Phrenectomy

I look around, and I see all the wonderful things in my apartment. Mostly gifts; trinkets, treasures, and the like. I have a lot of books. Most of them unread, but I’m attempting to put a dent in the pile. I have so much worth living for. It wouldn’t be fair to these odds and ends to cut their appreciation short. All these tchotchkes, they make me happy. Candles, Kewpie dolls, clowns, porcelain cats of all shapes and colors. A mummified bat, a bunch of skulls, some wet specimens. I have a basket full of momentos from my late teens to early twenties. I haven’t gone through it in a while; I’m scared it’ll hurt. I have a lot of nice dresses, and sometimes, if I’m lucky, an occasion pops up where it’s appropriate to wear a fancy dress. I’m starting to believe I don’t need a reason. I’m beginning to feel like if I wait for an occasion, I’ll never wear the dresses. I am always waiting for an occasion in one way or another. An occasion to read, an occasion to take a walk around the block. I should just be doing these things already. If I continue to wait around, I’ll miss out on it all. I don’t want to miss out on life, and that’s something that has lived inside me since I was a kid. Growing up, I was often left out of group situations, and I was ganged up on frequently by two girls I thought were my best friends. I think that did a lot of psychological damage. I live a life where I constantly feel left out. I’m not the type to naturally suffer from FOMO, though, in all honesty. I do like being invited to things; it makes me happy. But to be frank, I am just as happy sitting in my bed playing Stardew Valley, if not more, than if I were out around drunk people or strangers. Or both. But I love my friends; I love them because they continually show me endless compassion, and they reciprocate my undying love and appreciation. They give me excuses to wear the dresses, read the books, and take the walks. How tender and warm it is to be cared about to such an extent. All of this is just to say, I am okay. And I am sorry. I am sorry for anyone worried about me. I’m sorry for any grief or upset I have caused. These past 2 months have been nothing but fatal blow after fatal blow, and I’ve lost sight of everything except my own pain. I sit here alone, nursing my wounds, but humans are social creatures, and I can only do so much to help myself. So this is a thank you to my people. Thank you for caring, for expressing concern, for taking time out of your day to talk to me. Thank you for helping me get through this. I am okay, and I will continue to be okay. I’ve pulled myself up from worse, although it doesn’t feel that way right now. Perspective matters, though, and the fact of the matter is that I have dug my way out of far darker situations. This is an apology. An apology for anyone who was worried, who was scared, who didn’t know how to handle me at my worst. Sometimes when you’re in pain, you don’t realize how badly you’re hurting others. I take full accountability for this, and in the future, I will make an effort to be more conscious of how other people perceive my pain. Thank you for reading, for loving me, and for being there. Much love. So much.