Real

I have these dreams.
These...nightmares.
And I say they're crazy.
And you say they're crazy.
Because in those dreams you choose her.
Because in those dreams, you don't choose me.
And I know you have chosen me.
I have chosen you, too.

I'm not a jealous person.
I hate jealous people.
I don't hate myself.
But...

I'm not sure you understand the extent of how much you have done for me.
You have literally saved my life.
I say that all the time.
It's true.
I cry when I think about it.
Happy tears, of course.

So please.
Listen to me as I repeat myself yet again.
Please.
Choose me.
Because not only have I chosen you,
I have fallen in love with you.
The real kind of love.
And I'm scared that someone else will fall in love with you, too.
You are incredibly lovable.
But you and I.
We haven't fallen in love.
We have fallen in the real kind of love.
And that isn't really falling.
It's rising.
And once you've risen to the real kind of love,

You never fall.

-Beaskie

Today

Today I finally understood what all the commotion about this thing called "love" really is.
Because I felt it.

Not that I haven't felt love towards you before--quite the opposite. But in this single moment, a moment of passion and truth and vulnerability and togetherness, it was overwhelming. It was startling. It was so intense, so engulfing, so real, so pure. It was devotion. It was desperate. It was everything. It was undeniably what "love" actually is.

All thoughts of hopelessness, all thoughts of self harm, all thoughts of a desired end to my life have vanished. Because of this moment we shared. Because of today.

I'm crying right now, just thinking about this.

Just thinking about today.

This was real. Nothing before has completely erased all the godawful thoughts in my head. Nothing.

But today, I realized that they are gone. Completely.

That is more than relief. That is more than happy. That means more than everything, because it saved everything. You saved everything. Today saved everything.

Now I can do this. With out a doubt. I haven't gotten out of the darkness yet, but now I believe that it is possible.

I will live. Just in hope that I can feel what we felt today again. And again. And again.

Today changed everything.

You have saved my life.


I love you.

-Beaskie

Movies

You can look through someone else's pictures and feel like you're watching a movie. You've probably seen the movie before, if you know the person, or used to know them. And maybe it's a new movie if you've never met them. But after you watch, you feel like you've learned something about the person, even if it's just what they look like.

But when you look through your own pictures, are you watching a movie? I feel like I am. I do it a lot. Because it feels weird, watching a movie of yourself. Every time I watch it, I don't really feel like I learned anything, not even what I look like. No matter how many times I watch it, the movie never seems familiar. Redundant, yes. But not familiar.

Maybe everybody feels this way.

If only I could make my life a movie. But I don't want to be the main character, I just want to watch. Because the main character always has to be the one to figure out how to make the ending happy and make everything come together perfectly because that's what makes a good movie. But somebody watching never has to work to make the ending good because they know it will just happen. They feel like they want to help, they brainstorm ways to make everything fall together perfectly, but they always know that they don't have to actually do anything, because the main character will do that for them and the watchers just get to sit back and enjoy the happy ending they had no part in creating.

If only I could just watch my own movie. It would be like living without the risk. I can try to live in the main character, but there is never any risk because I'm not the one making the story happen.

But if I were to watch, who would play me?

-Beaskie

Bubble

Well.

I guess you aren't in my life at the moment.

I have no fucking clue what is going on with you. I guess it's something pretty important. I guess it's something pretty dramatic. I guess it's something pretty intense.

Because why else would you cut me out when I need you most?

I've never heard of family doing that to family.

Guess my bubble just keeps on popping.

The boy.

Pop.

The train tracks.

Pop.

The cuts.

Pop.

The screams.

Pop.

The fear.

Pop.

The nightmares.

Pop.

This.

Pop.

I thought I had been pretty good at this whole guard-your-heart-don't-trust-anybody thing. But I guess I forgot to include family in that scenario.

Pop.

I hope you're okay. I hope you know that we have a lot of work to do, whenever you decide you want to put the work in. I hope you know that I actually do want to get to know you. I hope you know I hope you want to get to know me. I hope you have a real reason for what's happening right now. I hope...

But it's time for me to stop hoping.

Or else...

Pop.

-Beaskie

Sleep

I've been having these dreams...about the boy.

You know that saying, after you break up with someone but you still "see their face everywhere you turn"?

Yeah, okay, well these dreams have been taking that to a whole other level.

It's a different setting every time. But basically I'm walking around in a sea of people, and one by one someone will turn and make eye contact with me, and then their face just morphs into his.
And then I start running and screaming.
And I run to my parents, but their faces turn into his as well.
And I run to my siblings, and their faces change, too.
And I run to my friends, but their faces have also turned.

And I run to you. And I get so close, but not quite close enough. And just as your face is about to turn, I wake up.

A few nights ago I had that dream, but more extreme. Not only did their faces turn, but their whole bodies changed into his. They actually became him. And there were hundreds of them. Of him. Surrounding me. Each one was a different nightmare in it of itself. One would be the countless fights. One would be his physical aggression. One would be the cuts. One would be the screams. One would be the rape. One would be the unspeakable.
It's just like it was while I was with him. Everywhere I turned, a new nightmare appeared. There was no way out.

And then suddenly I was in a hotel room. By myself. Hiding.

I realize now that I had a gun in my hand. I realize now I was in a hotel room by myself because I was going to kill myself.

I think.

But then the army of the boy came. And I awoke again.

And sleep becomes something I dread, for the dreams are all too real.

-Beaskie

Though

John Green wrote, "But we can't know better until knowing better is useless."

Maybe this should be my mantra. I can never fully forgive myself for being so blind to the obvious and promised destruction that was the boy. Well, at least I haven't been able to forgive myself yet.
But I didn't know better.
I couldn't have known better.

Am I just telling myself that though? Could I have known better? I don't know. I don't remember. It's useless now.

Maybe not, though. Knowing better is useless to a person who never encounters the same situation again. If you never face the same problem, the solution is, in fact, useless.
This is the same philosophy most high schoolers use when viewing math--math is only useful to one who has a future in facing those types of problems ever again. The rest of us are left with useless solutions.

Maybe in this situation, though, knowing better being useless is a relief. Sure you have an irrelevant solution--but the burden of that knowledge is enough without the added weight of facing the problem again.

A friend of mine is beginning to present herself like the boy once did. And I must stop convincing myself that my knowing better is useless when, in reality, it is not, for I am unfortunately facing the problem in which I had once "uselessly" learned to know better.

But this could be a good thing, though. This whole knowing better after-the-fact actually not being useless thing.

Learning to know better was painful beyond words--that goes without being said. And maybe my knowing better being used to my own benefit (by preventing this similar--yet equally as wretched--situation from escalating to what it once became) might give the pain a hint of purpose, might ever-so-slightly ease the suffering.

Or, quite possibly, it could be what finally breaks me.

-Beaskie