#not direct

we could’ve been doomed yaoi , but you playing . . .

My goal in life is to just really love myself. It’s always the hardest. We sometimes compare ourselves to others. Sometimes we get really depressed. 

But in love, we should take off the mask and be true to who we are. 

Love yourself, love myself.

"Despite knowing you weren't able to do much, you still showed up to help."

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Wow.

A lot has happened since I started University.

I was inspired to look at old writing, and wanted to see what some of my earliest notes were. One of them was my Something Is Off note, which I started years ago but would add to only when things got really not great. So the most recent entries include my first day at University and a few particularly not great days within my first two semesters.

There were so many tears.

I remember it.

I remember the days I didn't write about, when I would go and find the bathroom in the highest (so usually less populated) floors of a given building. Distinctly I remember the Thermodynamics building, but there were others.

I'd go there and cry and hyperventilate as much as I needed to. I cried hard. So many times.

I remember quieting down if anyone came in, but also secretly wanting them to notice.

Those were the days I didn't write about.

The two that stood out to me that I did write about were my first day and that day after fluids. The first day, when I went to talk to Housing and the young woman at the desk (my age) offered me to use the staff bathroom because I already could hardly keep hold of my tears in front of her.

The day after fluids when I sat there crying in the staircase, writing through eyes so blurry I couldn't make out letters on my keyboard. That was the day my coworker reached out. I really appreciate him.

I can't say I'll be any better with big changes in the future. Big changes are hard. But I would like to note that I've come a long way. A really, really long way. When days literally seemed impossible. When I was, in all seriousness, going to take leave of absence the next day. The days I was hyperventilating in the car and thinking, "Hmm, this probably isn't safe." The Saturday when I was crying so much and so overwhelmed, mom told me to take a break and see how I was the next day... And the next day I didn't say a word. Just looked at her as tears formed and she told me to walk in and take leave of absence first thing next morning.

That was a "recent" one, too. That was week 5 of Spring 2020. That was the last big Break to date. But I put one foot ahead of the next still, cause I finished those slides Monday night (a holiday) and wanted to get it presented the next day because I just wanted it shown. I just kept getting through the day. Each day so impossible. Each day already marked off as a day past when I was going to leave.

Dad was in the first care place then. Sequins and I went to visit. (It was Wednesday night, time normally reserved for dinner with Dad.) I think he was asleep when we got there.. maybe got a few minutes of face time in. Back when we could see him, before Covid closed all the care facilities.

Sequins and I talked outside. I don't even remember what all about. I just remember being out on that bench.

She showed me "The Lament of Eustace Scrubb" that night. I listened to it on repeat when I drove back to school. And on that drive, I got one of the clearest feelings from God I'd heard. I even wrote down the feelings... The Strength. The Strength I described as part of my future self, a piece of someone who I hoped to become.

I dared not to believe a seed of it was there. But it was.

Something shifted that night. And it's not been the same since.

Have I cried about school? Absolutely.

But last semester, I didn't debate leaving once.

So much has changed. God has provided more community, support, and strength than I had or felt that first day at University.

I want to live up to that. To that change. To the shift. To the person that my early 2019 self could hardly believe I've actually become.

Yeah. We made it this far. There's still variables and we'll never know what will hit next, but we really have made it this far. And Dad is still alive, and you come back for dinner on Wednesdays again, just like your early semesters. And you get to see him on weekends, and talk about hard things you never thought you could share with him.

Mom is still alive, too. Mid-2020 you will be the most impressed by that, but it's true. You're a baby rhino still, and she checks in every night, just like at school after work.

Even your relationship with Sequins is stronger than it has been in years. You've definitely talked more about so much than you have in recent years.

Rose and Dean still love you. So much. I know you didn't feel very connected for a bit, especially that first Spring. But even with tunnels, it's been made clear with both that they're in it for the long run.

And that doesn't count all the people you didn't know you'd meet or become friends with.

So in short, yes. Even 2019 you was worried about the parents, and they're both still here. And they love you.

And yes. You're here. You made it through Dynamics. You got through Mech. You passed Fluids. And Heat Transfer.

You have a bit over one semester left.

You made it this far.

And you're okay.

I see you crying. I see you breathing. I see you washing your face in bathroom sinks, navigating crowds of strangers, and finding places for yourself on campus. I see you putting one foot in front of the next on the impossible days.

And it's not done yet, but you're almost there.

You made it through those tears.

You'll be okay.

God's guiding you.

And sincerely, congratulations.

[Written at Dad's, taking an extra minute to enjoy the moment before helping with dishes.]

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I'm so grateful.

Tonight I made salisbury steak with Dad. I did the green beans first, helped a little with potatoes, then asked to do the meat with his eye and help.

We didn't have the old gravy mix so we made do with a brown gravy mix plus creole seasoning.

We hugged when I first walked in the door, and when I got the plates.

Dad walked with his full plate in one hand, from the stove to his walker. I didn't think I'd see that happen again. He was wearing his dark blue sweater.

We both had lemonade.

First he showed me a Dust short about an old dad (played by Peter Pettigrew) and a robot friend who helped him with depression after his wife died. "Another dad with an engineering daughter." "Yes, but you eat my cooking." Even though the gravy was salty, he thought my seasoning turned out good.

We watched Fate and The Worst Witch. I got cold and grabbed both the green turtle blanket and the grey and black turtley shapes one.

Now I'm so happy. And full. And my legs are warm and Dad is standing in the kitchen.

I'm very grateful.

((Warning for Bandana if you see this: lots of Taco mentions in the beginning and end.))

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That feeling of, "Yes, that really happened" is completely real.

