, the heat filling the room relaxed her body, memories of hiding between trees in the snow melting away. Every night, she looked through photographs she had on her, and a few she managed to steal when she escaped Hawkins.

This is a moment of pure joy that I could never have imagined I would experience. I am reminded about Judith Butler's writing about compulsory heterosexuality. I'd imagined myself as a wife, yes, but with a husband and children. A future where I'd have long hair and wear dresses. I wouldn't call it a dream. Just the way forward.

Right now, I am living a dream I've never had. I didn't know I was allowed to have it. But here I am. Not just dreaming it. Doing it. Holding the flowers I am going to give to my wife.

I don't post much here anymore because I initially started this blog just to dump all the feelings I had about the woman who is now my wife.

When we got together, she had a lot of past relationship trauma, and she'd never had a "female" partner. (I use that word very loosely, because I'm nonbinary). She would often get uncomfortable if I was too lovey-dovey, if I told her she was beautiful or sexy, or expressed how happy or excited I was that she was my girlfriend. Of course I gushed to my friends, but there's a limit. My love for her was, and is, limitless.

Over time the walls broke down and I could say how I felt more and more without upsetting her, so I didn't need this as an outlet as much. But she still doesn't know I post on here, so I'm going to bore you all with how wonderful my wife is to celebrate my 4-year Tumblrversary.

- She is tall. Really tall. I stood on a stool to kiss her on our wedding day.

- She's twice my weight. My arms barely go around her. When she envelops me in her arms I feel like a tiny little kitten.

- She has an arse that looks great in everything.

- She has hair that is so fine it's like baby hair. It's like a pre-Raphaelite painting. It curls towards the ends.

- Her eyes are olive-green and literally go greener when she smiles.

- She has wonky ears and it makes her glasses sit crooked.

- Our first walk together as a couple she was terrified to hold my hand because of homophobes. Now, she comes up behind me in shops and spoons me.

- She sometimes sings to narrate what she's doing.

- Whenever she hears a repetitive noise like a car alarm or a pedestrian crossing she dances like Tyres from Spaced. When I was having an MRI scan and it started thumping all I could think about was her doing it and I nearly ruined the scan because I was laughing.

- She earned the nickname "Ten-Pint" when she was younger because she could out-drink everyone on a night out.

- She cries if she sees someone else cry, or even a bit sad. Even in films, or adverts. Every single time.

- Before we got together when we were just friends sitting 5 feet apart cos we're not gay etc, I mentioned that I'd lost my water bottle. (It was a cheap shitty one from Poundland). The next time I saw her on my birthday, she'd got me a beautiful fancy water bottle with measurements and a filter, because I'd said I'd lost my other one.

- She is autistic and takes jokes absolutely 100% literally, unless it's a pun. If I tell a joke such as "How do you know if an elephant is in your fridge? Footprints in the butter" she will respond "An elephant will not fit in a fridge. It's not funny". (This particular joke is part of a series of equally surrealist jokes that fit together with a mega punchline and telling her the whole thing was possibly the funniest moment of my entire life because she couldn't understand why I was laughing so much at completely illogical situations).

- She takes everything incredibly literally and describes things incredibly literally. Of course she speaks figuratively, exaggerates, minimises, and messes around, but she is very clear after the fact that she was doing so, even when it's blindingly obvious. It's adorable.

- She has a silly, childish sense of humour, but she is never cruel or hurtful. She's just fucking funny. She has made me laugh during panic attacks, moments of despair, when I'm sick, even when I was in A&E (the ER). She even managed to make me laugh while I was preparing for a colonoscopy and I was fully convinced I was shitting out my internal organs.

- I celebrate the birthday of a friend who's passed away. I told her about it, and she joins in my celebration every year, even though she never met my friend.

- She buys my godson Christmas and birthday presents every year, even though she is low-key scared of children and doesn't like being around them.

- I have severe contact dermatitis, but even if my hands are fine and I can cope with doing the dishes, she tells me off if she sees me doing it.

- After a few months of living with me she noticed I would make myself a decaf coffee and have a small piece of chocolate in the evening. She started bringing it to me unprompted.

- I love fried chicken. Like, really love fried chicken. She once made a ridiculous bouquet for Valentine's day in a vase of fake roses and crochet fried chicken legs. It was the stupidest thing ever and we laughed for hours.

- She packs my lunch for work every morning, and irons my uniforms without me asking.

