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The Forgotten Mourners πŸ–€

Diane β€οΈπŸ’” July 14th 1956 – February 14th 2015

When I first learned about her, no less than two million buffalo stampeded across my chest. (That is just an estimate at the risk of sounding dramatic.) When the dust finally settled, when chaos clipped its own wing & the Earth relinquished her thunder, I found the remains of a heart not twenty feet from my aching body, trampled into a bloody mess. This heart did not belong to me, but I ripped open my own ribcage just to double-check.

Many years ago, on Valentine’s Day, her favorite holiday, I suddenly lost my close work friend at a former job to a heart attack. No one saw it coming. We were close but only in the workplace, not outside of work. We worked together everyday for almost ten years. We always said we would hang out one day outside work, and she would invite me to her house to celebrate the holidays with her family, but it just never happened. We never talked outside work unless we just happened to see each other on the streets or in stores. But she was often on my mind, and I could tell I was often on hers. She would tell me she saw things that reminded her of me. And she would come running over and say “Kim! I couldn’t wait to tell you this, you’ll never believe it…” (One day it was that her grandbaby said “f*ck,” and he learned it through her without her intending it πŸ˜†) She was old enough to be my mom and has adult sons and grandkids. She would hug me as we were closing up for the night and say “Love ya, girl, be careful!!” She talked to me and scolded me in a motherly kind of way. I used to overhear her bragging about me to people, telling them about classes I took, about how sweet she thought I am, as if I was her daughter. She had no idea I heard.

One day she collapsed at work and died on the floor. I wasn’t there that day, I was on a meditation retreat. I had this morbid need to see the room she died in, to stand on the spot where they told me her body hit. I thought it would feel cold and dangerous, dark, threatening, and for some reason I had to see, to feel it. I thought it would feel like a place where someone’s life ended, that the walls would somehow whisper of a last breath taken, of a warm body, full of energy, full of future plans, suddenly becoming cold & lifeless on the floor. I thought it would become a place of dread, a place I couldn’t bear to set foot, to lay eyes on. I never saw inside the room before that, just a quick glance once in a while. I had no reason to be in there in all the years I worked there. I thought I could somehow catch a glimpse into her last moments, feel her very last breath being drawn if I stepped inside. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. It was very ordinary. The same walls, the same floor, same dim light, the same sink and washrags hanging around, like the room I worked in. It was small & stuffy unlike the large one I worked in. It felt safe, actually, not a place where someone died, not the place that held my friend’s body as she left this Earth forever, where just a moment before she was reading a newspaper and sipping out of a water bottle. And I couldn’t feel anything except the pang of seeing her newspaper she was reading the morning she died, still folded up on the table, and her water bottle half full next to it, right in the middle of seemingly safe mundane life when her heart decided to give out just out of the blue without warning. She woke up that morning just like any other, probably wearing a red or heart shirt for the holiday. She was like that. I wondered about the people who took her away, were they cold, compassionate, caring? Did they think of her as someone’s mom, someone’s friend, someone’s coworker, someone? Or was she just their job, just another body to be carried out? I wondered if they felt compassion for us, for those of us left here in pieces in the now dark cold place that she occupied here on Earth.

I remember the day we met. It wasn’t love at first sight, at least not for me. I thought she was unpleasantly sarcastic and obnoxious. She was yelling and cursing to (not at) a coworker, I just began the job, and she was already there a while, then she asked me a question about how much we were selling something for, and I said fifty cents or two for one dollar, I meant to say 75 cents or two for one dollar, and she said “Yeah, well no shit it’s two for a dollar.” πŸ˜† But she quickly grew on me, and I came to love her and her funny sarcasm.

She was a loud, funny, sarcastic woman. Every other word out of her mouth was “Fck.” If she was angry at us, we knew it. She was extremely compassionate and fiercely loving but not what most would call sweet. She was always giving her last dollar to someone else. All three of her sons at one point wanted to date me, and two were arguing over me. She told me she would be honored to have me as a daughter-in-law but that I was too good for all three of them (and every other man out there). πŸ˜† She was angry at her sons, yelling “Don’t you fcking dare even think about going near that sweet innocent little girl til you get your sh!t together!!! I’ll kick your @$$es!!!” Then she turned to me and yelled “Don’t you dare even think about it with them til they get their sh!t together, then choose one!!” πŸ˜†πŸ˜†πŸ˜† They were very close so they were always at our work coming to talk to their mom or drive her home. She always affectionately referred to them as my Daniel, my Thomas, My Matthew. She would make me lunch and bring it to me.

When she would bake cookies or something at home, she would remember me and save me some. At work we would laugh and joke together. I was always texting my mom about the funny things Diane did and said, the kindness she would show to others even when she was angry. We worked at a food serving place. One night she went to Rita’s water ice when they were about to close. The worker wouldn’t give her water ice(if you don’t know what water ice is, because I think it’s a Philadelphia thing lol, imagine ice cream but not milky? Like flavored ice but soft. Something like that). He said he was closing. The next day he came to our place when she was working. I worked at the other side, and she worked at the kitchen side. He wanted food right as Diane was closing. She said “you know what, I shouldn’t give you sh!t after you were an @$$hole last night, but I will,” and she stayed open later and made him food even though the night before, he denied her when she wanted water ice. She got nothing extra out of staying later to make him food.

One day my dad came to my work acting like he was messing with me (he has a twisted sense of humor like that, a couple occasions he came to the store at night acting like he was pulling a gun/kn!fe on me and a bunch of men at the bar on the corner would come running over to tackle him and I had to embarrassingly tell them he’s my dad just joking, I really did have a gun pulled on me one night working alone, by a stranger, and he thought it was hilarious to joke about) and said “yo what are you doing” in a loud demanding voice. Diane was going by in a car, and not knowing it was my dad joking, she yelled out the car window, “She’s working!!! The f*ck’s it look like she’s doing?!” That’s just one of the many occasions she told someone off for me. She was very protective.

The last thing I ever heard her say was “Unfuckingbelievable!” Then she slammed a window closed in my face. I never saw her again. She was angry, but I love that this was our last encounter since we had to have a last encounter. It was so her and makes me laugh.

When I found out, my world collapsed.

A cold empty feeling came over me. It felt like some kind of constant in this life of mine was stripped away and like a lonely empty space now existed in the world that was once occupied by a warm loving presence. I could have never imagined a life without Diane. A world without Diane in it made no sense. She’s the closest person to me who ever died, and I wasn’t prepared. I lost another work friend before that, which was devastating, but we weren’t as close, and it could have never prepared me for this. I knew grief then, but this was different, like a boundless ocean. My other grief was intense. It was real and true but when compared to this grief, it seemed superficial, like just the surface of it.

The feeling I remember most is the feeling like I was missing a limb. It wasn’t physical pain but felt like missing an arm, like something essential to my body/life/existence was cut off in a traumatic accident or something and felt like a numbing, tingling sensation in its place. I couldn’t identify where the numbness was or the tingling, but it was somewhere. It felt deeper than body but also physical. I never knew a feeling like this exists. All day, everyday, there was this nagging sensation like part of me was physically missing when it shouldn’t be; it felt like it was ripped away, not cleanly cut or just misplaced, like it was physically, messily ripped off of me. Something about the element of surprise worsened it. It was a completely unexpected loss. Diane was healthy and middle aged. The other feeling I remember was literally struggling to breathe everyday for no reason. It felt like drowning or suffocating. When I was eleven years old, I couldn’t swim. I fell into a swimming pool at 12 feet deep, when no one saw. I remember the feeling of not being able to breathe, my arms and legs were flailing, my chest was caving in. When Diane died, I remembered that day in the swimming pool all those years before, it felt exactly the same. My body had the same physiological reaction. I remember writing this years ago and saying it’s not a metaphor, like it was physically the same. I had to stop at random parts of each day and gasp for breath. One morning a couple months after she died, around 2:00, I woke thinking I was having a heart attack too. I thought the grief was literally k!lling me. I couldn’t breathe and never experienced anything like it. My heart was palpitating, I felt like something was wrong with my face and struggled to get out of bed. I looked into a mirror, and my eyes were completely black, it was like two black endless pits instead of eyes. It looked scary, I never saw such a thing outside of horror movies. I began to have something like convulsions gasping and gasping, thinking my mom or sister would come and find me dead of a heart attack on the floor at 28 years old.

Then I remembered that a panic attack can feel like a heart attack and thought maybe that’s what this is. I never had one before. I remembered panic attacks aren’t dangerous and won’t k!ll, just feel like they will. Back then I was a Buddhist student and remembered all the breathing and meditation techniques. I forced myself to breathe deeply and mindfully and envisioned a Buddha surrounded by bright wh!te light like we did in class, stopped it in its tracks almost instantly. That’s when I realized it was the beginning of a panic attack coming on. I never had one before or after that. But occasionally, rarely, I still have some anxiety rooted in her death. Before Diane died, I never had anxiety except claustrophobia.

I also frequently had this feeling like I wanted to scream her name hysterically until my throat was raw. I would imagine climbing with just my arms and legs up all the buildings in the city and getting to the top and screaming hysterically for her, screaming her name off all the rooftops. The pain felt like something throbbing. (I have a similar feeling to much of this when I have a pet who dies, but I expect them to, their little lives are so short and fragile, I don’t find it traumatic like this) My whole body was in throbbing pain(this is how I experience all grief). I used to lay on my bed or on my bedroom floor, curled up in a ball in agony on all levels, hugging myself trying to will the pain away. Until then, I never really realized that someone can just suddenly die even though I knew people before this who did. It stripped me of my sense of security. I felt like everyone I knew, especially my own mom, was going to just suddenly die on me without warning, and it filled me with dread and panic, kept me awake all night. My whole body was filled with trauma. Every moment I just kept thinking who is dying now, everyone I looked at I imagined them dropping of a heart attack, no control whatsoever. The ticker gives out for no reason whenever it feels like, even in young seemingly healthy people, and there isn’t a thing we can do to stop it or know it’s coming.

One day while sitting in the back of my dad’s car speeding on the highway, the throbbing was so relentless and urgent, I briefly, uncontrollably imagined opening the car door and letting myself fall into the traffic simply to stop it. It wasn’t depression or su*cidal. It was just a passionate throbbing of my entire existence that wouldn’t let up, and I had no idea what to do with myself.

I felt guilty for grieving so hard, for my body’s reaction. I felt like it wasn’t my place. She was just a work friend. I felt my grief was disproportionate to our relationship, not valid, that I wasn’t worthy of sympathy, that my grief wasn’t worthy of the place it was taking up in my body. I felt it wasn’t worthy of putting into words and out into the uni-verse, though I still did. I struggled to understand if it was a real thing or just a me thing. Unpleasant questions would intrude into my mind throughout the days. Would anyone else in my position have this reaction to such a loss, to losing “just” a friend, a coworker? Was it normal? Some kind of over attachment? Was I just being dramatic? Was I hijacking the grief of the real mourners? I knew people grieve for friends, coworkers, but mine felt not valid and too much for the situation, the fact that she wasn’t an outside of work friend made my grief seem disproportionate, and I do believe it’s even more difficult to lose a friend who is a friend in every aspect of life, not just work, both are painful and difficult. But some losses are more profound and challenging than others. This loss is terrible, for sure, but not the most profound or life altering someone can experience, like losing a spouse/life partner/child/friend who is like family in every way…Even though I knew it was real, it felt like it wasn’t, like it wasn’t mine, shouldn’t have been mine. It felt like it should have been reserved for someone else, someone more important than me, for her husband if he was still alive, for her sons, for her family or friends outside of work, like I had no right to it. I used to write about it a lot back then and often felt it was meaningless to because other people have experienced worse losses, and here I am complaining about the loss of a coworker. It seemed petty next to the loss others experience. But the pain and loss were so painful, nothing petty about it.

It’s a similar feeling when an online friend dies or even just someone we follow and don’t interact with but always seeing their content. We know our pain is real, but there’s that guilt, that nagging question, like is it really my loss? Is my grief real, valid, appropriate? Or should I step out of the way and let the real people have their grief? That would be easy and all well and good if the grief wasn’t nagging day and night, keeping us awake, insisting that it is in fact our own loss as well. If the loss and the love weren’t real to us, there would be no grief to ponder, but still it’s hard to embrace it as valid. If my grief wasn’t so intense and at some moments even v!olent, I wouldn’t have questioned the realness, the validity. Anyone can be sad when even a stranger dies. But this was a deep, heavy personal grief I did not feel entitled to. There are so many memories of just the two of us. Laughing, eating, joking, drinking hot chocolate together, listening to Rod Stewart… memories only I hold. Someone has to grieve for those lost moments and give them a place, honor them. Someone has to give them life. Who else can? We had a relationship, a connection, memories that only we shared, that were ours alone. No one else can grieve for that, only I can. Thinking this way makes it seem a little bit more valid.

I tried looking up things on Google about how to cope with the loss of a coworker to death, looking for something to validate my grief, and couldn’t find much at all. Google seemed to think I was looking for ways to support a grieving coworker and also suggested ways to support the family of our dead coworker. This hints at how it’s really not considered a significant/personal loss and hardly even worth mentioning. I looked it up again recently out of curiosity. I found two things for that specific loss but mostly just the same stuff as before and about grief and loss in general.

I always loved her, and I sensed she loved me too, and she was a significant part of my everyday for nearly ten years, even when we weren’t together, but as platonic friends and only at work, I wasn’t sure how valid our relationship was, how important it really was, not to us, but to anyone else, society in general, just whatever truth exists, I felt the grief, sympathy, should be reserved for real friends and family and couldn’t understand why I was reacting the way I was, felt I was overreacting, dramatizing my situation, but I couldn’t get it to stop. It was beyond my control. It was physical.

I remember writing that if I knew that last moment what was coming, I would have never let her go, would have slashed open my chest, cracked open my ribcage, if I could have, ripped out my own bleeding heart and handed it to her. And I would have.

Recently Instagram suggested I follow an account of a complete stranger. I loved the thumbnail picture I saw, a beautiful young woman and man on their wedding day. I love sweet posts like that so clicked her account just to see her love photos and was very surprised and dismayed to see in her bio, “widow.” At 26 years old! Part of my brain wouldn’t let me believe it at first, I knew it couldn’t be true at their age, but it is. I read her posts where she describes her grief after a tragic car crash, and I was surprised to see it somehow resembled the first couple years of my own grief, she described the missing limb feeling(I never heard anyone else say this), a feeling like part of her body missing, a feeling like drowning and suffocating, the physical sensations, the sense of panic and panic attacks. It was everything I remembered. I know hers is much worse, but so similar in some way. I could tell my grief wasn’t as profound, not as permeating, not as life altering, that there were layers and aspects missing even while the throbbing and aching were at their worst. Things I will never understand. And she mentioned something about not really understanding true grief or pain til you lose a husband and the father of your kids. And I do know what she means. It brought back that old feeling like I overreacted, that I had no place grieving, especially to such an extent, such depth over a friend, just a work friend. I felt guilty like I was taking off of someone else’s real grief and loss somehow by having my own experience. U.S. society and others, as a whole, favor romantic love/relationships and parent/child ones. Any other relationships/grief/loss/love…get pushed aside, and all the sympathy/validation tends to go to the spouse/romantic partner/child/parent. So it can sometimes be challenging to have intense grief for a different loss and see it as valid or even real. It feels guilty. It feels almost like being some kind of imposter, taking on the role of someone in mourning, someone broken over a shattering loss, when there is a more important person somewhere suffering even worse over the loss. No matter how much we suffer about a loss like this, there’s going to be someone else seemingly more entitled to that suffering. Ours will forever be overshadowed, dwarfed by theirs. It feels like playing make believe or playing house or dress up because we don’t yet or won’t ever know the real thing. It makes it seem insignificant yet the pain is still so heavy and real.

“Heaven knows,” (for lack of a better term), I never asked for or wanted that traumatic experience or deep deep pain, that panic. It came at me. I never wanted to lay on my floor at 3:00am, eyes black, wide awake, gasping for breath, shaking in agony & panic at the thought of never seeing her face again. And I will say, I don’t wish I was one of the important ones. I certainly don’t envy the girl who lost her husband or the son who lost his mom or the dad who lost his daughter. This “lesser grief” isn’t about wanting to be a part of it or wanting to play the role of a grief victim, a loss survivor, but is just a natural reaction to something that is a loss to us in its own context, its own way. I may not be an important one and maybe it’s much less in magnitude than a real mourner’s, but for whatever reason this loss is a devastating one, and grief will reflect that.

My grief nearly ten years later is no longer as prominent as it was. It’s a quiet, deep, ache that sometimes washes over me. Sometimes it’s still heavy enough to feel it could have potential to bring me to the ground, but that feeling is very brief when it hits. It used to be heavier, threatening to bring me down in random places, feeling as if my body would collapse wherever I was standing. Sometimes I would leave for a store and on the way feel I couldn’t go on and thinking I may have to turn around and go back home. It would hit anywhere, on a bus, walking up a street, in a grocery store. Sometimes it was more panic than pain, like a claustrophobic feeling, but feeling like the world is too large instead of too small, feeling like she’s lost out there somewhere and I would never find her. Thinking about her never seeing her sons again, never meeting her new grandbaby she told me everyday she couldn’t wait to meet when he was born, never tasting her favorite strawberry ice cream again, never listening to her favorite song, never again hearing her voice, my body would threaten to collapse. I no longer experience the fear, the panic, just the sadness part, but it’s almost never overwhelming, deep but not threatening. It’s more sadness now than unbearable pain. It can exacerbate sometimes and be especially deep, either randomly or something that reminds me of her. I often feel it in the beginning of Fall because it’s my favorite. I still have a slight sense of something being cut off, missing but mostly faint. I can tell it’s not going to fade any more than this. It’s a part of me now. It’s like background noise usually, unless I focus on it or something brings my attention to it. Writing this brought it all back. There are moments I desperately wish she was here, not necessarily always for me to see or talk to, but that she was here to get to live and have her favorite strawberry ice cream and listen to Rod Stewart, to watch her grandkids grow up and yell at her sons.

