life is nothing but a d r e a m

wishing more than anything that tumblr comes back one day. Online spaces have always been so weird. Growing up I always wanted my tumblr and twitter to remain a secret while simultaneously wanting everyone I knew to think I was the coolest and hippest. Sometimes I just wanted to scream into the void I think, and sometimes I wanted someone who knew me to treat me like they really cared about me, but I think when you posted as much as I did it could be difficult to decipher attention seeking from just generally talking about your day. Even as I'm typing this there's a voice in the back of my head going "what are you saying none of this makes sense this is pointless." I've definitely lost myself. I've definitely let myself get to a place of complacency, and it's W I L D because it's complacency with being honestly just awful. I read back to my old posts from literal YEARS ago and see the same fears and insecurities that I harbor today. I guess now there's just this intense urgency that the clock is ticking; this intense realization that nothing is changing, that everything is steadily declining, that I am not growing or getting better. That all the things that I hate about myself that I told myself I had "learned to love" or accept are very much still here, still bad, and are 100% getting worse. Except I am not getting any time back, time is not stopping, and time is not slowing down.

I think I truly believed that you just grow up and things work out. That the doors open and everything falls into place if you JuSt BeLiEvE. I really believed that. But now I'm 28 and el oh fucking el no bitch it really doesn't..... I was so sure in my head that the boy will just appear, that the job will pay so much, that my body would magically get thin, that I would find all these amazing great friends. My life would be perfect if I just waited long enough. Nothingggggggggggggggggggg could be further from the truth!!!

No one appears and says "this is the answer"...."this is how everything works"...."this is how you make it". I'm am so ashamed of myself. I am ashamed. I am not living, I am just getting by. How did I get here? If I know all the things that I want and desire in my life, why didn't I go after them? As I typed that, I realized that I don't know much about myself or what I actually want anymore.

I want to not be single. I want to not be overweight. I want to be healthier. I want to have a nicer apartment. I want to have a real friend group. I want to have a loving partner. I want to listen to more music. I want to drink four bottles of water a day. I want to work out regularly and enjoy it. I want to get married. I want to have children.

wow i just wrote the most elaborate and elegant and honest thing i think i have conveyed in well years, and it’s gone because tumblr’s interface is absolute crap. i only hope i can remember it all again. i can’t write anything other than in a fucking tumblr text sheet. i really can’t and i haven’t been able to in years and I CANNOT CONVEY HOW ANGRY I AM THAT THIS JUST HAPPENED. 

it’s 2020 and the world is on fire.

i don’t know where to begin, to pick up from sebastian, to talk about my still non-existent sex life, to talk about that it’s 2020, that there is a world wide pandemic and that i am unemployed and about to be homeless and i have no plan. 

as the rain began i stood listening to my neighbors babble. high as a kite i started to not be able to take full breathes having just ingested an entire takeout container of lasagna and mozzerella sticks feeling completely glutinous and disgusting. a panic rushed over me but so did the urge to write and be honest with myself through my weird relays of my stories. i put out my cigarette on the worn out gate and rushed into my house, i could feel the anxiety attack taking over and my breath getting shorter so i specified each step of my way in....grab key....wash hands.....pee.......put my bluetooth back on so i could start music....because this was the kind of high the kind of panic only soothed by masturbating. and so i did, and here i am.  

my name is deanna and i have boys on my brain (i’m laughing). i guess i should start off with the most honest sentiment i’ll ever conjure about my existence: my body image issues have held me back from every feeling like i am worth anything or worthy of anyone’s attention. i view my body as a currency, one that is cheap, of low quality and worthless to most. i have never been able to learn how to love my body or myself, i do not take care of it or feel capable of taking care of it. i spent some time feeling like it’s okay to feel like this and look like this and that someday someone will love it. but most of the time i feel worthless and like i am disgusting and that being fat is stopping me from ever truly feeling happy, being love, feeling accepted, or being truly who i feel like i am. it feels completely impossible and unachievable. and i’ve demonized anyone who ever made me feel like i’m supposed to care, or that i should feel bad for not caring enough what other people think of me. and then the cycle of shame starts, for looking this way shame for feeling this way, shame for feeling like fat people are worth less than anyone else, shame that i am one of them and stay this way. shame. 

i’m sad about a boy. i met him on discord playing a killer queen black. you ever know you are enamored by tone of someone’s voice when they hear yours? feeling a chemistry that awakens your smile too quickly to feel comfortable with. it was those simple things. a shitty emoji. sending me pictures of animals, bad memes and youtube videos. sending me drawings of pokemon, seemingly genuinely interest in every silly thing i send you back. listening to the songs i suggest and the playlists i send all the way through. asking me what i am doing. good morning texts at 1pm and sweet dreams every night. being excited i am in the vc and spitting quick call backs to only conversations we’d know while everyone is listening. being there all day and making me feel like you wanted me there too, like i wasn’t just someone else to talk to. staying up all night drinking wine and watching hunter x hunter to the sunrise or until one of our sedatives takes us out. i send you my real name, and my twitter, and built up the nerve to sent my instagram and thinking there’s no way he keeps talking to me if he doesn’t like what he sees so it is safe to send him the link to my live stream that contains my facebook with my complete honestly. and then for it all to get awkward. and so i know that he feels a different way not but he’s not saying it. because it feels different now, because he’s there still always answering or messaging first, but it’s shorter now and less personal. the call backs are less because the messages are less, and the offer to stay up with me is still there but feels less genuine and more like you kinda feel like you have to. maybe it’s all in my head. maybe it’s not because when something feels weird it usually is weird. so why keep up the half ass? today you didn’t really and i am so sad, but so grateful. get this over quick if it’s happening. cause i can’t deal with being that lone right now. i watched a video about the important of discerning chemistry from compatibility and at the start felt ready to write it off because yin and yang, opposites can complete each other. but by the end i realize that made our chemistry is so bright i am being blinded into thinking we can fill each other’s gaps in compatibility but how hard we make each other laugh. i can discern all the examples of what i call chemistry, but there’s all the actions the show the chemistry is not electric enough to fill the holes in our compatibility. i want every reason to believe this is wrong and i want you to give it to me. i want you to think i am beautiful because of the person you’ve gotten to know every night for months. 

