꧁#grief #zebruhcodakk #kryqusxyllem #traumadumping #selfreflection #mourning #cwdeath #cwobsession #cwpublicspectacle #nsfwe Hhhh. I've spent a long time trying to determine if there is an appropriate amount of time before I should stop being affected by something that rewrote all of the scribbles of my thinkpan. I haven't found the correct determination of time. Which, I guess, is surprising to me. I thought I would understand time very well by joining the Felt. But I think I understand it less. It's been a long time since Zebruh. I can say that plainly. It's not pretty. It's noe like, a bit of romantic devotion to him. Not as like, a joke, or a badge. Or an announcement. I'm not trying to make you all twitch. It's just. How long it's been since Zebruh. That's the line my pan keeps returning to. Since Zebruh. Before Zebruh, happiness wasn't easy. It was recognizable, sure, but it came like a pressure. It was a small mercy chemically dispensed through my pan to make my continued suffering worth it. A message could sit in my pan for nights and keep me warm enough to survive #mypod. After him, happiness just doesn't happen the same. It's awful. I still laugh, I still get flustered, I still enjoy board games and measurements and my little bits of cruelty from Chittr. I feel the stupid jump in my thumper when someone says something kind. I think I believe them for half a second. But I have to punish myself for believing them. Nothing gets as high anymore. The happiness reaches the ceiling and breaks its horsn against it. Everything pleasant is aware of itself and the room around it. I am skeptical at all times. Every little warm thing has me checking the corners of the room as if it is allowed to exist in my life. I used to think being noticed by him was proof that I had been made real. Then I lost him. Then everyone noticed me. And being real became unbearable. I wish I could say I learned something from it. I wish grief made me kinder, or convenient. I wish I could say I'm done confusing my feelings of devotion with feelings of surrender. I can't discern between attention, and safety. I want to be understood. I'm not finished. I'm not finished healing, but I am trying. There's a little humiliating difference, you know. Kryqus made me understand another piece of it, whether he meant to or not. The incident with him, and the way that I was forced to look at myself like a carnival machine that chews on its visitors. It's staying with me too. I was angry, I am always angry, really. Of course I was. Anger is easy. He recoiled from me, and I felt angry. But, he eventually relented. Thankfully, he finally declared that he officially had no interest with me. I'm happy about that, I guess. In the same, small, fleeting way. I wanted to say it was all voluntary. I wanted to say everyone who came near me knew what the page was. I wanted to say I am only a mirror, and if someone bleeds on the glass, that is hardly the fault of the reflection. A mirror can still be cruel, especially if the subject is. A stage can be a trap. Chittr is a trap. It is a stage of grief and cruelty. I do not know what all transpired with Kryqus after. I don't wnat to know. I guess. Out of fear that I had something to do with it. Maybe more than I would like. Maybe the incident was never really between us as individuals, but between what I made and what it allowed people to become while standing near it. I don't want to know. No single apology in the world could fix it. What happened. I know I can't fix it. I can't fix him. I can't fix how I felt or, maybe, still feel about him. My pan is fresh, it is always fresh. Like a recently peeled scab that keeps trying to heal over itself. I think I am coming to terms with the fact that I will not return to who I was before Zebruh. I was not better. I was simply broken differently. I do not think happiness returning at a lower rate means its fake. I still get to feel happy. But it's all maintenance. I hate maintenance. Maybe this is cope. Maybe it is ugly. I loved Zebruhh. I love him so much. But I lost him. Something in me dimmed, broke, and let me crumble into a spot where I have harmed and embarrassed myself in public enough times to know that shame is my indecency. I am not decent enough to do or be anything new. I am a spectacle, mistaken for needing saved. I am continuing to make a spectacle out of myself because that's what makes Chittr clap. Even if pitifully. But I am still here. Not triumphantly, or, as a symbol of something. Don't make me into a discourse object, or a pity offering. Do not see this as a reason to ask more invasive questions in my messages. I am an inventory note. Vesica Anelus remains present as the Panoptic. Happiness is present, but altered. Grief is present, and intrusive, and is sovereign over me as it pleases. I remain, unfortunately, responsible for what I preserve on this website. Hhh. His page remains under review. Given he is dead. This will continue. That will have to be enough for tonight. Because there is nothing more I can say. I just miss being the nothing more part of that. #Nothingness꧂
The wound is fresher than it feels. You won't be frozen in this feeling forever. I'm so sorry, both for your loss and for how it's changed you. I hoꫂ❁e the burden becomes easier to bear as time goes on. Obviously we're strangers to one another, but...I hoꫂ❁e you don't close yourself off from the ꫂ❁eoꫂ❁le who care about you. I know there are many of them. The grief won't disaꫂ❁ꫂ❁ear...but it will soften. You'll find joy again, I'm certain. I know this might not be what you want, but...I'll be thinking of you, Vesica. ❣︎
YO, I HAVE NO MOTHERFUCKING IDEA WHO ZEBRUH WAS. BUT I'VE BEEN THERE. I'VE BEAT DOWN COUNTLESS RIVALS IN MY TIME, AND SOME OF 'EM AIN'T GOTTEN BACK UP. AND I'VE FELT ALL KINDS OF DIFFERENT THINGS ABOUT THEM¡ STUFF THAT I CAN'T RECONCILE NOW THAT THEIR FACES ARE SMASHED PULPS ON THE SIDE OF THE RING. IT'S HARD TO RECONCILE, AND A LOT OF THE TIME THERE'S NO ANSWER. MY POINT IS, I GUESS, THAT YOU JUST HAVE TO KEEP ON MOVING FORWARD AND TRUST THAT IT'S RIGHT.