Anyway, I’m not even sure why I’m inspired to post this, but I am. Just seeing that girl’s grief so raw and so well articulated, took me back to my own, as I was reading, I was shaking my head in agreement and saying yup to myself, yet I haven’t a clue what it’s like for her as I haven’t suffered a loss like that. I would never think I know. But it felt like some underlying part is similar or maybe it’s the surface that is, I would never say that to someone struggling though, never ever would I say or even think “I know how you feel.” I know there are more layers and aspects to some losses than others even if the gist of it feels similar. Then I had that feeling all over again like it wasn’t valid or real even though I know it was real.

Since I met her I have spent as many years without her now as I have with her, but the years with her feel like much longer than the ones without, packed with so much experience, so many memories. It doesn’t even feel long since I last saw her. I can still remember her love all these years later. I never felt that I lost that. Losing her never meant losing that love.

She told me of all the amazing things in this life she wanted for me, love, my dream job, happiness…the main thing she hoped for me is that I would always keep my sweet and kind and gentle personality even in the face of challenges and encountering difficult people. She said one of her worst fears was me becoming cold hearted when I see how cold hearted the world can be. She told me to always stay kind & keep loving no matter what.

And I want to say to anyone reading this, if anyone is, I’m sorry for YOUR loss, the loss of your online friend, your coworker, the loss of your neighbor, the loss of your brother or sister or sibling, that’s not just your parents’ loss or their spouse’s and children’s, that’s YOUR loss. And it’s ok to grieve. There’s, unfortunately, enough grief for everyone.

…the rhythm of my heart
Is beating like a drum
With the words ‘I love you’
Rolling off my tongue ❀️

Sending love to all in need,

Xoxo Kim

Happy, Happy New Year β€οΈπŸ₯³

Random pic of me! πŸ’™

In Sarah Ban Breathnach’s β€œSimple Abundance – A Daybook of Comfort and Joy,” she writes:

β€œJanuary, the month of new beginnings and cherished memories, beckons. Come, let winter weave her wondrous spell: cold, crisp, woolen-muffler days, long dark evenings of savory suppers, lively conversations, or solitary joys. Outside the temperature drops as the snow falls softly. All of nature is at peace. We should be, too. Draw hearthside. This is the month to dream, to look forward to the year ahead and the journey within.”

She also writes, β€œβ€¦time is the New Year’s bountiful blessing: three hundred sixty-five bright mornings and starlit evenings; fifty-two promising weeks; twelve transformative months full of beautiful possibilities; and four splendid seasons. a simply abundant year to be savored.” 

This is something I used to share here every year on New Year’s Eve/Day. I have always found it very inspiring. ❀️ I don’t think it applies to everyone though because it’s not cold in January in some places, and some places don’t get the diversity of four seasons. I love that we do where I am. And I love cold!! Even though I’m allergic to it. πŸ₯Ά ❄️ 🌨️

I hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are, and Happy New Year, if that applies to you. We don’t need a new year for new beginnings, but to me there is something inspiring about a new year, like a blank slate, and the feeling in the air just feels new because of the cultural aspect, like everyone around knows it’s a new year, and it’s a popular sentiment to take that opportunity for growth and beginnings. β™₯️

Xoxo Kim πŸ’‹πŸ˜˜β€οΈ

The Agony & The Ecstasy {my true story of love, rejection, heartbreak, & healing β™₯οΈπŸ’”β™₯️} loonngg post!

Just a random pic of me because I don’t know a good pic for this post. LoL πŸ˜†

“…and then I go and spoil it all by saying something stup!d like ‘I love you.'” πŸ’•

LoL This song comes to mind when I think about this experience I’m sharing here with love & heartbreak. β€οΈπŸ’”

That day I told a woman who was hardly even an acquaintance of mine that I loved her and wanted to spend forever with her….and got rejected. Ouch! πŸ˜†

πŸ˜† Check out, “Something Stupid,” sung by Frank Sinatra, here: (I have a thing for the Oldies lol 😁)

Trigger warning ⚠️: mentions depression and s*icidal ideation, nothing graphic. I’m generally and naturally very happy but am prone to depression on and off

If you see words that are censored like “s*x,” “wh!te,” “stup!d,”… it’s because these are either words that can be triggering to some people (like if they have trauma) or can be flagged on FB or some prefer them censored like to give a privileged majority less power, like wh!te people or men/m*n. I may post some excerpts of this post on FB, copying and pasting, and don’t want an FB suspension. lol It doesn’t mean I’m against something or a prude or just weird. Also, words like stup!d and d*mb are ableist. I admit I do use them in ways that aren’t against people with intellectual differences. They are still offensive to some though, and people can report them or FB can just detect certain things and we get flagged and thrown in the FB slammer. If FB feels that men or wh!te people are being “att*cked,” (because that’s a thing πŸ˜‚ those poor men and wh!te people always being att*cked) they can suspend our account. FB cannot always detect context and just see a word and flag. Also, there are lots of punctuation errors that I really don’t care to go back and fix because this took forever and so much emotional energy to write. I don’t have the emotional energy at the moment to go back through it. I already read it over n over n over. When I have the emotional energy again to re-read it to fix the errors, it may not be for months. And this has already taken like half a year to write. Lol

The YouTube videos may not show up, but I’m including them anyway. I saw something about YouTube issues and WordPress, not sure what it’s about, maybe some copyright thing.

(yes, the title is stolen off a popular book/film. πŸ˜†But this story is all mine.)

Today is Saturday, December 31st, 2022, the day I’m publishing this here, but it’s evening here in Philadelphia, so may say it’s January 1st, 2023.

I would like to share something that I have never shared before with anyone. It’s something that happened ten and more years ago. My experience with love & rejection. I tucked it away somewhere deep within and never fully revisited it again til recently. And what a ride it was going back in time and stirring up some old stuff!

Writing this gives me life. It makes me so happy to put all my pain and love into words. To give a voice to this experience that has haunted me for years. An experience that I thought ruined me for life. An experience I thought reduced me to less of the woman I was before her. But it actually gave me more depth, substance, and gave me a story. My own unique story. I am glad for it. I just can’t wait to put my story out into the uni-verse. To give it the space it’s worthy of. For years I thought it was something to keep all inside. I thought it was bad and wrong and humiliating and should be erased out of history. I thought it should die with me. But that’s not true. It’s part of me. It happened. It molded me into what I am. And it’s ok to give it space, to give it a name, to give it life.

Too many people, always heterosexual people that I know of, claim that love is a choice, that orientation, attraction…are choices. But I can say it’s not. We can choose to nourish it, dwell on it, work at it, keep it going, or we can choose to take steps to be less engaged in it and hope the worst of it eases if we can’t have the one/s we love. We can’t flip a switch and turn it off in an instant. But we can take a step back, distance ourself, focus on everything around us, giving the love space to take the backburner and possibly fizzle out eventually or at least become dormant so it’s not always on our mind. It becomes background noise then fades into the parts of the ourselves we rarely touch. This is my story of love & rejection & heartache, and a years long journey of healing.

Why am I sharing it now? Simply because I saw a survey where one of the questions asked non heterosexual people about their first heartbreak. Some people said they did not feel ready to share their experience of first heartbreak or it was too painful. My experience with first heartbreak is boring. Sad but boring. Lol I loved a girl who moved away and had to go to a different school. But it reminded me of this experience, one of the worst heartbreaks.

I want to bring visibility to the experiences of people like me, the way we can love, to share what it’s like to love as someone who isn’t the norm. My love story isn’t unique, who doesn’t get rejected or love someone and be afraid to speak up about it, right? (Actually there are people who don’t feel love and are called aplatonic, and they’re valid too! They experience all other emotions and care about people in an impersonal way but don’t feel actual love of any kind even for family, friends, pets – they care about the well-being of others and will take care of people they need to like their kids, just don’t feel love for them) But the kind of love I experience is a bit different than the norm. And I would like to share.

To understand my story, it may help to have some background knowledge of my identity so that’s what I’m explaining first. But it’s long. So if anyone is reading and wants to just skip to the story, there’s an image way below that says “Story time.” The story is under that.


I once told a woman I loved her and basically told her I wanted to spend forever with her. And….she rejected me! Ouch, ouch, ouch!! OUCH!!! She is the only woman I got up the nerve to confess my love for. Imagine the deep pain. The rejection wasn’t on good terms. She unfriended my account.

It was devastating and humiliating and took me years to recover and get over her. I became physically ill, and it took a serious emotional toll. I thought I would never survive it.

This love that I have experienced still has an impact on me all these years later. I don’t think it can be put into words how. It just shaped me in a way that can’t be explained. Even when I rarely to never thought about it, the effect on me was always here. It’s an integral part of me. I wouldn’t be all that I am without it. It’s just one thread in the tapestry of my existence. It’s also a reflection of me, of that way that I can love, and the way I react to that love. I can’t say I’m wholeheartedly glad for the experience, but I also don’t wish it never happened.

I can tap into that love and that pain when I think about all those years ago. I can summon the thrill and the desire. I can get giddy when I let myself thoroughly remember how I loved her even though I don’t love her like that anymore, how I ached for her, how at one point, I believed she would be mine, the deep deep joy she brought me, the happiness her smile inspired in me. And I love feeling all the feels again, all these years later, but now with a barrier that wasn’t there before, a barrier that lets me experience without being too emotionally involved like before, to the point it’s destructive or agonizing. I can feel it all again without drowning in despair like all those years ago. I just love it. There are still old love songs that remind me of her. But they are no longer painful.

Though they can stir a wistful feeling and a feeling of missing that experience.

It was as beautiful as it was painful.

Writing this was not painful for me. There were a few occasions I experienced yearning, and other occasions, I was like reliving painful memories, but overall, it wasn’t a painful thing to write. I was more amused than anything, thinking of my young, clingy, desperate self back then. πŸ˜†πŸ˜†πŸ˜† And there were lots of bellylaughs thinking back to all the funny things she said. I have been working on this post off & on since the beginning of June. Some occasions while writing and rereading this, I have wished things turned out differently, but ultimately don’t care.

I do admit that throughout it I kept thinking about what could have been if only… and experiencing a kind of yearning, and also have experienced fear about the fact that I can’t say for sure if I ever saw her again or saw a picture of her or even just her name, those emotions, that incredibly passionate desire for someone I can’t have, won’t come flooding back. I loved her and wanted her with a passion that can’t be put into words. The rejection and the loss brought me unspeakable pain. The loss of possibility and the loss of her online friendship. The loss of joy she brought me just to look at a picture of her smile. I knew her in person at one point but we were then just online friends.


Time has placed so much distance in the middle of us there is a protective barrier that won’t allow those old emotions to touch me in a raw way any longer. But every now and again as I wrote and reminisced , I felt curiosity, taunting me like a mischievous child egging on another child, whispering to me, “Go ahead, look her up again.” And I felt the possibility of a dam deep within me, threatening to break and unleash all the passion and pain and joy and despair and beauty and yearning of some long ago I forgot existed until recently, threatening to pull me under, like quicksand, drowning me in all the love and grief and longing, I thought I thoroughly let go all those years ago, threatening to capsize me, as if I were a lone sailboat on a deserted island, pulling me into some whirlpool until I submerge. It is not in my best interest to go on a search for her. But temptation can be quite hard to resist should I let it get out of hand. I’m trying my best to keep it at bay so I don’t go and spoil it all by doing something stup!d and finding her and letting myself love and covet her all over again, undoing all the healing and indifference to her that I worked so hard for years, to reach.

The allure of that potential thrill all over again, enticing me. I almost crave it, that youthful giddiness, the joy just a glimpse of her brought to me. The intoxication.

The ecstasy, so tempting.

But then I remember.

The agony.

And I know what’s good for me.

Curiosity k!lled the cat.

I am an asexual aromantic (aroace) woman with what are known as “lesbian leanings/tendencies.” I only came to understand this around three years ago, at thirty -three years old. When we don’t experience a basic emotion or attraction that nearly everyone else in the world does, it’s hard to pinpoint the fact that we don’t. We usually know something is going on (or not going on πŸ˜†), but can’t really say what.

Please do not ask me about my “symptoms” or “diagnosis.” I’m not sick. I don’t have symptoms and was not diagnosed. I don’t “have” asexuality. I AM asexual. It’s my identity, part who I am. I’m so over the microaggressions of ignorant, even if well intentioned, people.

Aromantic means I don’t experience romantic attraction. And asexual means I don’t experience sexual attraction. I don’t “catch feels” in the traditional sense. I have never been into dating and don’t get crushes. Not all aromantic people are asexual. We can be homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual/pansexual…

Romantic relationships have always seemed very “other” to me, something I never understood, something I don’t have access to. I never fully understood why people cry over romantic breakups but could if they did over friendship loss. I always saw romantic love as inferior and saw two friends in a movie falling in love as a downgrade. I would be offended when male friends of mine would fall for me, romantically, thinking they now loved me less or were using me. I knew on some level but did not consciously know or know how to articulate that I do not experience romantic attraction/love. I don’t experience the beauty of it so did not realize all along that romantic love/attraction isn’t inferior to platonic. I see looking back how my aromanticism has interfered with my empathy. Not compassion, I still felt sorry and wished people the best when they had romance problems but couldn’t quite get it. I did not understand why divorce is so painful and considered terrible. I thought surely losing a best friend of even only a few months after an argument is WAY worse than losing a husband to divorce after 30 years. It’s “just” romantic! I understand now after learning of my own aromantic identity. I have no idea what it feels like but now understand better intellectually. I always wondered why everyone is so obsessed. I used to think it’s “just” romantic. Now I understand.

And asexual people can be homoromantic, aromantic, heteroromantic, biromantic…I turned out both asexual and aromantic but have strong homoromantic leanings(this is just what I call them). I only understand sexual attraction as a concept. I have never felt it, myself. I grew up feeling that something is off and missing but couldn’t say what. No one explains what sexual attraction or desire is because everyone assumes everyone will begin to feel it and just know. But one percent of us don’t. And we grow up usually feeling broken and mortified and confused. We don’t experience it to understand all the vague references we hear around us. I had no idea in a defined way that there is a feeling (sexual desire/being horny) that nearly everyone feels and that that is what’s driving people to seek sexual activity. Of course I heard talk about it and references but since I don’t experience it had no idea exactly what is going on. So there’s a feeling that most people get making them want sexual contact with someone else’s body, can be a specific person or just a feeling of I want s*x. Amazing! I was so confused for so long. Imagine if everywhere you go people are kissing blank wh!te walls and ohh and ahhing over these walls and obsessed and all they talk about are these walls and can’t keep their hands off the walls and you’re just like wth, what is driving this? No one tells us there’s a feeling nearly everyone else has that some don’t. We literally have no idea what “she’s hot/sexy” means. We think it means pretty and often don’t understand how that makes someone want sexual activity with the person. To us, it’s like looking at a beautiful sunset, to see a pretty person.

I did not know til somewhat recently that romantic feelings almost always include sexual feelings and that most couples engage in sexual activity with each other, like that it goes without saying if we meet a romantic couple, they do or at least have together, or that someone can become physically aroused or have a fluid reaction in their pants (I laughed hysterically upon finding this out and had to ask my little sister if it’s true – she confirmed it is – so so glad I’m ace!!). I did know most people have sexual feelings and get it on, just did not realize the extent to which romantic automatically also includes/means sexual. It’s very common asexual people don’t realize this because again, no one explains it in detail as everyone assumes we all experience it or will. We grew up not having this experience so don’t have our own experience to reference like most do. Thank goddess I’m ace.

Most asexual people are s*x indifferent or repulsed and don’t want it with anyone. I am s*x repulsed with men. Gag me with a spoon already!! And s*x indifferent with women. No thanks, don’t want it, but the thought of it doesn’t make me want to crawl out of my skin and get like fifty showers. LoL I pretended to like men to not be seen as a freak. The thought that I had to grow up and date, touch, bang, marry men, or be seen as a freak, would sometimes trigger s*icidal depression in me.

Asexuality.org

I experience emotional, sensual, and aesthetic attractions to women only, and no attraction to men. I don’t experience sexual attraction to anyone or any sexual desire at all, never have. I understand it only intellectually. I never felt it firsthand. We are usually born this way. It does not mean no physical libido. If an asexual person has a physical libido, for most, it doesn’t translate to “I want s*x.” It’s just a physical sensation.

I have never felt the feeling of “I want s*x.” I have no idea what that must feel like. This used to bring me so much anxiety and humiliation. Not that itself but what others would think and not being able to relate. I used to pretend to feel it so people wouldn’t think I’m a freak. I would google what does it feel like so I can try to seem to fit in. Even as an adult. Reading about it did not help me understand firsthand. For me to understand what sexual desire must feel like I imagine being hungry and emotionally wanting food along with the physical sensation of hunger. I can’t imagine it though for someone else’s body. Sometimes if I haven’t had much food for at least two days, I am ravenous and could devour food in a second. One day I got soup at wawa after having almost no food for a couple days. I was shoveling it into my mouth walking up Market street thinking this is what horny must be like but for someone else’s body. I kind of understand to a point. Also, I can be “horny” for hugs or cuddles with another woman, either a specific one or just wishing there were another woman with me to touch, and use that as a reference to imagine if it were sexual. It helps a bit.