- She has a spreadsheet for Everything. She even made a tick-off style master shopping list in the Samsung notes app that we can both edit, organised by the supermarket aisles. There are puns in there. And she once came home purple and ranting because the supermarket had changed its layout and she'd had to edit the list.

- She is incredibly talented. She can paint, draw, and crochet, but insists she isn't any good. She got her Grade 5 clarinet when she was 11, which is a phenomenal achievement, but because she didn't pass with merit she thought she was rubbish and gave up. She is modest to her detriment, it's literally the only thing I would change about her.

Anyhoo on this day 4 years ago, I was *shitting myself* because I couldn't let this go on any longer. I had to tell her how I felt. Except I couldn't tell her, because the last time I'd try to say it verbally I ended up saying "I value your friendship" (I think there's a post about that somewhere too. It's become a running joke over the years and it's now inscribed in our wedding rings). Back to the point, I knew I'd fuck up if I tried to say it out loud. So I made a beautiful drawing of an elephant in a Santa hat holding some mistletoe, and on the inside it said "shall we address the elephant in the room?" along with a confession of undying love.

We were due to go for a Christmas curry night with our crafty group. She parked up at mine so we could exchange cards before walking up together. My heart was thumping like Bruce Willis atop Nakatomi Plaza. Hands shaking, I handed her my card, and like a toddler, I hid myself behind a massive cushion. I couldn't watch. I heard her rip open the envelope. I clutched my cushion tighter. Moments passed, but they felt like years. Then, gently, she took the pillow away and gave me a big hug. We were together at last.

And since that first Christmas, all of our cards have had elephants on them. This year, I have recreated one of our wedding photos with cartoon elephants, decorated with tinsel and fairy lights. I was working on it while she was asleep, so hyperfocused I didn't hear her get up for a wee, so when she said "babe it's one in the morning" I nearly cut my finger off with a Stanley knife.

I've had an amazing therapist who has given me fantastic coping techniques. I practiced and practiced and I got into a rhythm that enabled me to continue my life without being dragged down by the memories of past traumas.

But I have noticed that when I am physically exhausted, I can't use my coping techniques as effectively. Being plagued by mental illness can be physically draining, and it becomes a cycle.

I am recovering from a severe infection for which I had to have five weeks off work. I was mostly mentally well during my time at home, obviously pissed off that I couldn't do much but there were very few demands on me during that time. Now I'm working again, the fatigue has been hitting me like a train.

When it hits, I get sad and annoyed that I'm bone-achingly tired. This makes me feel a bit useless, and guilty that I can't help my wife much at home. Then I remember being called useless, worthless, lazy, thoughtless, selfish, a little shit, a bad friend, a bad partner, by people in my past who professed to love and care about me. These thoughts buzz around my head like flies and before I can reach for the swatter my brain tells me "well, maybe they were right". Suddenly the swatter is nowhere to be found.

My wife is not a kid person. She reacts to toddlers like people react to spiders. She doesn't hate them- she's just the kind of autistic that makes them too noisy, too sticky, and too unpredictable. (I should add, this is not me taking the piss out of autistic people. I'm pretty sure I'm autistic too, but we are very different flavours of autistic and it makes us both laugh at each other). Anyways she was excited to meet my friend and was OK with meeting the baby.

So we meet up in a tiny little cafe and my friend gets her baby out of the pram and says to him "this is my friend [my name] and this is [wife's name]". He looks up at my wife vacantly.

And my wife looks this infant directly in the eye and says "Hello!"

And holds out her hand.

To the baby.

To shake.

While I was still working I was getting exhausted and irritable. I would come home and cook dinner and my then-gf-now-wife would come in and say "can I have a hug?" And I'm not a heartless monster so I would give her a quick squeeze and try not to lose focus on what I was doing.

We got married during my sick leave (planned for 2 and a half years so postponing was not an option at this point!) We're delaying our honeymoon so we can save more money for it. She went back to work before I did.

A few days before I returned to work I was feeling a lot better. I powered through some laundry, did a load of dishes, made some banana bread for a family gathering. I had music on full blast and was really vibing, a feeling I hadn't had in a long time.

My wife came home while I was clearing up the banana bread stuff and getting ready for dinner. The oven was on. The chopping had started. The tiredness was creeping in, but I'd started.

And of course, my wife said, "can I have a hug?"

Now I don't know what it was. Maybe it was the music I'd had in my head all day instead of the bullshit from work. But I melted into her arms. I *felt* this hug. The feeling of warmth and butterflies like when we had just got together. And suddenly we were dancing around the kitchen to "There'll Never Be Another You". I fully appreciated in that moment how fucking lucky I was to have her- not that I haven't before- but I realised we both have one life, and she chose to spend hers with me. A grumpy, stressed out little goblin whose mind is on chopping vegetables instead of giving her my full attention.