For a short time before continuing about my day, I was able to bask in it. Two bowls and two mugs in the dish rack. A third of Dad's North African soup than was there before. A fresh quilt on my bed that smelled almost as nice as the pillows. These are the tangible reminders that make all the almost-too-good-to-be-true memories both validated and present. I wasn't leaving to the rest of my life, where I could let my brain store away the previous memories while I maintained at most a ridiculous smile and some extra feelings I'd express over text or writing. Instead, I was surrounded by constant validation...

And yeah. It really is a whole new ballpark.

I could only truly enjoy it myself for about a half hour. I had errands to run before a game day with our DnD group. So I left, and as I was driving home from Garden's with two packages of freshly picked up cookies, I saw Mom's truck on the freeway.

She saw me too, and we ended up driving home together, with her reaching the house just before me.

She stayed in and around the back; I stayed out and around the front, and played my entire game night on the front porch.

I'd wanted to see her, even if outside and with masks on. And I did.

But then game night finished.

I'd already messaged "Uncle" about coming over, and had his approval, and was prepared to go over.

This next part will sound very strange and I can't fully describe how this transition happened. But after some trip updates from Mom, I called Dad to talk to him. I explained Mom's stating that everything had been distanced where she went, and that she was the only one who stayed at San Diego friends' - any other people involved were outdoors with all distancing protocols. I also reminded him of Roommate coming home. I was still uncomfortable, but there are pulls and tugs that were being very prominent, and I asked his thoughts on going to "Uncle's".

Dad, to summarize, brought up a lot of points that could be condensed in the following: it's been ten days since the plane ride, and there have been no symptoms. If there's been proper distancing, she should be safe enough, and it's good to not be seemingly running from her - she's actively removed herself from immediate family during the holidays, and so it's good to have some time with her before I move away for school. As for Roommate, as long as we avoid each other and wear masks at any possible contact, she should be good.

I understood all the points he was saying. I still didn't agree with all of them, and I felt like I was getting dragged back into an old space. (Key words: hypocrisy. Two whole weeks of isolating.) But the piece of me that longed for connection with Mom hopped on Dad's logic. I thought if he thought it was okay, then it would be okay.

Throughout the night, I still stayed away where I could, while the feeling of 'pick your battles' started settling in again. While Mom putzed around in the front, I stayed in my bed on the far left, as close to the wall as I could, although that's definitely not my usual location.

I meant to read. I ended up writing, mostly. First as many details of the previous night/morning as I could remember, down to individual phrases and thoughts.

Then I started writing about the uncomfortable feelings that were rising.

As time went on, things got less okay. Especially after I heard Roommate come home. I was still caught in the joy of the morning, but that was also now being contrasted to the new present.

"For a little bit, I had freedom. Freedom to be as contained as I wanted.'

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'I can feel the limits coming back. I can feel the pressure and the constant tension returning... I'm sorry. I ended up staying here after all... I feel like a Pinocchio being given strings again.'

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'It's just strange. Lying here in the scent of such happy memories, now trapped for the next ten days in a room that just hours ago felt so, so open.'

I did start tearing up. It felt like something changed in the last two weeks and now I was putting myself back into a box of others' influence after actually expressing my own autonomy. The autonomy wasn't just in Mom and Roommate's being physically gone, but in my decisions to isolate at "Uncle's" those handfuls of times being respected by all parties, including Mom. Even when others thought it excessive, I was trusting my own decisions, and it felt GREAT.

Mom noticed my tears and suggested, very matter-of-factly, that I spend the night at Dad's. After writing for over two hours and only getting tearier, I went to my car to call Dad. In that span we hit more notes.

"It is more than just Covid practicality. It's my social thermometer - I can feel Roommate, Mom, and mom's students outside just as prominently as if they were in my room physically touching me... For awhile my house was safe. It was my house. Now it's no longer safe. It's not just my house again."

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"You [E] feel like you had the power to bring a very important part of your life, both physically and emotionally, into this space. And now you don't want to let go or disregard that."

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"Right now there are two options - you can fall asleep quickly at [Mom's house] or come over here. Pick one and see how it feels."

"All my brain is doing is yelling, 'You can't sleep [at Mom's house].'"

"Okay, then come over."

I did. I came over with a mask on and changed. I planned to keep more distance, but as I walked back towards the couch I turned around and saw Dad walking - without his walker and with no supporting counters - into the living room to give me a hug.

I did. And despite thinking I was seemingly over my crying, I teared up again as we talked a little more.

I finally went to sleep around 2, with my mask around my neck to use whenever Dad would come in and my face otherwise covered in blankets. I'm still on Dad's couch. I told Mom I'd be back over in the morning - she needs help setting up her classroom in the backyard for tomorrow.

I still don't know what I'll do. I don't know who I'll stay with overnight. I don't want to run from mom, but once you outgrow a particular place.. it's really difficult to fit yourself back in.

I'll figure out some way to maintain my autonomy while not completely avoiding my mother. No option is ideal, and I'm still tired of balancing, but at least it's not just balancing other people - I feel my own needs as a solid piece of the equation now.

Yesterday morning, and it's previous evening, were both incredible and still make me so happy. It's not been the only time to make me so happy, but this felt like a stolen blessing I never thought I'd get.

And, unfortunately, having such heavy influence from someone who makes me feel stronger only makes it even harder to fit back into shoes that are too small.

Tonight I bought a piece of carpet. 14" x 14".

I won it at my first auction. For $45.

It has a lot of history, with a lot of people.

I am very, very happy with my piece of carpet.

It's not the only part of this evening contributing to my happiness.