Indication of asexuality πŸ˜†

Romantic and sexual attractions usually go together for the average person but asexual and aromantic people may experience one and not the other. It makes sense to us even if it doesn’t to you. I understand most people don’t separate and can’t imagine how they can be separated, but an asexual person may look at someone and fall in love, get butterflies, all the feels, want to get married, just not have sexual feels for the person or anyone. You know how little elementary school aged kids can get a little crush on another kid that of course isn’t sexual but is different than how they like their friends? You know how a little girl can blush over a little boy and think he’s cute in a way she doesn’t with any friends she plays with? Some of us stay this way all throughout adulthood, the sexual never manifests. It’s always I want to hold her hand, cuddle her, do life together…but the sexual never develops.

And aromantic people may look at someone and think wow sexy, I want to hit that but not have those warm sappy romantic feels, no desire to date or get married.

What I am can be referred to as an aroace lesbian or bambi lesbian (isn’t this adorable? LoL). I’m a bit hesitant to use these terms though because real lesbians sometimes get offended (though I think most don’t mind, and see us as valid). They say it invalidates them or that there’s no such thing or that they suffer more than us because of their sexuality (how society regards them) and we shouldn’t invalidate that by using their label, lesbian. And stuff like that. They say we should just admit we want a girl best friend and nothing “more.”
Asexual flag πŸ–€πŸ’œ

Possible Signs of Asexuality – Part 1: About You

https://www.asexuality.org/

I always could sense that something is present in everyone else and not me. A few years ago, I learned more about asexuality. I always knew about it since a teenager but did not realize sexual attraction is what I lack to realize it’s me. People have always sensed something is different about me and I have been ridiculed and mocked and called “prude, virgin” and stuff. I used to be s*icidal sometimes because I thought I was the only one like this and couldn’t explain it. I kept it a deep, dark secret. I always felt kind of gay but nahh.

πŸ˜‚

I remember occasionally secretly wishing I was gay so I can have a woman instead of a man. πŸ˜† Women are soft, lovely, delicate, and warm. They are kissable and cuddly and adorable. Men are not. LoL And women (even bad@$$ babes) usually have a sensitivity, a gentleness, about them that even the most sensitive men don’t. It’s just the nature is so different. I always secretly wondered why women are into men when other women exist. Like why are you looking at him when there’s a gorgeous babe right over there?! πŸ˜‚

In case anyone needs convincing. πŸ˜† (It’s me!) You’re telling me you would prefer to cuddle and look at a man over this?? 😭

It’s a common misconception that aromantic asexual people cannot feel emotions very very deeply for other people and cannot experience heartbreak. We absolutely can. There are other ways to love than just romantic and sexual. Not all aromantic people experience emotional attraction or deep friendship love, but many do.

I can fall deeply in love (with women) like it’s my job. πŸ˜† Lol I’m always catching girl crushes everywhere I go (girl crushes are platonic – heterosexual women can get them too lol). It’s just not romantic.

How cute is this?! πŸ’•

My love story, below, is about alterous attraction, a very intense emotional attraction that many aromantic people experience in place of romantic.


Alterous attraction/love, just like romantic/sexual, is not a choice.

People of any sexual orientation may experience it, but it’s usually aromantic people, I think. If you’re not aro and you develop deep feels for someone, you’re probably just going to go all out and catch full on romantic feels. LoL πŸ˜†


Here is what alterous attraction is:


“Alterous attraction is a type of attraction, much like romantic or sexual attraction. However, this term describes the desire to be emotionally close to someone in a way that is neither exclusively platonic nor wholly romantic, but rather somewhere in the middle. Some describe it as the orientation related to the grey area between platonic and romantic attraction, and it is sometimes described as simply ‘the intense desire for (emotional) closeness.’ This term is often used within and associated with the aro-ace community.
As mentioned in the introduction, alterous refers to a way of feeling attracted to someone similar to platonic and romantic attractions. This means that one form of being attracted to someone can exist parallel to another: someone can, for instance, be bisexual, aromantic, and panalterous. Alterous attraction – much like romantic – uses the prefixes hetero-, homo-, a-, pan-, etc.

You can also speak of an alterous orientation, which, much like its sexual or romantic counterparts, is defined by whom you are attracted to in this way; as such, who you want to be emotionally close with, determines what your alterous orientation is. The alterous counterpart to a crush is called a squish, a hush, or a mesh. These terms are not, however, very widely used.

Alterous is derived from the same root as words such as ‘to alter’ or ‘an alternative.’ All these words come from the same Latin root of ‘alternare,’ which means ‘to change, to interchange.’ As such, in a literal sense, the term could be defined as ‘a descriptor for an alternative type of attractions’ or just ‘other attractions.’

So that’s alterous attraction! It’s like I want you as my person but doesn’t really have to be defined as platonic or romantic.

I always thought that this alterous attraction I experience was like a strange quirk of mine, never realized it’s a real thing and more experience it. Since I was a young girl, I would daydream about having two women (not necessarily any specific women, though sometimes) who were close to me and my most important people. One would be like a sister and the other would be a bit different. This one I would imagine myself hugging more and holding hands with, being each other’s main person, connecting more emotionally with. I couldn’t understand the difference in my head and why I longed for both if both are platonic. I used to imagine both of them having a romantic partner since most eventually do, and I thought that’s how it’s always going to be. Turns out the one is alterous! It can be called having a mesh instead of having a crush. The platonic one is called having a squish on someone, meaning wanting to be very close platonic friends, not just liking someone platonically but actively wanting a very close friendship with the person. I only get these on women/women aligned people, though I can definitely be close friends with a man. It can’t reach the depth I can have with a woman though.


I am homoalterous – deep emotional attraction to other women that can inspire me to want a very close relationship to them that isn’t quite romantic but closer or more interconnected than platonic usually is. It’s usually aromantic people who experience it (though not all do) in place of romantic attraction.

homoaesthetic many asexual people experience aesthetic attraction in place of sexual, we can want to check them out and stare them up and down, but it doesn’t have a sexual aspect or trigger physical arousal – I can stare at women/fem presenting people all day long

I got this bruise because a large puppy at work jumped on me!

lesbisensual – sensual attraction to only other women, cuddles, kisses, hand holding, skin caresses, massages…Only women are cuddly and kissable to me Most people experience sensual attraction along with romantic and sexual attractions. But some aromantic/asexual people can experience it without those other attractions. Like I don’t want to date or bang you but we can cuddle and kiss (keep that tongue in your mouth though eww lol) and lay together all night. LoL I don’t kiss with the tongue but will give sweet kisses all over

aromantic, asexualI don’t like anyone sexually or romantically

I identify as a lesbian oriented aroace or aroace lesbian or bambi lesbian (a lot of actual lesbians seem to know what a Bambi lesbian is, but most people do not). Or sometimes just asexual lesbian when I’m not up for explaining the complicated (to others, not to me) thing of all the attractions or aspects. Some people cannot grasp the whole thing but can grasp “lesbian who just isn’t into s*x.” Though, seems most cannot even grasp that. If I was in a brief social situation where it’s just not convenient to get into the whole thing, lesbian is good enough. I don’t mind people just thinking I’m a gay woman. Though I like to bring visibility to my actual identity. And if I’m going to be close to people, it would be good if they eventually know what I am.

People tell me how “lucky” I am to be asexual because I’ll “never know true heartbreak.” They have no idea. Just because love isn’t sexual doesn’t mean it isn’t love or is less deep. No, I did not want to see her with no clothing on or play with each other’s junk/swap bodily fluids, never pictured her naked, and was never aroused by her. None of my daydreams or fantasies of her (and I had many) were even slightly sexual, ever. Sensual (cuddles, holding close, hair strokes..), but not sexual. But I would have taken a bullet for her even if I wasn’t a universal lover who would do that for just about anyone. The years it took me to recover. I was in shambles. Thought I would never ever be whole again.

I knew her in person for like two years, then never saw her in person again but came across her around four years later online (I stayed in love with her those four years of not seeing her at all in person or online, carried a flame all those years, frequently thinking of her, it would mellow out a bit on occasion, take the back burner then come back strongly) and became online friends, not really interacting much with each other, though we did have a few online chats on her posts. Sometimes I would respond to something she posted, and she would respond to me leading to a conversation. A while after becoming online friends and exchanging a few comments and likes here and there, I sent her two long messages, basically telling her I loved her and just how strong my love for her was, how I loved her for years, how I thought of her frequently and was so inspired by her and made better because I knew her. She did not respond and unfriended my account. I kept looking at hers for two years after that(update, actually it was three years). Then stopped because it was too painful, but still thought about her and loved her for a couple more. I thought about her frequently and wished she was mine. I think I mentioned somewhere that I still lived a happy life, just carried this pain, love, and longing for a few years. It would wax and wane til it began to fade and then fizzle out completely.

I’m going to correct a mistake here. I think a couple places throughout this writing I mention that I stalked her account for two years then for three more years after that still actively loved her but stopped looking at her social media accounts, just frequently thought of her. Actually I stalked her social media/YouTube/blog accounts for THREE years after the rejection and then stopped and actively loved her for two. lol I remember now being 30 years old (just over three years after sending her the long messages of my undying love) and having a new job (my current job!) as a pet nanny and looking at her accounts thinking she would be impressed by my new job because she loves animals too. lol I remember thinking if only she would give me a chance, she would see how we both love them and I work with them now. She was always posting pictures of her cat and chihuahuas. One day my boss did not put my schedule on yet for the next day, and it was late into the night already and I thought maybe I lost my new job already and he never said (that wasn’t it, he just never got around to it yet lol But back then I had anxiety over every little thing about it as it was a new job I wasn’t accustomed to yet). I remember looking through her Instagram account, sitting on the stairs in my house, looking at her beautiful face, thinking what would she think of me that I couldn’t hold my new job. She was a safe person and lost jobs herself so I knew she would actually have compassion and understanding but still wished I could have kept the job and get to tell her all about it. It was after that that I stopped stalking her online but still loved her deeply for a couple more years. I stopped for a while first then caved and went back to it, then stopped completely. It has been four years since I actively loved her. But it feels like much longer. I don’t feel like going back and correcting my mistakes where I messed up on the years so just clearing that up here. lol

Trigger warning ⚠️: mention of r*pe, not my experience but hers



Here is my true story.

It was September.

And it was love at first sight.

She was laughing when I first saw her across the room. The gentle fluorescent light, playing up the highlights in her hair. I was instantly drawn in by her physical beauty. It caught me off guard. I see beautiful women everywhere and am distracted and moved. But this one was especially beautiful. She was breathtaking. I couldn’t peel my eyes away.

And her playfulness added to it. She was laughing and joking when I first encountered her. The way she threw her head back and laughed deeply, hysterically at something simple someone said, I was spellbound. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. It was like the rest of the world fell away and there was only her. And she was all I wanted, all I needed.

Even as I write this now, I feel a stirring of sorts in my chest as I remember that feeling and how it was just the beginning of what would become a tumultuous years long journey of passionate love, longing, ecstasy, and agony.

I found myself moving to get closer to her. To breathe her air, to bask in her ways, to better hear her voice. I made my way over without being noticed. I found myself staring, smiling ear to ear. I remember thinking somewhere deep within that this one was made to be mine.

I just felt she was going to have some significance in my world. And she did. She wrecked my world completely. Brought me to ruin. I thought I would never recover, never claw myself out of the debris of my crumbled life and self.

She was a small, wh!te woman, with messy, wavy brown hair that fell, softly, to her shoulders. Brown/green eyes. Maybe hazel, if I remember correctly. I can’t believe I don’t really remember. But I remember they were warm and loving.

I could tell she was quite a bit older than me, around forty years old, so almost twenty years (I was a 20 something college girl) but I am not someone who feels an age difference when interacting with people older than me, even when I was a young woman/girl. I don’t typically see people as “older people” unless they’re like old old, like maybe 80 something years old. The age difference never fazed me.


She wore glasses and looked adorable. She came off as humble and welcoming. Her clothes were what some may call “frumpy,” loose, sweat kind of clothes. I found it pleasing. Later I found that she also dressed up a lot, in girly, dressy clothes. But she had no problem dressing down in public, sometimes even when she would attend conferences and give speeches in front of lots of people, she would dress in sweat clothes. She would laugh about it and say how terrible she looked (she totally did not!). I found her even more beautiful dressed down with no makeup, hair messy.

There was something sophisticated seeming about her. She had an air about her. I already got the feeling she was intellectual, intelligent, before I knew anything about her. The way she carried herself, the book bag around her shoulder, the book in her arms. She seemed deep and aware. I was correct. I later found out she was a teacher/college instructor, and writer and editor for some blogs and local news articles. She did workshops on writing and stuff like that. There was no hint of arrogance whatsoever. She was very successful with education and career. She did not have much money or health insurance though and felt this was an indication of being a failure in life.

I could tell she had a sense of humor because of her frequent, wholehearted laugh while interacting with people. This was something I fell in love with right away. A woman who can laugh, and deeply, with abandon. She was very social. Extroverted. She touched people frequently, pats on the back, hand on their arms. Reaching out to pull someone aside if she wanted to talk to them. She laughed at everything they said, joked, playful insults back and forth with the people she was with, funny sarcasm. She was witty and could take a joke. She loved risque jokes and inappropriate stuff, like I do, and wasn’t easily offended. She could be a perv like me. LoL

This, along with her physical attractiveness, made her irresistible to me. She had a soft smile on her face when I first saw her. She wasn’t looking at me and did not even know I was there. I felt something instantly for her. I wanted to make her mine. I knew I had to know more.

One day, I found her singing. Her voice was soft, soothing, gentle, like the voice of an angel, caressing all the depths of my being. Hauntingly beautiful. I could tell her singing was inspired by a place of deep pain. Not temporary pain. I could tell she knew a life of persistent or recurring pain. I don’t remember the words. The words weren’t important. It was the soft melancholy ache in her voice, in the passion of her song. It was as if there was a wellspring of sorrow within her, driving that kind of singing. It resonated with the ache in me. I had no idea she could sing like that. She was also able to pull off various accents. Very talented in so many ways.

I remember her talking about how she was always attracted to blonde girls and also jealous of them. She always wished she had blonde hair. She always felt like blonde haired girls were inherently more beautiful than her and out of her league and always saw them as stuck up. She was secretly in love with a pretty blonde haired girl in high school. I remember she would tell stories about unpleasant encounters with blonde haired girls and she would say “well ok, Blondie” or “f*ck you too, Blondie.” It made me laugh. (Maybe I had the wrong hair color all along πŸ˜†)



I thought she was perfect.

And this made me love her.

I got to know her more and more and realized she wasn’t perfect.

And this made me love her so much more.

She was perfect to me.

Perfect for me.

She’s the one I wanted by my side for the rest of this life.

Arrogantly, I thought I was perfect for her too and that she would agree. This is where I went so so wrong and suffered immense heartbreak. For years I thought she broke it, but it was all my own doing, letting myself be so dependent on the expectation that I would be someone to her when in reality she wanted nothing at all to do with me. And the not knowing why and the wondering nearly k!lled me.

I remember that feeling. The feeling that I found her. It stirs something in me now. It’s not her anymore who gives me that feeling, just the memory making emotions resurface, and the fact that it can happen again as I have the ability to experience this. A kind of nostalgic and anticipatory thrill. And I like it.

She was everything I thought she was and more. Compassionate. Intellectual. Deep. Hilarious (like incredibly hilarious, I imagined us laughing for hours together). Just as beautiful on the inside as the outside. Political. Progressive. Educated. Determined. Strong. All this and more. She was generally respectful while engaging with people who were difficult or ignorant, but she could be snarky and snippy.

I found myself on occasion, wondering how this incredible woman wasn’t already mine. How on Earth I’m just finding her now. It felt that we have and should have already known each other for years (I told her that once online, and she liked my comment). I’m not a believer in an afterlife of any sort but truly, I felt I have loved and known her in life after life. That we were bound together, made for each other by the heavens above, some cosmic force or magic holding us together.

I thought of her frequently when she wasn’t around. She was always on my mind. Whenever our paths crossed, I was overjoyed and ecstatic. My whole body would become energized. I would get giddy for the rest of the day and not know what to do with myself. I never told anyone about my secret love. Not family or close friends. I had no idea how to explain it. I wanted her as my person. My one for life. It wasn’t confusing. It made sense to me. But there was no word for it. No word for the kind of love I felt for her, the kind of relationship I wanted with her. (Turns out, there is! Alterous or queerplatonic, but those terms weren’t around back then) I knew it wasn’t romantic.

I loved her and wanted her to be mine. And that was all. I wanted her by my side all life long. It wasn’t the traditional “I want to date her” or “take her out” and there were no thoughts of “building a future together” or living together or even “growing old together.” And there was nothing sexual about it at all.

Even as time went on, I did not ever imagine us ever living together or adopting dogs together (we both did not want kids but always dogs & cats), or going on vacations together (she loved vacations to other countries and stuff and I never thought of wanting to join her), my daydreams and fantasies were more like visiting each other, sleeping over (non sexually, but like staying up all night talking and reading together, laying in bed together, in each other’s arms, curling up on a sofa and watching movies, drinking tea) with each other, walking around the city doing what we love, my fantasies often became sensual (cuddles, hand holding, head on each other’s shoulders, holding her close…I don’t have this inclination for most people, and never for men. This is something I found a bit curious since I was identifying as hetero but could tell I’m not gay or not fullblown and this did not seem very hetero) But nothing sexual ever even crossed my mind(for her or anyone else in all of my 36 years).

I would often try to suppress the sensual desire/daydreams/fantasies because it seemed to contradict the label I was identifying as, heterosexual. The whole thing seemed to contradict it, but there was no denying my love for women. Heterosexual women don’t usually want a defined, long-term sensual relationship with another woman or fantasize, sensually, about other women. They may be physically affectionate in general with their women friends, but that’s different, and I could tell on some level. So I would just try to go easy on the sensual fantasies/feelings. Sometimes I would imagine women crying and me trying to comfort with holding and back rubs and hair strokes…it was my excuse to imagine touching another woman but being normal about it. I did not realize til some self exploration a long while later that that’s why l would frequently imagine women crying and me comforting them. It was really that I wanted to touch them but wasn’t ready to face that. Of course, I can comfort women that way and it’s one hundred percent just consoling. Just in my head, I wanted a valid/acceptable reason for fantasizing about other women and believed simply wanting to touch them in sensual/emotional ways wasn’t both because of homophobia and the fact that I’m not fully gay and did not understand it back then.