i masturbated to the memories of my dream of kissing levy last night. i tasted his lips as if i had tasted his love before, the familiar warmth of his “hey yourself” feeling like enough of the familiarity and comfort i need to get myself off. the overwhelming loneliness prompting me to call him after all this time. i haven’t really thought about him in a longing way, just a passing thought on the bye, and i admire my ability to stop answering when i knew it was doing too much to me. i’m neither sad or surprised that he didn’t answer me. i think the real question is whether i will feel the need to know his love at the end of our next conversation. i guess it was probably the transition of moving to new york, and the way he seemed to be invested in me figuring out my shit sometimes. it feels so rare that people care about the person i am that when it happens i immediately only know how respond by sexualizing the love i want to give back. he seemed like he wanted to know me and understand why i do the things i did, he listened to the ways i believe the world work and he changed his opinions because of the way i expressed my thoughts. that felt so powerful to me. it felt like he wanted me there, and i liked that he liked the way i spoke about existing and he wanted to be a part of it. like he knew i was connecting my soul to his soul, and like he had been honest about really not being able to give that to another person, like he wanted me to be there but he knew he was hurting me by letting me stay because he wasn’t capable of giving himself away. it feels like this really sad thing that when typed out sounds so dramatic. and i want nothing in the world than for him to know that i think this way, and i want him to tell me that i am crazy and read so much into nothing, or to tell me that i am right, that i understand his soul and that we are connected the way that i felt we were. 

i need this. i cannot understand why writing in a tumblr textbox is the only way to talk about deanna. i spent so long writing to her here, and now that i am with her again, now that i really feel like i am her, i can say here now that it wasn’t about becoming her or working towards finding my way back to her, it was about accepting that i wasn’t all the things i thought i was and that i wasn’t going to be able to achieve all these things that would supposedly make me better. i am deanna all the time and “future deanna” is here with me today. i’m not working towards anything that i am not actively doing right now. 

i wanted to stop here, the rest of this might not be so in touch. maybe it will. i’ve been under quarantine in brooklyn since march 10, 2020. this reminds me i need to talk about killer queen eventually, huh? coronavirus is changing the entire globe. this is that shit that has a major red subtitle in the future history books. i can’t go to the grocery store without wearing a face mask. this isn’t some weird movie that i don’t like, this is real life. i lost my job. i have to move out of my apartment at the end of next month and i have no idea where i am going to go. people are dying at insane rates. nothing in the world feels certain. donald trump is killing people. he’s our fucking president and after all this time i still haven’t accepted that that really happened. the things that are important in my world are so much different now. and their competing forces are compounded by nihilism and salty existentialism. and this makes it hard for me to think about the future. 

wow has it been awhile. this whole life has happened without tumblr, i guess maybe it’s time. 

i’ve tried over and over to just start writing again to put things down on paper or open a blank word document but that seems so formal and staged. tumblr is a free page, a slate that is endless in users but no one will actually ever read this. there’s comfort in that i suppose. 

i spent a lot of time trying to anticipate being ready to put sebastian back in my life. at what point could i define personal growth and finding “stability”. and so i avoided his existence plague-style and wandered in the depths of social media only peeking my head when i wanted to remind myself how far away information about him was to me now. for the stated record, i know with everything in me that i will never be with him, and that he and i did not share the same love. this is merely a formality in the form of word vomit to express the annoying however very real thoughts in my head. though i still deny that sebastian was wrong for me, or that i could not have made him happy if i knew how to just be myself. and maybe accepting those things would help me past the lack of closer i feel in my heart. but i will never get that.

i see pictures of him and his girlfriend, with his family, with beautiful quotes, matching halloween costumes. multiple flashes of masochistic ideology erode.

i would have worn that with him. how did she get him to wear that? was it his idea? 

oh and his family. i guess that’s a big part of the pain. his mom seemed to like me so much. and i loved her and them so much. and feeling remotely part of it. and feeling like i wanted to be a part of it. and seeing her in the family pictures, perched on the couch. tagged at my spot at the thanksgiving table. no i sat there. his mom poured me that glass of wine. that’s my wine. 

and feeling loved the way he loved. those moments where he sought to comfort me, to make me the center of his attention, to hold me and it matter. but it wasn’t love. and it did not matter. 

in my head i have accepted the narrative that we were not right, and i was not right for him. that i was sick and needed help and i didn’t tell him the girl that was too much and not enough was not the person i actually was. that we were the wrong time and the wrong words. and re-reading those text messages is what triggered this whole word jumble, because i have not felt this strongly about it in so long. but re-reading those text messages made me feel so small and insignificant all over again. so used and abandoned and naive. 

except, now there are actual words attached to those feelings. my narrative has shifted. i can place names to the emotions in my head and in my heart. oh, there is progress. 

re-reading those texts hurt again, and reading my response to them, the response i told myself that at the time i felt in my heart was a lie, that response now moves me. makes me proud of the human that i am this sick sad girl with real thoughts and feelings and so many goddamn issues was there to hold herself together when someone made her weak. bless me for i am me.