I'm back at work now and I'm struggling. I'm not sleeping very well and it's taking it out of me a bit. Recovery is slow. I have been dreading cooking dinner tonight because of how I feel this morning. But one thing is for sure. I will be dancing around the kitchen with my wife while something burns. And neither of us will care.

Well I got married two weeks ago and we lived together for three years beforehand and let me tell you THE MAGIC JUST REIGNITES. I'm cooking dinner ✨️✨️WITH MY WIFE✨️✨️ and washing the dishes ✨️WITH MY WIFE✨️ dancing around the kitchen ✨️WITH MY WIFE✨️ brushing my teeth ✨️WITH MY WIFE✨️ getting into bed and snuggling ✨️WITH MY WIFE✨️

I just keep looking at her in wonder and amazement that this magnificent creature is MY WIFE. I still can't believe it. I get giggly and gooey whenever I look at my wedding ring. Or hers. I love introducing her to people as my wife. And talking to acquaintances about my wife. It's just... eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

It's my 2 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

Haha, two years ago I was in a new relationship with a wonderful woman. A history of abuse had left her very emotionally vulnerable and bombarding her with love was overwhelming for her. So I came here to dump all the feelings I felt it was too soon to verbalise, all the little moments that I was squeeing about, the absolute wonder of being gay (as I was pretty newly out of the closet myself).

Quick backstory, we'd been friends for a year or so before having a platonic cuddle at a party. Then we realised our feelings weren't very platonic at all, and proceeded to dance around the issue for the next two months because... well, useless lesbians.

It started with me popping round to use her printer. Then it was popping round for cups of tea. Cooking dinner together. That kind of thing. We had a movie night where we shared our Favourite Stupid Films from our childhood, and it ended with a Very Awkward Handshake (story here )

Anyway, the following night was a Christmas movie night with all of our friends, including her brother and brother-in-law. All of them were getting ready to knock our heads together. Whereas the night before we'd had a sort-of cuddle under a blanket, we were so conscious of people watching us that we were sitting bolt upright and not touching.

Then our phones start pinging. A few of our friends started posting cute animal cuddle gifs in the group chat. We were smoking at the ears by this point. I went to the loo and actually heard her voice from upstairs (she never shouts, ever) calling her brother in law a twat!

She gave me a lift home that night and it was excruciatingly awkward as ever. But we both knew something was there, and we both knew that neither of us were going to be brave enough to say it.

So I decided I didn't have to say anything at all.

That week was Christmas, so I made her a card. A silver elephant wearing a Santa hat on a dark forest green background, bordered with holly and ivy, holding a single sprig of mistletoe in its trunk.

She came round for a cup of tea before giving me a lift to our craft group's Christmas party. I gave her the envelope. And promptly hid behind a cushion as she opened it and read what was inside: "Shall we address the elephant in the room?"

The next thing I knew she gently took the cushion away from me and pulled me into the gentlest, warmest, most comforting hug I'd ever had. I let myself melt in her arms.

I had come to realise, and realised over and over during the first year of our relationship, that I'd never known love before I knew her. Attraction? Yes. Desire? Yes. Infatuation? Yes. Codepedency? Trauma bonding? An innate, unmet need for validation that was preyed upon by multiple people? Yep yep yep.

Before I confessed my feelings to her, I didn't really care if she didn't share them. I just loved being with her. I loved watching her smile and laugh, and infodump about her favourite things. I just wanted to be around her. And the way she made me feel.

She made me feel like I was worthy of care and respect, without me doing anything in particular or saying anything in particular, or liking the same things as her, or looking a certain way. This was something I'd rarely felt, not just with romantic partners but among friends and family. As friends, she never treated me like I was extra special, never said anything cheesy like "you're perfect just the way you are". But I felt special just being around her. Just sitting there having cups of tea or eating dinner, folding laundry, doing normal shit. I'm not the only person who feels this way around her. She is so well loved among our friends because she so quietly, innocuously, makes you feel like you matter, without love-bombing you or putting you on a pedestal. She doesn't even know she's doing it.

She has given me back so much of my faith in humanity, in kindness, in patience, and optimism. She has given me back my own self, that I hid under layers and layers of people-pleasing cultivated by 25 years of toxic environments.

On Valentine's day just gone, I asked her to be my wife.