(This repression of what I am, deeply wounded me, and only somewhat recently have I begun to realize and consciously feel the full extent of how wounded I am, growing up being told by everyone and society as a whole that I had to love and touch men. To constantly be asked “Do you have a boyfriend/husband?” “What do you look for in a man?” Men just asking me out and coming onto me without knowing/checking if I even like men. People just assuming any male friend of mine is a boyfriend/romantic/sexual interest.

They gave me no space or permission to love other women or to love no one at all the way society is so hung up on everyone loving. To have to suppress and repress so much of myself, an essential part of me, because society says girls should necessarily love boys, and boys only, is deeply painful. To suppress and repress my inclination for other women. And to have to suppress my asexuality and pretend to be sexual is deeply painful and mortifying. So often, I was humiliated and feeling as if I was going against my own nature just pretending. It’s just so unnatural and so repulsive to imagine loving, touching, pining for a man.)

I daydreamed about accompanying her to all events she attended. I wanted to be the one she automatically brought everywhere with her, without even being asked. Like it’s just understood, if she gets an invitation to a wedding, I’m her “plus one/date.” I don’t have this inclination with friends in general. It wasn’t in a clingy way. I wanted to be hers, and those things come along with being someone’s.

I wanted everyone to automatically think of the other one of us when they saw or thought of one of us. I wanted everyone to know we belong to each other. I thought of it as them thinking of us as super close best friends, even closer than most best friends. That’s how I wanted us to be forever.

I remember thinking she was so so amazing and beautiful that people would be impressed by me that she was mine, that they would think how lucky I was to have this beautiful amazing woman by my side, always. That’s not why I wanted her, but I admit I did like the idea of everyone being amazed by me because I got her. I thought they would all wonder how I got so lucky. I wanted to show her off to everyone, to show the world what was mine.


I wanted to know each other deeply and be extremely emotionally invested in each other for the rest of forever. I wanted to tell each other everything and know each other in and out. To be each other’s main person and source of emotional connection. I still wanted some boundary though, to have separate lives. I did not want anything to do with each other’s finances or living situations. And it wouldn’t have mattered to me if she was in a romantic relationship as long as there was room in her heart and life for me. I did not want to be “as one” or do things “as a couple.” I don’t have this inclination for anyone. There goes the aro in me!

The love I had for her was different than the love I had for my close friends. It was more “obsessive” (not literally legit obsessed but for lack of a better word, maybe “invested” is better lol) and layered and had a physical effect on me. It energized me and sometimes made my heart race. I can have this when I experience deep platonic love/attraction but only for women. I get the biggest girl crushes! LoL When I get girl crushes, they aren’t sensual. What I had for this woman can be. Also, I don’t typically daydream about spending nights together when it’s platonic like when I have an alterous “crush” or love thing going on. I can imagine falling asleep with a woman and waking up, spending the morning in bed just laying close, touching non sexually. Very sensual but not sexual. When I love a woman in a soul sister kind of way, it’s just as deep and consuming but not sensual or anything like that. Alterous, for me, is like platonic based but hints of romantic traits maybe, or hints of something that is akin to romantic but not full-blown. I can accept if someone is more important to them than I am if I’m still up top on their list but prefer if I’m their #1. Lol

Eventually, as my emotional attraction to her deepened, it inspired sensual inclination, wanting to wrap my arms around her, kiss her cheek, stroke her hair….There was no swooning or butterflies or magnetic feeling. There was no feeling in the gut like a rollercoaster, even when I first met her. I did not feel like I would go insane or explode on days I did not see her. I did go out of my way to try to see her though and hope to see her again soon. There wasn’t really a feeling of like “wanting to be around her literally all the time” like people say romantic attraction is like. It was more like just wanting to know we are each other’s person throughout life and see each other often.

I very much looked forward to seeing her again, but it wasn’t a feeling like I just have to absolutely be around her, constantly. I wanted us to be important enough to each other that we saw each other frequently and loved her company and missed her when she wasn’t around me. But it wasn’t exactly the same as the romantics talk about. I could bear to be apart for a while as long as I knew I would see her again and that we were each other’s.

Just seeing her for part of a day was enough to carry me for the rest of the day and into the next. But there was a deep deep longing to belong to each other, to be each other’s everything(I have always wanted to be someone’s everything but knowing I likely never would be as someone who doesn’t experience romantic love; even before I understood this in a conscious way, I knew, and I knew that society favors sexual/romantic love and relationships. While I accept it in general, it has often brought me so much pain to know I will never be wholeheartedly loved because even if someone loves me, there will always be someone more important, a more important kind of love that I cannot feel. It’s like society telling me I am inherently flawed and unlovable, even as a little girl, this crushed me There are occasions it feels like being inadequate as a person or a human or as a woman or as a life partner or potential life partner to someone, because of lacking something so fundamental and essential to everyone else. Sometimes I’m in a low mood and someone compliments me, on my physical beauty or my personality, my love and care for animals, my kindness…and I’ll just think so what, that doesn’t make up for not being adequate for the most important relationship {romantic/sexual} to society. It doesn’t make up for being unlovable, undatable {not that I’m looking to date, but it’s not pleasant to be told that} I’m regarded as an inferior human, sometimes not even human. People have told me things to suggest this, and it’s just society’s message in general. Some people straight up say we aren’t human.).

I loved the secret longing. It gave me a thrill, particularly because there was always that possibility we would eventually belong to each other. After the rejection, years later, that thrill was mostly gone, the thrill she may someday be mine and was replaced by deep pain, sometimes life draining pain, but the thrill of loving her and knowing someone so beautiful exists, remained. I would see her, randomly, and make it a point to walk by her, hoping she would notice and think I’m pretty or interesting. But she never did. If I would see her walking a certain direction, I would walk that way, hoping to run into her. If I saw her having lunch with people, I would sit close by, hoping she would notice, and also just to be in her presence.

But she did not really know I existed(literally she did but it felt like she did not). When I met her face to face, she did not seem as smitten with me as I was with her. She seemed to like me, just not actively interested in being my friend, it seemed. She was polite and friendly with me, but nothing more. I was very shy and did not know how to initiate anything and was too shy to often begin conversations with her. Once in a while I got up the nerve to try but did not know how to really express how interested in her I was, did not know how to form a friendship. All my friends were people who showed interest in me first and introduced me to their friends and then we became friends. This woman did not show interest in being more than an acquaintance, if even that. Sometimes she would see me and come to say hello and ask how I am. She would sometimes tell me what kind of day she was having or plans for her Saturday night (which was often staying at home reading a book/watching a movie and drinking wine). I would ask her questions about herself or her day/weekend, and she would respond and ask me a couple things, and that would be it. It never went anywhere, and I did not know how to direct it somewhere.

If you’re romantically interested in someone, you can ask them on a date or even to be your girlfriend. If you have a coworker you really like as a platonic friend, you can ask if they want to get together for coffee or a drink after work. But I had no idea what I even wanted her to be to me(definitely wasn’t thinking in terms of “girlfriend.”). My person? My woman? My love? My everything? All of that. But I could tell it wasn’t romantically driven. I can hardly walk up to a woman I hardly know (And actually even if we do know each other but aren’t very close) and ask her to be my everything. LoL

We did not really know each other in the context where I could ask to hang out or something, like if we were coworkers or something. Even then, I likely wouldn’t have had the nerve. Some people would be bold enough to ask someone to hang out in the context in which I knew her, but I wasn’t. Sometimes I would plan on meeting up with her, chatting, then asking if she would like to exchange phone numbers. It wouldn’t have been completely bizarre. We did talk to each other, attend some of the same events and meetings, have mutual acquaintances…but I just did not have the nerve. It felt out of place. She was closer and more like friends with our acquaintances. They were not shy like I am and just naturally formed a friendship with her because of their outgoing natures. I felt like I had to force it. They would walk up and hug her (OMG i was so jelly lol) or playfully throw an arm around her or pat her on the back or tell jokes with her. They were all buddy buddy with her(some of them were with me too). I so wanted to. I had the inclination. But me being as shy and reserved as I am, it would have been so out of place. When people are naturally social butterflies, they can get away with doing things in social situations that may seem strange if a typically quiet reserved person just ups and does the same. Often people mistake my shyness as me lacking interest, which isn’t the case.

I was put in a psychiatric hospital and released a few months after I met her. I fell into an episode of depression at the end of December for no particular reason, though rooted in a painful social experience as a kid, and at the end of January was still in it. I was very s*icidal. (The initial onset of my depressive condition at thirteen years old was because of social exclusion when girls who were my friends kept not including me then took whatever new friends I got and got them to be friends with them and I had no one – now I still have the disorder even though it’s no longer about that) Unfortunately my closest friend back then blabbed to everyone we knew, everyone, even people we hardly knew, without my permission. It got around to everyone in our social circle and anyone who knew of us. I was absolutely mortified. Everyone, even near strangers came up to express compassion to me. I wanted to die. I thought the stress of it was going to send me right back to that hospital. She was one of the ones to come up to express her compassion. Under different circumstances, I would have been thrilled(I actually was thrilled still but not the same as if I wasn’t just out of a psychiatric hospital and mortified); I was hardly able to contain my joy as she approached me unexpectedly. I had no idea she knew and wasn’t aware what she was coming to say. I just saw the woman I loved making it a point to walk over to me like she was on a mission.

Trigger warning ⚠️: brief mention of r*pe next

She told me about her own struggle with depression and s*icide attempts. She hugged me and told me she understood. She told me she was r*ped years before by a man she knew and liked and trusted and it destroyed her life but she was working on herself constantly to be better. I experienced this incredibly deep connection to her connecting through shared pain and motivation for healing. I loved being in her arms even if only for a few seconds. It was a heartfelt hug. The compassion and concern in her eyes and voice were real. I can feel it now, my heart melting in my chest, the warm fuzzies. The feeling of wanting to collapse into each other’s arms and hold on to each other forever, never letting go. Here was the woman I loved. Standing before me, trusting me enough to reveal her deepest, darkest pain and show a sense of solidarity so that I would have a bit of comfort and love. I had no idea how to react. Back then I was just 21 years old and much more shy than I am now. I stayed mostly quiet and we sat together in comfortable silence. It was one of the most deepest connections I have ever experienced with anyone, not even just because I loved her, but just two women sharing our experiences good and not so good and just trying to survive while trying to help each other do the same. Years later I mentioned to her the incredible impact this encounter with her had on me and still did all those years later. I will never forget it. It’s the only good thing that ever came of my friend blabbing. I only knew her for four months but felt like I have known and loved her forever. I truly couldn’t have loved her more if we knew each other for decades. Time doesn’t matter when it has to do with love. I firmly believe when you know you know. And I knew.

Over a year later, in April, I experienced another episode that was still going a month later, and was hospitalized again. She again expressed compassion. It was me who told her so wasn’t mortifying and since I knew about her struggle also, it was very safe. She told me about her recurring episodes as well, and like me she had mini episodes or waves sometimes in the middle of each major episode. And sometimes a persistent lower grade depression that doesn’t go away for a while. I’m usually happy in the middle of my episodes, but sometimes the waves can be frequent, particularly when I don’t have close friends but can happen sometimes anyway. She was so gentle and warm and so caring. Oh, how I loved her so and just loved so much to be in her presence, to bask in her beauty, to feel her energy all around me. She truly was my everything.

I did not tell my friends about her, ever. I just did not know how to explain it to anyone and knew it’s not “normal.” I knew I was “supposed” to go all ga ga over men, not women. All my friends were LGBTQ people, but they thought I was heterosexual. I just couldn’t explain it. I thought of it as wanting her as a “special friend.” I wondered why even when I had close friends, I longed for a “special friend.” I couldn’t understand the difference but knew there is one.

I felt guilty and like a fraud, like an imposter. My friends all thought I was a heterosexual ally to their community. I could tell I wasn’t into men but did not know how to consciously think it in words because I knew I wasn’t into women either, the exact way my friends who were gay women were, and I had no idea not liking anyone that way was an option for me. Like everyone else, I thought I had to like like someone, and if I don’t like women, I must like men. That would be the logical thing. And society tells me I love and should love men, so I took that label.

Just a random pic of me πŸ–€ There’s so much text so some pics may help make that more bearable lol and what better subject than me for a post about me! 😁

It was easier to consciously say/think/know I don’t like like women because society tells me I don’t, that I’m not supposed to. It’s programed into my head since birth that I will love men, that I do love men, that I should love men, not other women. It’s explicitly said, and it’s said in all the mundane nuances and occasions and encounters of each day, in every “Do you have a boyfriend?” “What do you look for in a man?” “Your future husband…” “We have to get Kim a boyfriend” “All women love a man who…” “What was your last boyfriend like?” “Just wait til you meet that special guy and fall in love….” “He’s cute, you should ask him out/accept his invitation…” “There’s no way you can know you’re not pregnant, there’s always that small chance…” “What kind of birth control do you use?”…. and on and on and on and on…

The gay women I knew would go into detail about their sexual and romantic experiences and desires. Some of it resonated with me, the emotional, sensual, aesthetic aspects, but I could tell for them it was very different in some way. I wondered if I could be gay but felt not gay enough to actually be. If I would contrast my inclination for women to my complete lack of it for men, I could totally feel gay, but if I compare my inclination for other women to the inclination gay women have for them, it’s not fully the same. Some aspects are but not completely. So this was a very confusing situation to be in. Like wtf am I? I had no idea I was (am) lacking sexual and full-blown romantic attraction but still experiencing other attractions, like emotional and sensual. And no clue there’s a label for what I am and that there are more like me and we have always existed.

My friend would joke around and point out another woman and say hey Kim would you do her? And my other friend would say I don’t think so because Kim is straight!!! And I would just laugh while secretly thinking “Am I though???” Just hearing her say that felt very unnatural to me, not even in a negative way, just felt like no, that’s not me. I would look at the heterosexual women in our group and think no I’m not what they are, but then I would look at the gay women and think but I’m not exactly what they are either, even though I felt more at home with them in that sense.

I knew my love for this woman wasn’t romantic but just as deep, unconditional, passionate. There were no words to explain. But as I said, it wasn’t confusing. It felt like the most normal thing in the world to me. Love is love. Does the nature of it really matter or a label for it? It is what it is.

I also had inclination for calling her and thinking of her as Baby, sweetheart, honey, love, darling, babe…as terms of endearment or affection, something I only rarely experience and when I do only for women. I did call her that occasionally while commenting on her pictures and stuff. So did others. I can in platonic ways for women but don’t usually. And not everyone likes pet names so I wouldn’t most likely now even if I wanted to.


Just seeing her sent some joy and ecstasy through me, like electricity. I became full of excessive energy and very talkative with my friends, laughing hysterically at everything everyone said. My smile hurt my face. It was like getting a “fix” for the day. I was bouncing off the walls all day and night. I was all giddy, my heart racing. I felt like running through the city frolicking about, laughing and singing. I felt the uni-verse gave me the most incredible gift there is to give, letting me catch an unexpected glimpse of her. This was long before sending her the messages.

I lost sleep over her so many nights, even before the rejection because I couldn’t get her off my mind. It was a good thing. I stayed up imagining us becoming close, imagining all the great things we would do together, thinking about how beautiful she was. I used to stay up til 4:30am, dancing around my room just thinking how someone so amazing exists. My dad used to come into my room complaining about me being up singing, dancing around at that hour. πŸ˜† He would hear me and come bursting through my door yelling “Kim!! What the hell are you still doing up at this hour?!” I was bouncing off the walls. 😭 The energy she stirred in me wouldn’t let me rest. I seriously needed no sleep. It kept me going all day and night. I was never tired. (This was after I discovered her later online and saw just how perfect she was – I was over the moon!!)

This may sound like infatuation, but I don’t experience that as someone who is aromantic. It was pure happiness at the prospect of having her as my person and just liking her so much. I can experience this in a purely platonic way. I can experience it for women I like in a sisterly kind of way. I looovvvee people, and they make me so happy.

Eventually, we did not cross paths in person anymore. There was no defining moment when I realized I wouldn’t see her again, so it wasn’t as gutwrenching as it would have been. Circumstances just changed. But I carried my love for her for years. It never ended. I held onto the hope that we would see each other again. The hope wasn’t always active. I wasn’t constantly thinking about it. I knew she was out there somewhere, and somewhat close. This was enough for me. My love for her would take the back burner once in a while, then reappear strong. Sometimes I would find a new woman to be all ga ga over or go back to ones I knew and loved before her, hoping to cross paths with them again, then eventually I would find my way back to her. I have always wanted a woman by my side doing life with me, to love and to hold and to cherish. My love for a woman I like this way can fade a bit when I don’t see them and sometimes be rekindled for no reason, if I see them again, or something that reminds me of them. Not seeing this woman for a while, my love kind of mellowed out, but I carried it with me, hoping to run into her again. Once in a while it would become more active again. I would still daydream about her, sometimes fall asleep thinking of her even years later. There would be “flares” of thinking of her and longing for her then they would fade a bit.

My love stayed calm and hopeful off and on until one day I happened to accidentally come across her on Twitter. I had an online friend who had a Twitter account and I was looking at his and saw he re-tweeted something of hers. Imagine my surprise! To see her beautiful face again years later. My heart nearly leapt out of my chest! I did not have a Twitter account but could see hers. I loved everything she posted. She was very politically Liberal, she called out racism, homophobia, transphobia, misogyny. She did this even way before it was the cool mainstream thing to do. She shared all her opinions. This inspired me to look her up on Facebook and Google. It wasn’t in a creepy way. I looked her up on Facebook because we did kind of know each other to a point. If we did not ever know each other, I wouldn’t have. She was popular online and had years worth of writings and stuff, and I found so much of it. Her Facebook account was public, and she had many strangers as friends so I felt it wasn’t too creepy to request her as an online friend. She accepted.

I saw that she had a YouTube channel, blog, and Instagram account where she shared every aspect of her life and every thought that crossed her mind, even things most would not make public, like cheating on her husband with a married man, ruining both of their marriages, having an abortion without telling her husband (not saying she should have had to, but this is something most people wouldn’t broadcast to the world lol), she admitted to once dating and then moving in with a man just to use him for his money and place to live and things, when she wasn’t really in love with or interested in him for him, getting into arguments with people, the falling out she had with various friends and family members…

She was extremely passionate about openly supporting minority groups of any kind. She visited other cultures and learned their customs and languages. She denounced public figures/celebrities/popular people who expressed prejudicial attitudes against minority groups. She volunteered and donated money to organizations supporting minority groups. She got a lot of criticism, even threats, but this did not stop her. She traveled and gave public speeches on LGBTQIA+ and racial minority issues. She wrote blog posts and newspaper articles on the issues. She was/is a Jewish atheist and shared her experience with that, what it’s like growing up in a Jewish family and lacking faith in religion/gods, being the target of anti-Semitism…She did all this while battling debilitating mental illness and devastating headaches. I was in awe.

All this deepened my awe of her. Every terrible thing she did and shared and every great thing about her all clashed into a beautiful disarray of seasons and colors and everything, a beautiful disaster.

I’m getting this electrified feeling through my whole body just thinking back to that feeling of when I discovered her online and came to know her much better. It was the most amazing feeling. It was like I found my soulmate, my other half, my one for life. It was like falling madly in love and ecstatic and stars exploding all around me, but also a safe, secure feeling of home. And for some reason I just took for granted that she would likely feel the same. I just assumed we would be friends. I’m getting giddy as I write, like my whole body feels lighter and like it wants to move, like I want to put on some music and dance. Not because I want her still but just remembering that feeling itself. Oh, my! I crave it again. I can get that feeling for different women, but it’s most strongest if I see some possibility we can be in each other’s lives in some way, which is usually not the case. I can even get it for women I only know online. I can totally love a man as my friend, brother, platonic soulmate. But it’s different, never like this.

She shared about how her apartment had roaches everywhere because she never cleaned. She said in a YouTube video, I never clean my apartment and it has roaches everywhere…because it’s so disgusting. (I’m a slob too πŸ˜† So I thought nothing of it – I don’t have roaches though lol I’m telling you we were made for each other, don’t know where her head was rejecting me…no two people could ever be better for one another πŸ˜‚ Match made in Heaven, which unfortunately she couldn’t see πŸ˜†)

I wondered if her husband was out of his mind letting her go. I would have kept her and taken her back again and again.

We both held the rare philosophy that romantic love is not better than platonic love and friendship and that platonic love is equally fulfilling and important. And we both did not want to get married (she said once was enough for her, but she still wanted love).

She used to do “What’s in my purse” videos (This was a thing years ago{anyone remember that? lol}, lots of girls would do blog posts/videos where they would list/show pics of everything in their handbag lol It was something other girls loved to see – I used to love those post the women would do when I read their blogs/watched their videos, I used to wait for them when they would mention in a post that their next post would be what’s in my purse lol) where she would open up her bag and show each thing in it. She loved Hello Kitty (like me!) and kept her birth control in a hello kitty holder lol I liked that we both loved hello kitty, lots of people thought it’s for kids. It seemed sweet & innocent. I wrote to her that I love hello kitty too but don’t think she was as impressed as I was that she loved her lol

We also both have a currently incurable chronic headache pain disorder. Not the same disorder but we both have episodic debilitating headache attacks. She would share her struggle, and I could totally relate to the physical pain as well as the emotional pain of not being able to have certain food that can trigger an attack, food that we want to have. She couldn’t have chocolate (I can, but for me, chocolate chips are a bit difficult, n mint chip ice cream is my favorite, so that sucks), and she would cry about it sometimes because she loved it. I would find it heartbreaking and told myself when we become friends, I will never eat chocolate again so she wouldn’t be sad, even though I love chocolate.

We both had depression and both diagnosed with a psychotic disorder and had similar experiences with it. Hers was much worse. It was more frequent and affected her life more than mine.

I thought there couldn’t be a more amazing person. It wasn’t that I loved her “anyway.” That could have been true also.

But I loved her even more, because.

I don’t particularly have a thing for users, cheaters, homewreckers, liars, slobs, troublemakers, … it’s just because it was HER.

I also found out we loved the same kinds of stuff, books, music, cafes, movie theatres, shopping…

This is when I fell so madly in love. If I thought it was love before, this was on a whole other plane.

I felt we were soulmates. lol I wanted a relationship with her that is more interconnected or close than close best friends usually are. But I would have been absolutely thrilled to have her in any context, even if she was a casual acquaintance or work friend. Most of my pain was not having any contact with her. I just wanted her in my world in some way. I would not have even cared if she had a girlfriend or boyfriend or romantic partner but still loved me. I was so super jealous of her friends and acquaintances because I did not have her in any way except a few social media comments/likes here and there. It was so tantalizing.

I did not realize back then that if she was in a monogamous romantic relationship, the person probably wouldn’t want her in this kind of relationship with me, and it would be emotional cheating unless her romantic partner agreed to it. Since it wouldn’t be sexual or romantic I thought it could work out with someone who is already in a monogamous romantic relationship. I knew most wouldn’t love me as much as they love their romantic partner and wouldn’t want to be that emotionally close to me, but thought it’s still a possibility. I did not realize til somewhat recently that it wouldn’t be as easy or ethical as I thought. It would likely only work out with polyam people who are in a relationship. No monogamous people want their romantic partner that emotionally/sensually close to someone else. It wasn’t til a few conversations with people about how romantic attraction and relationships work and me thinking more deeply about it that I realized. I wouldn’t ever have a relationship like this with a monogamous person in a romantic relationship unless their romantic partner understood and fully consented. I prefer if the person isn’t already taken though and that it’s just us, but wouldn’t care if they get sexual desires/needs fulfilled somewhere else and come home to me. I prefer if their love/emotional investment in this way is just for me though.

Best friends are usually not or not always going to be each other’s main person in life. They usually have or eventually have a romantic partner/family who comes first or is inherently their main person/people no matter how much they love or how close they are to their best friend. Society is just set up that way, and that’s ok. I don’t mind having a very best friend who puts her romantic partner/family first. But I have always longed for a relationship with a woman that is not romantic but as close as one, where we are each other’s main person and always will be. I have never been into dating or marriage though or “building a life” with someone or making big life decisions as a couple. It’s like a combination of aromanticism and homoromanticism. I have said my aromanticism is laced with homoromanticism. Many aros don’t want a close person like this and are even grossed out or feel smothered by the thought. That’s what it’s like for me when I think about it with a man. Throughout life, I have always had this inclination for women. And this is one woman I have experienced this for, one of the ones I felt this the strongest for, and the only one I made a move like this to show it as best as I knew how then.

We had all the same interests and opinions. We had the same style/fashion sense, except she dressed in skirts and dresses a lot, she loved makeup and jewelry and clothes like me. She was super girly, long wavy brown hair, dressed in heels a lot, big earrings, simply gorgeous. I loved her in her glasses and was extremely annoyed when someone suggested to her that she get contact lenses. Like, no!! She wasn’t interested in contacts anyway. She couldn’t see well without glasses and always needed them. She said she felt they blocked much of the beauty of her eyes. But I saw them well. She loved walking around the city taking pictures, like me. She was very intellectual and taught college/high school students before, English and writing and stuff. She has an advanced degree in English. We were both deep and on the same emotional/intellectual level, and loved poetry and old literature.

I wanted nothing but her. I wanted her to be mine and to take care of her forever. I am the initiator{but never have the nerve to make the very first move lol}, the protector, the giver more than taking, the comforter, the nurturer…I prefer to hold than to be held, to touch than be touched, to love than to be loved, though I like receiving it too. So I dreamed of taking care of and loving and protecting her. I felt like if she was mine, I would have a literal perfect life and we would both be happy together forever. I felt like any problem I ever had would disappear if she was mine. So I sent her a long message, two actually, (don’t know how I got up the nerve but I did and wholeheartedly regretted it lol It was and still is uncharacteristic of me to be so bold) gushing about how we could be amazing friends and live close enough to hang out and do everything together since we like all the same stuff and she unfriended my account, after not responding for a few days. lol (definitely was NOT laughing back then)

I actually sent her long messages before about liking all the work she did helping people and told her some stuff about my self but it wasn’t the same way. She did respond and thanked me. In this case, I wasn’t expecting a response because it was just me wanting to express gratitude.

I saw people who were strangers to her but lived close enough, commenting on her posts asking to get coffee or ice cream with her and her agreeing. She was very social and a bit popular because of all her activism work and volunteering and she had a large social media and blog following, mostly by people in our city. So my message to her was not completely out of the ordinary for her who did get lots of requests to meet up and hang out and she was always getting compliments on her physical beauty and personality. I had lots of competition; everyone loved her. LoL She also got a lot of negative comments by a-holes who did not like her political views or just wanted to troll. This would infuriate me and I wanted to tell them all off. LoL I was very protective and defensive of her. I could not stand her getting negative comments. To me, she was perfection.

Back then, her rejection was the worst thing ever, and triggered a two month long major depressive episode thankfully not a s*icidal one but still debilitating – I was able to keep the s*icidal thoughts under control and I had close friends, which helped, even though they did not know what was going on, exactly, but I had difficulty getting out of bed each morning and getting to work, my body was so heavy and most of my joy in life was gone, s*icidal thoughts tried to emerge but I was able to keep them away, I saw no hope for any future for me, no food had flavor, I couldn’t sleep, no motivation to do anything – all I thought about was her and why she did not want me, was I not good enough…

My whole self felt so broken; it felt like I wasn’t whole, like I would never be because of this experience. I felt the rejection of someone and something I desperately wanted, but also, I felt a deep deep sense of loss. She was never mine to lose, but still I felt deep, profound loss. There was always that possibility. Beautiful potential. At least in my mind. But it was snatched away because of my decision to reach out and make myself and my love known. Oh. How I regretted it so. For years. How I regretted it. I regretted everything I said. Every word of it.

I remember this was one of the things that made it especially difficult to move on. I felt that I was irreparably broken, that I was now tarnished and would never be able to love anyone ever again. It felt like something significant, something inherent to me being me, was cut off permanently. I felt that I became a lesser version of me, a hollow version, a shadow or shell of what I was before I reached out to her. She was so much an essential part of me (with my perspective) or my love for her was, that it seemed impossible to have a full life loving her when she did not love me at all. It was like what good is life when the most important thing to me isn’t in mine. It’s a bit deeper than I know how to put into words. I feel it’s coming off more superficial than it was. It wasn’t simply a matter of I can’t have her what good is life, that too. It was more that my love for her felt so fundamental to my core or identity that I felt somehow altered at a cellular level, almost like I wasn’t the full me anymore that I was. Like an identity crisis. It felt like this part of me , loving someone to this extent, this depth, this magnitude, who does not love me even just a little bit, is making me less the girl I was. It physically sickened me to the point my headache disorder flared up unbearably for weeks and it felt like life was crumbling on top of me. The headaches were devastating, even more devastating than the emotional pain, in a way. I find physical pain of this magnitude to be even more difficult to cope with than emotional pain. It felt like my face being burned alive on one side. I have been depressed before over losses, exclusion, but this was different.

I’m thankful now for the opportunity to be able to put into words as best as I can, what I did not have the nerve or ability to back then. I thought I would take this to my grave. Writing it is healing.

I have come to really like b&w photos of me. πŸ–€ I never used to (excuse the cracked lips, it’s cold here in Philadelphia πŸ˜†)

I truly thought I would never love this way again, had no idea it would heal and I would go on to love other women like this, and the stress of it triggered severe, debilitating headaches for days and days – my body was sickened, one of the worst stresses it has ever been under. I loved the joy this love brought me and wanted to be able to feel it again for someone who would love me back – thankfully I have felt this love again but unfortunately haven’t been loved back yet) but the grief lasted years(I don’t get depressed whenever someone rejects me. It just happened to happen then.)

People noticed and asked what’s wrong and I said I was rejected and they thought by a man so I let them think it and they would say things like “You’re better off without that guy” and “That guy is just a jerk; you don’t need him.” “You’re too beautiful for him anyway; he doesn’t know what he’s missing.” “Guy must be out of his mind!” One day I wrote “I love someone who doesn’t love me back” with a bunch of broken heart emojis and people were writing “Well does he know how you feel about him…?” I’m bellylaughing now. The only good thing about that was having people thinking I was a normal girl who liked men, romantically.

There were men telling me things like “Wow, I can’t believe this guy; I could never reject a woman like you…” and it gave me a low self esteem kind of feeling, like I’m only good enough for men.

To get to see so much of her life (she was very open about every single aspect of her life, social, emotional, dating, romantic, sexual, marriage, interests, politics, religion, family, health/medical…She was raw, open, honest…and this is one of the things I loved most about her, how she shared herself with the world. I find being “an open book,” a very attractive quality in people) displayed on my screen and not getting to be a part of it in any way, was pain like I can’t explain.

She was my everything and more, and to not be good enough for her was a pain that is indescribable. Everyday, the pain ripped through me emotionally and physically. It felt like my life was over. I couldn’t see a future without her now that I found her. I truly felt that way for a while, that without her, life had nothing to offer me. But at the same second, the joy it brought me just to cross paths with her and know someone that beautiful exists, was out of this world. I was so amazed by the sharp contrast of joy and pain she brought me. They existed alongside one another, never touching or tainting each other. They never mixed or outweighed each other. They both had a place within. If it wasn’t for the overwhelming gratitude for just having crossed paths with her in this life and the knowledge of how wonderful she was, the pain would have been so much more difficult to bear. But the pain did not touch the gratitude, making it so I had that to lean on to carry me through it.

Here is part of a poem I wrote about her:

I want to tell you
That you are the girl
Who keeps me up at night
The one who beckons me
Unknowingly
To the edge
Of some madness
Too vast, too dark to
Explore
The one who lifts me
To the greatest pinnacle
Of joy and love and hope
The one who drops me
As I plummet
To the lowest depths
Of my despair

That top line, I stole out of a popular song. πŸ˜† That is the only line in the poem I did not make up myself. Stolen but so true.

While the pain and joy were both equal, in fact, the joy was even deeper, I had to eventually give into the pain and let her go around three years later – the depression lifted after two months but the heartbreak continued – I stayed in love with her for the next couple years, after I stopped looking at all her content. I stalked it for a few years, then stopped, still actively loved her for a couple more years even after cutting off all contact with her content, til it eventually faded. It mellowed and gradually faded til it flickered out completely and thoughts of her were no longer painful or joyful. For a while I was still embarrassed and hoped she deleted the messages. LoL πŸ˜† Kind of still low-key embarrassed.

One activity that helped me heal the painful emotions involved was writing down on paper, using pencil to give them less power, as many painful emotions (grief, loss, pain, mortified, sad, devastated, physical pain, depression, sickness, rejected, broken…) as I could that were associated with my experience. I let myself feel the painful emotions, let them surface and flow through me. Then I erased the words and imagined the painful emotions leaving me, leaving my body, healing…Then I wrote in marker, in the spaces where the unpleasant emotions were in pencil, positive words and emotions, (love, healing, healed, peace, letting go, strength, courage, resolve, resilient, inner strength, self love, calm, serenity, moving forward…) Letting them flow. This was a very powerful activity and helped me immensely.

Another thing that helped me get over her is leaning into the selfless aspect of my love for her. There was a part of that love that wasn’t for me. A part that wanted nothing but for her to be happy, healthy, fulfilled. A part that did not yearn or attach or expect. I seized that small but powerful aspect and leaned into it, nourished it, clung to it, until it grew, strengthened, deepened, magnified, and became enough. That aspect of my love reminded me what an honor it was to get to feel this love for someone, it let me know my love wasn’t in vain, that it still mattered, still counted for something. It showed me the beauty in loving at a distance, of carrying a love so strong for someone I will never lay eyes on, someone I will never embrace, someone I will never have. It showed me a deep deep selflessness and let me live it each day. It reminded me that it’s a reflection of me, but it’s not about me. I was able to let go of so much of the selfish aspect of love, the part that makes us covet. The part that expects and demands and is often conditional. I leaned so deeply into the selfless aspect until I submerged, til it eased some of the ache, the burn of rejection, until it made that selfish agonized part softer and softer, until it made me strong enough to endure without crumbling, and then that state gave way to the indifference, the indifference that eventually ensued after all the heartache and ruin, the indifference that set me free and gave me my life back.

In fact, the kind of person she was is one of the things that inspired me to cope and eventually heal. She was the kind of person who saw beauty in pain and brokenness, art in imperfection, she saw love & life & light in dark places, and a chance for healing in deep wounds. I harnessed that energy. And I put it to use in myself. I saw beauty in my pain and the brokenness of unrequited love. I saw my life of loving her as a beautiful novel, like the novels she read full of dark and despair, full of heartache, but also so much love and beauty. I saw love & life & light in my darkness, and I saw my wound, my deep deep gaping wound, as an opportunity to nourish and heal a part of myself that was so shattered. And I leaned into this. The person I allowed to break me because I depended so much on and expected so much of her is the very person I leaned on to inspire me to heal that brokenness. Loving her so deeply for so long, she became my way of life, and that way helped me move forward out of the devastation that came upon my world. She was my darkness & my light, my joy and my pain, my despair & my hope, she’s the one I clung to so desperately for so long and the one who taught me how to let go. The one who brought me to ruin and my savior who pulled me out of that ruin. There was a beautiful irony in all of this that wasn’t lost on me. It’s a true story that she would have read and found so beautiful.

To keep dwelling on her and stalking her (lol) was keeping me in agony and doing me no good. The pain had more of a destructive effect overall than the joy had a positive effect. The pain was about not having her as my own but also the fact of being rejected and not understanding why. I know everyone doesn’t like everyone, especially not in a deep way, but she did not even want me as an online friend anymore. It was hard to cope and understand. I had very good self esteem, always have, and this rejection was a blow to it. The fact that she responded to everyone else, even strangers, and loved everyone, but rejected me, made it so much more difficult to cope. One of my messages to her was about my s*icidal depression, something she talked about very frequently, about herself. She was very very open about her struggle.

I told her about my own struggle, which is very similar to hers. I’m open about it in general but told her more than I ever told anyone because I felt this deep connection to her in our similar struggle. I told her that I too sometimes come close to ending myself. It cut me so deeply because shortly after I sent her the message about my depression and sometimes s*icidal thoughts(I sent this a while after the love letter), she posted, “To anyone considering s*icide, please remember this world needs you.” And she posted the s*icide hotline. To see her care about everyone else and not me was devastating. I felt like it was a slap in the face. Not that I was entitled to her love or a response but that did not make my pain any less to see my own pain ignored and me rejected but that she cared about other s*icidal people. It’s hard to explain without sounding entitled. I in no way felt that she owed me anything(I even remember feeling guilty for my pain and sense of rejection, telling myself she doesn’t owe me a thing, that I’m the one who found and came at her), but it did not make me want it any less. I wasn’t angry or bitter but devastated.

I felt that I wasn’t good enough for anyone after the rejection and took a while to recover. I couldn’t cope knowing “the most amazing person who ever walked the face of the Earth” did not love me. lol It was a matter of “If I can’t have her, I don’t want anyone.” It was like we were made for each other and if I can’t have her what’s the sense of having anyone? It was one of the deepest, most intimate (non sexual, of course) loves I have ever known and I was sure I would never feel it again for anyone(though I have felt it before and after, for different women, but this was one of the strongest, it’s not quite romantic but has like the same emotional core or investment, hard to explain in words, not better or more fulfilling than regular platonic, just a bit different and more layers/depth.) I thought I would never get over it. I couldn’t understand why she did not feel the same.

Everything was so perfect and compatible, even our location was close(this is one of the main reasons for my pain, it was so tantalizing to have her so close in location but not have her, it would have been perfect). She loved women, so not like she was creeped out that another woman was in love with her. Also, she, like me, was very social and added strangers to her account. And she was promiscuous, hooked up with lots of women and men she hardly knew and did not know at all, and was very open about it, even going into detail about her usual hookups, how she cheated on her now ex husband with a married man and ruined both of their marriages, and drunken hookups and abortions and stuff, so I don’t think she cared that someone she hardly knew messaged her, probably all my sap creeped her out(it was a long love letter of nothing but praise and how I understand her completely and how we would be so good together forever – I’m laughing now lol I probably sounded desperate and clingy). Her rejection did not weaken my love for her at all. It made no sense to me how, why we both existed in this same life together, so so alike, so compatible, my love for her so strong, yet we couldn’t be together or have any interaction at all with each other. I felt like the uni-verse made us for each other. And I couldn’t make sense of the fact that she did not like me even just a little bit. It made no sense. On top of my amazing self esteem thinking I was the shiz just in general and that anyone could like me (oh how this has changed), the fact we were both so similar, and that she basically loved everyone, I thought she was bound to like me. So I was totally confused and shocked to be rejected even as an online acquaintance. The devastation was debilitating.

I think she was probably put off by the fact she hardly knew me and I came on very strongly out of nowhere. Hooking up with strangers can be just a casual, physical thing. Mine was deep and full of emotion. She was the same way though, very sappy and loving. One of the things that drew me to her was her compassion for others. She would often cry about things she saw in the news and donate money to help people. I paid attention to her and looked at all her social media content, watched her youtube channel religiously, so felt I knew her better than she knew me. I was already very intrigued by her and wanted to get to know her, but finding so much more about her, and that she was just as amazing as I thought she was, made me over the moon for her. And the fact we were so similar, it was like finding my other half.

Sometimes I wonder if it wasn’t that I came off as creepy and clingy but just knowing someone loved her like I did, scared her. She wasn’t emotionally healthy. It can be hard to accept love if we aren’t in a healthy place. Even a healthy person can be afraid when faced with the possibility of being truly loved by someone, platonically or romantically, especially if they have been deeply hurt before by someone they trusted. My message wasn’t psycho single wh!te female/roommate style. lol In case you don’t know roommate and single wh!te female are movies about a young woman who is platonically obsessed with another young woman in a way that isn’t normal, not even normal clingy but straight up literal psycho obsession. My messages were deeply passionate, full of intense emotion, maybe a bit too strong for trying to begin a relationship with someone we hardly know or communicate with, but not scary or literally obsessed. Also I was 20 something years old and that probably showed. I think youth can add to display of intensity or lack of social skills/boundaries. I would be more mature about it as a middle aged adult now.

We were similar in even ways that can’t be explained, like quirks that you think only you experience, or just little things that you think make you you and no one else can be like that. I was amazed! I never send friend requests, but I did send her one, and she accepted. She was more active on Insta, which I did not have, and her blog, and YouTube channel. She never liked or commented on any of my posts or pictures on social media. But she did occasionally respond to my comments to her or like them. We did not really interact much as friends though.

Just out of nowhere, for some reason, I chose to be bold and tell her that I loved her. Have no idea what possessed me. LoL I remember my heart was pounding in anticipation as I was sending it and expecting a response that she would love to meet me again. I remember waking up one morning and on the spur of the moment thinking “I think I’ll tell her I love her today.” I jumped out of bed, literally. LoL I sprung up and jumped with joy at the thought of connecting with her. I worked all day on the messages and poured my heart and soul into them. It took me days to get everything written out and edited and then finally I sent two messages and waited. For days I waited and she wouldn’t respond. I would see her keep posting on social media and not responding to me.

Actually what I remember is, she was very active on social media/blog/YouTube… posted every single day, all throughout the day. And after I sent her the messages, she stopped posting everywhere for a few days. Then she came back and began posting everyday again but not responding to me.

Then finally she unfriended my account. Imagine the initial sting of clicking on her account and seeing “Add friend” and then the deep deep pain of all that entailed and implied, of everything it meant. I hoped so much she would change her mind and held out hope til I finally had to accept she wasn’t going to respond and did not love me. The first thing I thought is that I came on too strongly.

I only did because she was that kind of person, herself. If she was more reserved, even if I liked her, I wouldn’t have sent messages like that. She talked about how she scared men away who she was dating or into because of how much emotion and love she had. She was kind of clingy. And she talked about how she overshared about everything, way too often, with everyone, even strangers. And I saw that in her YouTube videos, and she would stop and say “Wait, was that too much information?” LoL It would make me laugh. She said the more we share about ourselves, even ugly and awkward things, the more people have the opportunity to know us and therefore love us. And also that it empowers others to be themselves and feel less alone. I wholeheartedly agreed. I wrote to her one day that there is no such thing as too much information or too much love.

Maybe she just couldn’t handle being the recipient, herself.

Also, not sure if the age difference was a factor in her rejection? I was 20 something years old and she was nearly 50 years old (I remember she was struggling feeling she was too old to be attractive any longer. She made a youtube video ugly crying [except she wasn’t at all ugly lol She was beautiful, though she couldn’t see it] about her birthday and that she was afraid of going into a depressive episode over it(she suffered an episode about her 40th one, I saw in a blog post and she had multiple hospitalizations for depression, like me, but she had way more), and I wrote that she’s the most beautiful woman imaginable lol I guess it was kind of cringe worthy of me since we weren’t close but I would love if a stranger wrote that to me, only thing is I wasn’t simply complimenting her here, but trying to initiate a relationship). It wasn’t like I asked her out on a date or something. Basically asked to be her everything though. I kind of threw myself at her. lol


It absolutely k!lled me wondering why others were good enough for her but not me. She had many lovers and friends and acquaintances and even strangers who she expressed love for through the years. She was a hopeless romantic and was sad to be single but she couldn’t get a relationship to work. I would have been overjoyed even to be a casual acquaintance and have even a fraction of her love.

Suddenly, a man showed up in all her pictures and blog posts and videos, constantly talking about how amazing he is. She said he wasn’t a boyfriend, but a very close platonic friend, and they were always holding hands and kissing on the cheek, and going to weddings and restaurants together. He was always calling her his girl and Babe and posting pics of her on his own account(I stalked his account, bitter at him for stealing my woman and the nerve to call her Babe πŸ˜† I thought of her as my babe and my sweetheart, my girl) and she called him “my guy” and “my man” and posted pics of him on her account. It destroyed me because it was like the relationship I wanted with her. But I focused more on my love for her than the pain after a while and was able to be happy she found a true friend even though I still experienced such deep pain for myself. It was hard not to be jealous of him. Like come out of nowhere and get the girl of my dreams. Like gtfoh lol

I remember them celebrating her birthday together and I was torn. In one way I was happy someone was being good to her and she was happy, but another part of me was jealous that I wasn’t included and angry at him for being to her what I wanted to be. It was so difficult. The pictures and posts they would share while out celebrating all night would bring me pain, yet also joy. And I was happy she was happy because I knew her birthdays were difficult for her because she couldn’t stand getting older. So it was good to see him keeping her uplifted and happy. She also lost her job after a while and he was there to bring her comfort. I was happy but sorry it wasn’t me. I was concerned she would go into an episode of depression and hoped he was keeping her safe. I longed to reach out to her with some words of comfort but knew I couldn’t because she did not want me. I hoped so much he knew how to take care of her like I would.

I remember her posting a picture one day, New Year’s Eve, of her and him cuddled on her sofa together, her head resting on him. Her caption was something like “My main man{and his name}, I couldn’t have done this year without you.” I had mixed emotions about it. Part of me was thankful she had someone helping her through her difficult year. But so much of me was in anguish that I wasn’t in his position. It was an inner struggle of true love being happy for her but a selfish pain that it wasn’t me making her happy and giving her love and receiving her love. I experienced both gratitude and resentment for him. I would so so much prefer her to have him than no one and even have him over me if it’s what she genuinely wanted. But I wanted her to want me.

I was so pissed when he changed his Facebook and Instagram default photos to a picture of just her.

“I see you driving round town with the girl I love, and I’m like f*ck you.” πŸ˜†πŸ˜†

I was in so much pain every day and night. Emotionally and physically. The rejection triggered the two months long depressive episode to begin with. But through the years every once in a while I would go into another episode, usually lasting a month, about it. It would lift, and I would go back to the regular pain about it. I lived a regular happy life in general, just carried this pain with me that would flare once in a while. Sometimes I would go a while without looking at her content or thinking of her much, then would look at her social media account, and a depressive episode/wave would be triggered. Or sometimes I would be in a low mood that I call a gateway state to depression; it’s not depression itself or even necessarily unhappiness but a tender state where I can feel if I’m not careful, I can become depressed. If I would think too much about her or check her social media accounts/blogs in this state, a depressive episode or wave could hit. This happened off and on til I was no longer interested in her.

My head throbbed relentlessly and the heartache was unbearable. I clung to anything I could for any bit of consolation. The main thing I found solace in was reading. I threw myself into books and read more than I ever read before. Mystery thrillers that kept me guessing what would happen next, intellectual readings to keep my mind active and thinking, personal development books that gave me tips for coping… anything to take my mind off her and my depression. It was a mixture of grief and depression and it was Hell on Earth. Everything I read I would wish I could tell her about. She loved to read too. I wanted to read books together and have hours long discussions. Every love song, I thought of her.

She had very low self esteem, body image issues, and bad luck with relationships. She dated people of any genders but especially men and had no luck. This is something that was getting to her. She said she felt lonely and left out everywhere, and I wanted to run to her rescue. I felt that I could make up for all those failed relationships of hers with all the love I had to give. I’m not this arrogant anymore. It knocked me down a few pegs and I never quite got back up.

The rejection of someone I loved with every fiber of my being and was ready and willing to love wholeheartedly, just cuts so deeply and hits hard. She was a very emotionally unhealthy and complicated person when I think back, full of insecurities, and I longed to put them all to rest. I wanted to make her better so she wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, because I loved her and she was a good person. She was a trainwreck, and it probably wouldn’t have been all rainbows and butterflies to get to love her, though I still would. Love isn’t supposed to be all perfection and happiness. (It shouldn’t be toxic either though, and thinking back, I have an inkling it could have been, with her, but I thought I would be able to calm her and make it so we have an easy love and life together) I loved her unconditionally. She admitted that she made all her relationships, even platonic friendships, complicated. I thought that made her even more beautiful, somehow. Today, I would not think that, no matter how much I love someone. I thought of her as a beautiful work of art. I always thought broken things are so beautiful, and she was so broken. There are things I wouldn’t have accepted in other people or would have been put off by but accepted in her. Sometimes she could be a bit judgemental of other women because of her jealousy as a result of her low self esteem. I did not like this even then, and there were a couple other things I remember rubbing me the wrong way. But because I loved her, I did not criticize.

I was nowhere near as unhealthy in the head as she was. I just had depression. I joke that I’m a s*icidal wreck sometimes, but it’s just depression that comes and goes. I don’t have conniptions in public, or meltdowns ever. Even when I’m depressed, I’m very composed on the outside. I’m also not full of general insecurities, just in general when I’m not depressed. She was. She was often a wreck by what I read and saw in her YouTube videos. She became addicted to prescription drugs and was in the process of recovery. I thought my depression was bad and that I had issues, but it’s like a walk in a park next to her issues. I thought I would be able to help calm her and love her into healing and wholeness. She had some messed up and thoughtless friends who did not have her best interests and safety in mind(she did not say this, and I don’t think she realized, but I could tell by the things she mentioned about them), and I wanted to show up and take care of her.

They would go out together late at night and let her go home alone, even while intoxicated. If she decided she wanted to go home early and they still wanted to stay out, they would stay and she would go. If I was out with a woman who wanted to leave early, I would go with her no matter how much I wanted to stay. Someone else’s safety, sense of safety, and emotional support is more important than my fun. They would let her leave, drunk, with men she just met. They would watch movies together, knowing there are trigger scenes for her in them. She would just casually mention these things, to get to a different point. I don’t think she realized she can do much better than this and is worthy of more than this. I wanted so desperately to show her. I wanted to show her what love really is.

She would have emotional breakdowns, randomly, or sometimes triggered by something, in public, out with friends. She had panic attacks and ptsd and manic episodes. Sometimes she would run out of movie theaters or restaurants and have a breakdown somewhere. She would sob, collapse, sometimes hit things, like the walls in restroom stalls. Sometimes she would experience homicidal tendencies when she would have fits of rage. Her friends would have to try to calm her. I would see her mood swings in YouTube videos. She couldn’t always stay composed while trying to talk. She would often break down, sobbing or just burst out crying. All this made me ache for her and want to hug and love all her pain away. Not that that’s possible and I never believed I could cure her, but I knew I could be by her side and love her through it all. As I write this now, I feel that ache I used to feel for her, not the ache of wanting her love and wanting to love her, but the ache I experienced for her in her deep pain. The compassion, the sorrow, I no longer wish I was there hugging and loving her(though I hope someone is, maybe he still is), but as I think back, I have deep deep compassion and concern, and hope so much she is in a much better place, emotionally. I find it heartbreaking just to think back to some of her videos and the pain she shared. I don’t have those active protective urges any longer but still wish the best for her.

I still do think of her as one of my soulmates in this life; that will never change. We are aligned emotionally, morally, intellectually, sense of humor….I no longer think of her as my soulmate or other half, but still part of my soul family.

Her smile would make me smile so big that it hurt. She was a big animal lover, which made her win my heart even more. She loved animals like me in a way most people don’t. Like me, she cared when a rat or mouse would die.

One day she shared that she found a dead mouse outside and she sat down and cried next to it, then buried it. She posted a picture of the mini memorial/grave she made for it. It was heartwarming, and I longed to hug her. This deepened my conviction that we were soulmates. I rarely to never meet people who care when a rodent or insect dies like I do. She would even feed roaches outside if she saw them and so do I. Lol Giving them bread or pretzels and some water. I have never known someone so compassionate except the Buddhists I used to hang out with Her and me are atheists.

I find it gutwrenching when even an insect dies. One day a caterpillar died and it triggered a s*icidal depressive episode in me for a month, mostly because it was my fault and the guilt triggered it, but it was heartbreaking to see the little baby die. Got ran over by a car. It’s painful to recall and write about this. She was the same way. This adds to my wondering about why she did not love me back. She basically loved everyone but not the one who loved her most and is just like her.

She made me laugh with her videos and posts. When she would cry in youtube videos I longed to hug her and stroke her hair and make it all better. Even after she unfriended my account, seeing pictures/videos of her (I was a creep and still read her blog and looked at her accounts, asking myself why, why, why lol), would just make me beam with love & joy. I was just drawn to her energy, sensitivity, compassion…and felt the loss of being unfriended. I wasn’t ready to give her up as an online friend. I wanted to still see her pictures and hear about her life. I wanted to be uplifted and inspired by the wisdom and beauty she shared, and this all would have been good enough to an extent if I wasn’t rejected. There are other women I only knew/know online and wish I knew in person and never reach out to them, and it’s still so amazing just knowing them in this context. But knowing this woman outright did not love me or like me even knowing all this about me and how much I loved her, made it too painful.

I thought she had the most beautiful hair, face, smile, eyes, just everything. I could not stop looking at her. She took my breath away. I admit her beauty was part of the whole that made me love her. I am very aesthetically attracted to women and for us aces/aros, that can play a part in our interest in someone just like sexual attraction for non asexual people. Her physical beauty mesmerized me. So often, I looked at her and thought, she is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.

Not my photo! To get an idea of what she looked like. She looked very very much like this. Isn’t she lovely? 😍 This is a random photo off Google images, like one of those stock photos. I was looking for a random pic to share just to give an idea and was surprised and delighted to quickly find one of a person who fits her exact description and looks very similar. Now I’m falling in love with this one. πŸ˜†

She looks so similar I almost felt a fluttering in my chest at the memory. See how she has that professional, intellectual air about her? She appears well read and educated. Someone who can hold a deep and intelligent conversation and just understands life and things. Not to be ableist, classicst, and whatever else. Nothing wrong with not being that way. But I like it when I see it in a woman. She used to wear bracelets and paint her nails like this too.

I often daydreamed of us going out to cafes and strolling the city streets together, arm in arm, fingers laced together, reading together in a park, and always wished I could hug her and rest our heads on each other’s shoulders. I tortured myself about why she did not want me. This was like a decade ago and I am so over it. The thing I found interesting is how even with so much pain and despair, this love I had for her brought me a joy that couldn’t be touched and she brought me incredible joy even after the rejection. It was true love. It was hard to let her go because just seeing a picture of her made me overjoyed. I did not want to give up that joy. I would fall asleep at night looking at her beautiful face and smiling through the immense pain and grief.

I felt we were made to belong to each other. Like we were written in the stars. Sometimes on very rare occasions I have a feeling like there was a glitch somewhere in the uni-verse and we were made for each other but that glitch interfered. I don’t actually believe this, just a metaphor or something for a feeling I have.

Sometimes I wonder if there was some freak string of coincidental glitches in algorithms or something and she did not receive my messages and also accidentally got off my friends list. This can happen. Someone can accidentally get unfriended/unfollowed on social media. It has happened to me before. When I was sending her the e-mails, they wouldn’t go through at first. It kept saying there was an unexpected error, and I had to keep resending. But they did show up in my sent box, eventually. So they seemed to have gone through. It’s more likely she did receive them and unfriended my account. It seems too coincidental to get unfriended so close to after sending e-mails. Sometimes when I think it could have been a mistake and she never received it because of a glitch in e-mail systems, and FB had some glitch, I experience a physiological reaction, a clenching in my gut, a dizzy sickly sensation, a fear sensation in my chest, an almost sweating sensation in the palms of my hands, to think it’s possible she could have loved me and we could have been together forever but it was prevented by a glitch. Though sometimes this thought has thrilled me, thinking there could still be a chance. Maybe I’ll run into her on the streets one day and she’ll send my heart racing and she’ll remember me and approach me first and all the stars will align and we’ll finally be together for the rest of forever. And one day I’ll tell her and we’ll laugh about it. A girl can dream.

But other occasions I was so mortified at the thought of rejection and looking clingy and overly sappy, that I preferred that she just did not see them than rejected me. For the most part now, I’m indifferent. It’s like either way, whatevz. Though it seems a bit unfortunate if she just did not see my messages. What a potentially beautiful thing possibly destroyed before it ever came to be, all because of a couple online glitches.

It was probably just all my sap was a big turn off lol πŸ˜†

I would have been so happy to know her or have her in any context, even just a casual acquaintance where we see each other in person, even if not frequently, or have a close relationship. So much of the obsession and pain was about not getting to have any contact with her but seeing her whole life displayed across my phone screen and along with that, knowing she did not like me, even just a little bit, when I found her to be so amazing. She was so open about herself and life and constantly shared. Even if she was just a customer at my job back then who chatted with me once in a while, I would have loved it. But we weren’t in each other’s lives at all, never even talked online much.

Haven’t seen her in person or social media since then. I used to be afraid, even years later, if I saw her, my love would be rekindled and be too much to bear, but now I couldn’t care less. I feel that I would be indifferent if I saw her now but not completely sure. I don’t know if it can all come flooding back. Hope not. I don’t think I’m brave enough to look her up even if I was curious. I hope I don’t decide to. LoL The more I think about it the more I feel and fear something may be re-sparked πŸ˜† I don’t think I can handle that pain again. I don’t know how I survived it back then and don’t feel that I can again. It’s not even the grief itself but the depression it may trigger that I am most concerned about. Rejection, loss, heartache is something nearly everyone alive experiences. It’s part of living and loving, and that can be bad enough. But when we are someone who is prone to s*icidal depression, it’s a terrible mix. It may or may not trigger a depressive episode. But it very well could. In general I am emotionally healthy and can handle stuff. But I am prone to depression, and when that depression flares, I’m not emotionally healthy. Some people are never depressed but they are not emotionally healthy either.

I cannot imagine having to bear that pain again, the grief and the depression. Being too cowardice to tell someone we love them and they not knowing we exist, is one thing, painful enough, but being rejected by them is something else. It takes away all hope and possibility that we’ll have them as our own. I don’t get depressed about anything I want and don’t get. I was out of work for two months when my previous job closed and never got depressed. There are jobs I wanted and was rejected for, even told I wasn’t qualified or experienced and that others were, and that did not depress me. Disappointed? Yes, but not depressed. There are people I liked who did not like me back. I was told before that I’m not pretty enough for a man when a mutual friend tried setting us up(obviously I wasn’t going to go out with him anyway lol)…and none of this depressed me. It doesn’t always depress me. But some of it can, especially when intense love is involved.

It’s absolutely not someone else’s obligation to love me, accept me, keep me….just so I don’t become depressed and s*icidal, and I never ever have thought that it is. It’s my obligation to become aware as best as I can, of my own triggers, and navigate them the best I know how. I wouldn’t try to avoid them in general as that would not be living. The only way to avoid loss and rejection is to avoid people, which I would never do. But if someone makes it clear they don’t want me, the appropriate thing to do is cut them off and let go as much as possible. It’s no one’s fault at all if I become depressed/s*icidal. That’s my own condition. Yes, things can trigger it, including things that someone else may do, and things that others do can sometimes help make it better, (like just a brief message to say hello) but that’s my responsibility, no one else’s.

I had to stop looking at her blog/accounts years ago, because it was so so painful even though her face brought me joy, I used to think about looking her up a couple years later, to see what she is up to and hoping she is happy and to see that beautiful face, but my hands would be shaky, heart racing, and I would think it would all come back and who knows what emotions would surface and resurface. So I avoided it. It was because of the rejection of being unfriended. Even just being ignored or not knowing I exist is different. But she had a reason to explicitly unfriend and all I can think of is it must have been too deep for her even though she was a deep person herself. Or the age? But we can be friends with people at any age. And she had younger friends.

I felt I would never again meet anyone like her and no one else would do(I felt this for women before and after her too but not always this strongly). Being prone to depression makes things more challenging because I never know when a painful situation that would be just painful to anyone else, will trigger a s*icidal depressive episode in me. Seeing her face again, if it rekindles something, can possibly lead to an episode where if I wasn’t prone to depression, it would be sad but not dangerous and triggering.

For a long long while I wasn’t even curious about her anymore but my trip down memory lane is getting me. LoL I hope she is happy and healthy wherever she is. I was never at all angry at her and always saw her rejection of me as totally valid, just sucked for me. lol My love for her that way is either gone or dormant. I still love her, but not like that. I love her in a universal sense, wishing her the best in life. And I also love the her I remember as a person. I have warm emotions when I remember her, but not in a way that I want a close relationship with her any longer. She was a genuinely likable person. I think anyone would like her company.

She was passionate about photography as was I (still am!), and we loved the same kind of photography. So after she ghosted me, I kept taking all kinds of pictures of things I knew she would like, trying to impress her. I thought maybe she was stalking my account. I have a feeling even now that she was(wouldn’t be surprising if she still is). She was that kind of person. She would cut people off and still look at their social media accounts/blogs years later. She also looked up people she had no intention of ever communicating with, people she knew years ago and did not like. This next part I’m going to write is very distressing to some so just a heads up. It’s about ass*ult……… she was brutally r*ped years before by a man (if you even want to call that a man) she was attracted to. One day he randomly att*cked her. And she looked him up years later and stalked his and his wife’s Facebook and Instagram accounts. He was single back then and now had a wife and kids and seemed very happy. She was furious and shattered that he got to live a normal life of happiness while she was still suffering with debilitating depression and panic attacks and psychosis decades later because of what he did. She had severe ptsd. She said it was so unfair.

I felt every bit of this. There are no words to describe this feeling that someone wrecked your life (or the life of someone you love with every inch of your sinew) and gets to go on living a happy life of love and family and friends and work satisfaction, while you (or the one you love) are broken beyond repair even after decades of therapy and medication and shock therapy and trying so hard to achieve some semblance of recovery and normalcy. She described in great detail what it felt like. And I felt it secondhand, every ounce of it and with an additional layer adding to it because I was in love with the woman experiencing it firsthand and describing it. And it burned in me. It burned like a hot rod impaling every inch of me. My skin was hot.

She had to keep leaving work even decades later for disability and hospitalizations. He had no idea she was looking at his accounts. So I believed she was likely stalking mine and tried whatever I could to win her heart.

I remember the fury I felt for him since I met her. A man I never met. A nameless, faceless man who existed only in the crevices of my brain, a figment of my imagination, an apparition, untouchable, unknowable. A dark hazy figure. A shadow of a man. But somehow still so real to me, a figure of substance, making my fury for him palpable. I carried this wh!te hot fury, my whole body inflamed and hot, like a cauldron of poison overflowing, at the thought of someone being able to hurt even a strand of hair on the head of the woman I loved beyond words, more than life. I have never known such v!olent rage like a fire burning passionately, relentlessly, in the deepest depths of my being, rising to the surface, shooting daggers through the pupils of my eyes. I used to fantasize about wrecking his life the way he wrecked hers, ruining his career, framing him for something else to make up for getting away, destroying his property. I came to intimately understand the saying”Love makes you do crazy things.”

The lasting effect this has on me is, I am now a bit hesitant to express the depth of my emotion for people for fear of being “too much” or coming on too strongly. Sometimes I want to compliment someone and think maybe I shouldn’t or maybe I should tone this down a bit before I seem obsessed. Even if it’s just a compliment to a stranger I don’t plan on encountering again, I often hesitate and think will this be off putting or scare them away if it’s too sappy or something and I think back to this.

Another lasting effect having known her has on me is it inspires me to be even more open about my experiences and things(like this). Sometimes I wonder if something is too much or an overshare, and I remember her and what she said about how sharing all of us, gives people more of an opportunity to truly love us. If they know our ugly parts, our clingy parts, our awkward and embarrassing aspects…they get the chance to truly love who we are than if they only knew the positive. This post is an example of something I wasn’t sure I should share very in depth. And I remembered it’s exactly the kind of thing she would share, with self deprecating humor throughout.

It also taught me that “You’ll only regret the things you don’t say” is nonsense. I regretted the ish out of sending those messages. lol I was embarrassed after reading the endless sap I wrote and was embarrassed even years later, thinking of it and how it probably creeped her out. Now it’s just whatever. But I can’t say I’m glad I sent it. LoL There’s still a slight cringe when I think of it. Also, just remembered I sent her a bunch of love song lyrics. Omg just k!ll me now πŸ˜† Imagine a strange woman coming out of nowhere and expressing this undying love for you and sending love song lyrics to Oldie songs. No wonder she unfriended my account 😹 But then again, I wouldn’t mind if a woman came out of the blue to love me. There’s a way not to be creepy about it though. I guess I crossed the line into creepy?

Though, she was the same way, coming on strong. She shared that she often shared too much info and it made people uncomfortable. She loved Oldies music (but loved rap and hip hop more) and love songs like me, and she would share songs she liked. Much of what I wrote to her was referring to specific things she shared in posts and videos. So I shared lyrics to love songs and Oldies songs I loved, with her. LoL

Also, she inspired me to read more novels. I always loved educational texts. She loved love stories, and I began to read more of them. I became hooked, and to this day, still love them.

After writing all this and thinking about it, I began to long for what could have been if she loved me back. It was absolutely one of the most difficult experiences I ever endured, to the point it physically sickened me. My body was ill. I felt like she was my other half. The other half of my “soul.” (I felt this again for other women after her and it was also painful. I usually don’t reach out to them and they don’t know I exist) I still think we could have been perfect together if only it wasn’t for that one little thing, whatever it was, that turned her off.

I will say, in my defense, this is not as creepy as it may sound here. Embarrassing, awkward, definitely, but it wasn’t like I was a creep or perv or whatever like so many men who message women. My messages had one hundred percent good intentions. I did want a relationship with her but wanted to lavish all the love I could, onto her. All I wanted was to love her. And her love me too. I completely respected and accepted her boundaries. I never sent her a message again or a friend request after she ignored and unfriended my messages/account. I did not follow up with “Why did you unfriend me/do you hate me/what did I do wrong?” or “F*ck you” like SO many men do to women when they send us compliments or ask us out and we ignore or reject them. I did still look at her accounts for a while but they were public and it’s not like she blocked me and I came back under other accounts. I knew where she lived and worked (not in a creepy way, she was open about it) and never once tried to stalk her. lol It never even occurred to me.

This should go without saying but just in case, I’m going to say it. LoL

I wasn’t under the delusion that she was in love with me back, though I did think at the very least, she would like to get to know me and maybe hang out like an acquaintance (and this would have been good enough for me). People usually do like people who are similar to them and have the same interests, values, goals…and she was very social and welcoming of people in general and usually responded to the messages that I could see on social media, blog, youtube…, so there was no reason for me to think she wouldn’t like or respond to me when I sent her messages (mine weren’t public). I still wished her the best(just in my head) and hoped she was happy. So yeah, I was kind of obsessed and a bit much, and too sure she would like me. lol But I fear this may come off creepier than it was. It was more compliments about her than anything. I knew her insecurities and tried to build her up and I knew the good work she did helping people and complimented her on it, genuinely. And I told her my own experiences to show her someone understands and she isn’t alone. It reminds me of Billy Joel’s lyrics “I won’t hold back anything, and I’ll walk away a fool or a king.” I did not hold back anything. And I sure walked away a fool.

Also, there were always strangers in her comments section on her blog, social media, YouTube… spilling their whole life stories, about depression, r*pe, abuse…and all, and she responded to nearly all of them, with compassion and concern, so it wasn’t that she was uncomfortable with a stranger sharing deep and unpleasant things with her.

I have a feeling that just having this experience is good for something and I am happy that I can love like this. It’s beautiful even when I’m not loved back. And it’s one of my greatest sources of joy in life, just to feel this love. I often say it’s better to reach out in love and it doesn’t work out than not reach out. So at least I tried.

I admit that I was arrogant back then. I was conceited. I thought I was all that and a bag of Skittles. I thought I was everything she needed and everything she wanted. I thought I could love her like no one else ever did. I thought I knew her so well and could love her accordingly. I thought she would think I was stunningly beautiful and amazing if only she would look at me. I wanted her to think I was beautiful like I thought she was beautiful. I thought all she had to do was look my way, and the rest would be history.

I’m embarrassed about my arrogance and I’m glad she toned it down. To think I had this idea and plan and she would just fall into it and go right along because it’s what I wanted. To think we were soulmates because I felt so. I am very careful now, not to be that arrogant anymore when I like someone, even in a regular platonic way. I don’t assume they will like me back or that I have anything they need or want. While I don’t have low self esteem (except sometimes when I’m depressed), I think this experience kind of pushed me the other way to a degree sometimes. When I love a woman, I sometimes think I don’t really have anything she wants or needs. I don’t think she thinks I’m pretty or attractive in any way. This is especially true when I am depressed.

I used to think my love for people is just what they need and that my hugs would be so healing. I don’t know if that was arrogant of me or what. It kind of seems so, but that wasn’t my intention. But I have always had compassion urges to hug people in need who I know like hugs or show them kindness, especially people I know and have emotional connection to, but even strangers. I have always loved Free Hug Days. I’m still like this, but since then, I don’t have that feeling as much that my love/hugs can really help anyone. Sometimes I wonder if there’s even a point in reaching out in love, in offering a hug, in showing love/care/concern…like those people probably have many people they can turn to for a loving hug or words of affirmation or whatever, why would my love/hug be so great that it helps them?? I don’t always think this way but have since the rejection. It wasn’t until revisiting my experience with the woman I loved and her rejection of me that I realized this is rooted in her rejection. I tried to love her and believed my love for her would do her good, but it only turned her off. I realize now that it kind of marked me, thinking my love isn’t anything anyone needs. And when I catch myself wanting to love someone, even a stranger, I judge myself for being arrogant and tell myself to tone it down, to not expect that I can help or touch them for the better with my kindness. This isn’t always, and it’s mostly when my depression is acting up. But I can tell it’s rooted in the rejection all those years ago.

And to think I’m told every now & again by non aromantic/asexual people that I’m “lucky” to be aromantic/asexual because I’ll “never know the heartbreak of rejection or breakups.” LoLz If you say so.

I still love her, I always will. But not like that. She will always be one of my life soulmates and hold a tender place in my heart. That cannot ever change.

I loved rereading this after I wrote it. It made me giddy to remember that kind of love and know I have it in me to love like that again and possibly be loved back. I was able to summon the feels. It fills me with hope and possibility. Where in the world I’ll find her, I don’t know. It can seem impossible because it’s not the usual romantic/sexual kind of love most experience but it’s not the same as having a best friend, and it’s for my own gender. It’s so much easier to get a man or our “opposite” gender. But knowing I have it in me to experience this makes me so happy. 😍

I think the only way I can be loved back like this is if someone is romantically in love with me because most don’t experience the emotional/alterous attraction without the romantic aspect. It’s very hard to find another aroace with leanings like me. I wouldn’t mind being loved, romantically, by a woman and I can love her back in my own way. I can reciprocate affection, physical and verbal, because I have those leanings. Just nothing sexual. It’s not easy to find. But I am very happy and fulfilled with regular close friends also! It’s not less fulfilling or valid, just different. β™₯️

I realized I miss her. Even after all these years, and I still have a bit of grief, it’s true. Not in a way where I want that relationship with her that I so so deeply longed for back then, but just miss her as a person, even just online. I would like to have a person like that again in this life of mine, even just as a social media friend. Not that I don’t have great people online or who I see in person now, like at work and just online friends. But the experience with her was different. Everyone is different, and most people aren’t as open about everything as she was. And I don’t love most people how I loved her. I miss her humor and photography that inspired me. I miss her wisdom. I miss her face and the joy it brought me to see her smile. I miss how she celebrated all the simple joys of each season like I do. How she celebrated the crisp Fall leaves in Autumn, and the rain misted flower petals in the Springtime, the way she loved the snow covered pavements and bare tree branches in Winter, and the sun reflecting off the windows on all the buildings around us in the Summer. Me too. I miss how she saw everything like I do, the beauty in the mundane, the extraordinary in the ordinary. She would see an empty coffee cup left by a stranger on an outside table at a cafe and take a picture to showcase its beauty. And that couldn’t be any more me. That is so rare. I also miss loving someone that way. I miss the possibility, that feeling like maybe, just maybe, she’ll one day be mine. Even after the rejection, I held out hope; that hope got dimmer and dimmer before it eventually went out. But just that faint flicker of hope kept me going so many days. This missing isn’t a bad thing, just part of my experience. It is quiet, sad, mellow. But not negative. There’s something quite beautiful about it. She accentuated that experience in me, the way I experience sad and broken things as beautiful, as works of art. How things seem a tad more beautiful when a hint of sorrow in thrown into the mix.

That’s another way I realized I am still marked by her. I knew back then but realized even more today how she more inspired that in me. She inspired me to read more novels and artistically capture the beauty in sadness and see rainy days as beautiful paintings of life. She loved the rain and how it brings out color, how the color looks drippy like paint in rainy photos, a reminder of how the storms of life can inspire us to see the beauty that is still around. I love this because it shows how even when it doesn’t work out with someone, and even if it doesn’t end on good terms and even years later, they can inspire good in us. Unlike what I thought back then about becoming a more superficial version of myself after her, it’s just the opposite. I am deeper now and have gems brought out in me that wouldn’t have been. They were in me all along, but she brought them out just by having the courage to be and reveal herself. I am inspired all over again to be raw and open and me. For the last few years, I have been struggling with my depression flaring more frequently and more deeply because of loss of long-term friendships I had and having no true friends anymore. It’s difficult to be as social as me and have no close friends in person. Even when I’m not depressed and am happy, it’s painful. And I haven’t been as inspired or overall as happy as when I had friends. I’m still happy when my depression isn’t flaring, but it’s less happy than when I have friends. Writing this inspired me to embrace me again and practice self love. I haven’t been as self loving since feeling abandoned by friends.

Yes, I do miss her. I wonder about her and hope so much she is happy now.

If this sounds like a big set up for codependency, it wasn’t lol That word is thrown around so loosely these days and everyone is accused of it (people like sounding like experts online lol), it’s hard to know what exactly it is. But if I understand correctly it’s an abusive relationship where one needs the other, and that one needs to be needed. It’s some twisted stuff, and that is NOT what I had in mind for us. I did have a relationship like this before with a woman, a frenemy situation going on that I was conscious of, and we were both guilty of it. I pretended to need her, and she needed to be needed. I had an insecurity that she was fulfilling in me or easing it in me. I did not love her but pretended to because I loved the idea of us. I pretended to be someone I wasn’t around her, changed my whole way of talking and all, still have old messages that show how very fake I was(so was she, it was mutual lol) This was so toxic to my mental health, my mental health got so much better after I ended that relationship. This was before I found the woman I loved again years later. I realized by the way I wrote how I wanted to take care of her, people may get the wrong idea; that’s only because I liked her and she had issues, not that I wanted her to need me. I wanted a mutually loving relationship and wanted her to get better, not stay broken so she can keep needing my validation and stuff. I wanted our relationship equal and healthy. But I will say again, like I mentioned somewhere in this post, that I am the protector/giver. It’s my nature. So if I were in a close relationship, I would naturally be the main giver, giving affection, compliments, validation (to a healthy extent, not excessive, lol), and if that person prefers to receive, that can work in a healthy way. Some degree of validating and taking care of each other is healthy and “normal.” We should complement each other though, not feel we need each other to be worthy and want the other one to stay low just so we can provide. Relationships of any kind, platonic or not, should be equal sided, mutual, adding extra joy and meaning and value, not one providing all to get the thrill of being needed, while the other is clingy and keeps taking. I wanted to take care of her because of the love I had for her, and she just happened to have issues that I wanted to help her heal.

So here is my story! I found it so healing and enlightening to revisit and write. I did not realize how I still had some pent up emotion surrounding this experience. Writing this story healed me in ways I did not realize I still needed healing almost ten years after the rejection. It was cathartic, and there were pent up emotions, wounds needing an outlet, needing a voice, needing validation, needing to be honored, held. I am so thankful I got the opportunity and found the courage to put into words and share what I never thought I could.

I welcome comments, thoughts, anyone else’s experiences with heartbreak, love, rejection…only thing not welcome is anything debating the validity or existence of my identity/orientation and absolutely nothing homophobic.

I hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are and wishing you lots of love. Thank you to anyone who reads this long post if anyone does! It was emotionally exhausting to write because of the length and all. But it was a great journey back through my memory! And somehow it gave me hope. I loved feeling all those feels again, particularly the uplifting ones. LoL And it really did make me laugh. 😁 With some self exploration, I know I don’t want her anymore, but definitely want someone. Remembering all the joy was so pleasant but I don’t want it with her. I’m not going to look her up. I’ll leave that in the past. I admit I am still embarrassed and would be even more to see her again, not knowing if she remembers or forgot all about it. Anyway, it was a good ride!

Xoxo Kim ❀️

Wth lol πŸ˜†

How on Earth does this happen? Lol I mindlessly tossed the keys on the steps, not even looking, and they stood up like this. This never happened before. I thought maybe there is something about the carpet that would make this likely, like it’s sticky or something, but it’s not. I intentionally tried to make this happen again, tried carefully standing them up just to see, and it wasn’t happening. I gave it a few tries and nothing. πŸ˜†

Just a random post because it’s funny lol

I hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are!

Xoxo Kim πŸ’‹

Elevator fear πŸ–€ {another dream}

This is an image I created using AI πŸ–€ I made it to represent my elevator fear and dreams

Content warning ⚠️: claustrophobia, brief mention of s*icidal ideation and self injury, but the self injury isn’t in a “depressed kind of way,” but a result of panic

This post was meant for yesterday!

These dreams go on when I close my eyes
Every second of the night I live another life πŸ–€

I’m going to share my nightmare while I was asleep but first will give it context by explaining my claustrophobia.

I shared here before about my lifelong struggle with debilitating Claustrophobia, actual diagnosed Claustrophobia, particularly fear of elevators. I have struggled with it since I was a little girl for an unknown reason. I used to run up 20 floors just to avoid getting into elevators, but in some buildings stairs going up are blocked off. Just walking by an elevator or having to go into a building knowing they’re in there, would be enough to experience intense fear. Sometimes being in an elevator I would go into such a panic, I would claw myself up with my fingernails until my skin bled, just out of a sense of not knowing what to do.

When I was young, I mostly could avoid elevators so it wasn’t as much a problem except on school trips and visiting people in hospitals. That was challenging. Also as a college girl, sometimes I had to get into elevators to get to class. I was embarrassed and insecure about my claustrophobia as a young girl. I did not know it’s a disorder or a defined thing. I thought it meant I’m wimpy. I was impressed when other kids could get into elevators and not be scared. I thought they were braver than me. I now know this isn’t true. Claustrophobia is an anxiety disorder and doesn’t mean someone is weak or not brave. As a girl, I used to daydream that I got into elevators with no fear, and I longed to be this brave for real.

I am one of the phobia sufferers who would often face my fear and get into an elevator anyway and just suffer. I wouldn’t have a positive mindset about it. Many phobia sufferers cannot face the fear and will always avoid the source at all costs. It’s a cruel irony, as I have said before, to have to come face to face with the very thing we fear most, to get over it.

I “cured” it myself after trying out professional exposure therapy and seeing it just wasn’t needed for me; I could handle it on my own. I did use the exposure technique but on my own without the help of a therapist any longer. My claustrophobia was so severe and crippling, it would trigger s*icidal episodes. It’s a very powerful breathtaking fear. It’s so powerful, it inspires awe in me to get to experience something so profound. It’s one of the most intense feelings there is, and not everyone gets to experience something so powerful in that way. I don’t like it, but still intrigued by it and thankful for the experience. It reminds me of love even though it’s not pleasant, the intensity of it can be the same, like so strong, it could move mountains.

It got better, but then I suffered a relapse at the end of 2017 after making the mistake of watching the numbers and waiting for the doors to open. It seemed to take a fraction of a second too long, which made me crumble in terror. This is when I began the exposure therapy. When I first got better, it was after getting used to getting into elevators with a dog. Then eventually I could alone. For a while, I would imagine the dog in there with me even when she wasn’t. That helped. I did not have to get into elevators as much anymore so got unaccustomed to it after the relapse. Then I had to again and could not handle it. So I began organized exposure therapy and meditation. The Philadelphia Eagles won the Superbowl in 2018. Their motto leading up to it was Let us prey. I adopted this saying and attitude as my mantra and way of coping with my Claustrophobia. I chose to prey upon the fear instead of allowing the fear to prey upon me.

I’m not cured. I still have it. It’s just dormant. I can still always feel it beneath my surface and know that it can come back. It’s slightly threatening. I know it’s here possibly waiting to be unleashed. This is true even when I’m calm as can be closed inside an elevator. Sometimes this knowing is more intellectual, and other occasions it’s more a feeling with body and emotion. I don’t mind this. I just peacefully coexist with it. I have to keep getting into elevators to keep myself used to it. If I ever stop, it will come back. Some days just for no particular reason, I feel a flare up and avoid them if I can because I know not to push myself; that isn’t the same as having an active phobia and avoiding them when I have to encounter them to get better. But that’s seldom. Also, if I’m anxious about something else or am dehydrated (dehydration gives me anxiety in a physiological way, not anxious thoughts, but just a feeling of anxiety and physical symptoms), my claustrophobia will flare, not a full on relapse, just a flare. The anxiety of dehydration will latch onto thoughts about being stuck in an elevator and manifest as claustrophobia.

My claustrophobia was always present even being inside an elevator with people. But eventually I stopped being afraid as long as people were inside with me or a dog was. The thought of being trapped inside with a dog or other human stopped terrifying me, just being alone did. Even now, I wouldn’t be afraid or only slightly if an elevator wouldn’t open with a dog and me or another human and me. Before, that would have still sent me off the deep end. Even if it locked with just me now, I can handle it, I think, as long as I don’t have a relapse.

Since I was a little girl into adulthood, I have been plagued by recurring nightmares of being stuck in an elevator. In my dreams it’s an old familiar fear, as if I have been stuck in one before, like a knowing feeling, an intimate knowing, like oh this again. This again. Each dream brought with it the same old feeling, like an underlying thread connecting all the dreams together even spanning over years, decades. Like in each dream it was as if I remembered all the dreams before it, not necessarily consciously remembered, but knew on some level that this keeps happening, but in the dreams, it felt more like they were reality than a dream. Almost like I’m stuck in another world where I am sentenced to getting stuck in elevators again and again and again. Like Groundhog day lol Sometimes I would have multiple elevator dreams in one night. The dreams all start out like regular life, I’m going about my day then must get into an elevator then It happens. My worst nightmare.

This again.

It happens in all different ways, but it’s all the feeling of absolute dread where I just know. I know I am not getting out of here.

I stopped having them for so long.

Until last night.

No idea why, but last night, I had another elevator nightmare. I can’t remember when I last had one. I’m not anxious, and my claustrophobia isn’t relapsing.

But last night I had a dream that I was about to get into an elevator. There was a friendly, smiling petite woman already inside holding the doors for me. I remember her so vividly. She was pale skinned and around my age, maybe a bit older, around as tall as me, maybe slightly shorter, and she was slightly thinner than me. She had what may be called strawberry blonde hair, mouth length. She was wearing a navy blue and white striped long sleeved shirt. The stripes were thin. I don’t remember her pants. She wasn’t physically beautiful but not ugly, but she was beautiful on the inside. What some may call mousy or plain in appearance, but she had a cuteness about her, a humble prettiness. She was very sweet and friendly with a gentle air about her.

We both happened to be going to the 14th floor in whatever building it was. I have no idea why we were there. She was delighted and pushed the button for us both. She had a compassionate, warm, welcoming personality, like she never met a stranger, like she may have been open to developing a friendship or at least an acquaintanceship with me, just in that mundane encounter where most wouldn’t even give each other so much as a glance. It was like when she looked at me, she saw me. Not the way strangers around look up and quickly look away. It wasn’t her words that allowed me to know her nature, but her body language, her facial expressions, her energy, her actions, her smile. I remember her warm energy.

We got to the 14th floor, and the elevator sped past and went to the 17th floor and stopped and wouldn’t open. When it went past the 14th, we both knew. We knew It was happening.

It.

It with a capital “I.”

I’m covered in head to toe chills just writing this. The fear and the knowing in the dream were not normal. We were doomed and knew it in a way that people in reality wouldn’t know it. It’s a kind of knowing, a kind of knowing fear that only exists in dreams or nightmares. Sure, real people who are rational may be anxious but wouldn’t already be in despair and *know* they will be stuck forever or die. We did know, and we were in despair. Real people would be thinking like let’s see how to get this fixed or hopefully this opens or what is going on or thinking we have to call for help or wait for someone to let us out…we had no hope and did not have to wonder, we were doomed. There was no one coming to let us out. And we knew. We knew the very split second that elevator sped past floor 14. The woman gasped and said something I can’t remember, and I stood there paralyzed in that old familiar intimate crippling panic. It was happening again. IT.

The elevator just froze there at the 17th floor. I was panicked that we were stuck. Then I suddenly realized we had a bigger problem than just being stuck. I realized being stuck at floor 17 means being stuck in the air, that high up. Just hanging in midair. I imagined it dropping and us falling to our deaths. Suddenly, as if to hear my thoughts and wanting to taunt, it began to go down very quickly. I wasn’t sure if we were dropping to our deaths or it would land safely, but I knew either way, we weren’t getting out of there, and so did she. Suddenly it began dropping faster and making loud noises and lighting up, then it began going back up and then down then back up, the flashing lights getting more and more intense. All the numbers were lighting up. The whole situation felt aggressive, like the elevator was consciously attacking us. Like it was out to get us.

The woman was screaming and had her head down, covering it with her arms in a defensive stance, as if to protect herself against whatever blows were to be coming to her. I wasn’t screaming or doing anything (typical of me in reality also), but my fear very much matched hers. The top of the elevator began to open up, and we both eagerly looked up to see if maybe, just maybe, there was a way to climb up and get out. There wasn’t. We saw something, I can’t remember what, that we both knew meant it was a hopeless situation for us. We looked at each other, her face contorted into a mask of horror and despair and a desperate pleading look. The crashing noises got louder, the lights more flashy, the elevator began to close in on us as we both got into the self defensive position and moved closer to each other, then clinging to each other knowing our end was very near.

Then I woke up.

And that’s that. lol

First thing this morning, I had to get on an elevator by myself for work. And I remembered this dream as the doors were closing on me. So that was fun. lol πŸ˜†

I have been having very vivid dreams lately. I always have but not as much as years ago when I was young, and I don’t remember them as much as I used to. But recently I have been having very detailed dreams that I remember. I generally don’t have unpleasant dreams.

I love that my mind made this character up and brought her to life so vividly. She wasn’t anyone I ever knew for real. I’m not sure how true it is, but I read before that our brain doesn’t make up faces, that if we dream a face very clearly, like my situation here, it means we necessarily saw that face before in real life, maybe even decades ago. It may not have been that person in our dream, just their face. So like this woman’s face could have been my 5th grade teacher’s (in fact thinking back, I think they did have a similar face, build, hair style…and she was warm, sweet, friendly, and around that age maybe lol) even if she wasn’t that person/my teacher in my dream. It was so creative of me lol πŸ˜‚

This is probably strange, but I kind of feel sorry for her. She was so real, and whatever happened to us, I got to wake up, but it was her ending. Not that it was real. But there is a lingering feeling that I got to be the lucky one who escaped because I get to be the real one, flesh and blood, who gets to wake up and continue being. Also, there was a hint of guilt because it’s my brain that created that world and that dire situation for that character. lol I should probably stop now before I sound batsh!t. πŸ˜‚

Anyone want to share an interesting dream experience/recurring dream/insight on dreams or anything, go ahead! Or even just your most recent dream you can remember, if there’s one. I would love to read! Dreams are so interesting! I’m especially interested in how, like I said, these dreams are like all linked with an underlying thread and how in dream world, we can know things in a way we wouldn’t in reality. Like we just knew we weren’t getting out of that elevator, not in a negative thinking kind of way but true knowing. In reality if the elevator sped past the 14th floor, most people’s initial reaction would probably be confusion. Like WTF or what’s going on. Our initial reaction was knowing. Then panic.

I don’t mind these dreams/nightmares. They are not pleasant but are fascinating. I am more intrigued than disturbed.

I hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are! And sweet dreams tonight lol πŸ˜†

Xoxo Kim ❣️

Random Introduction post/Fun facts about me πŸ’•

πŸ’•πŸŽ„ I already posted this pic but am out of storage space so here it is again lol

Random introduction post! I have been seeing people posting things like this on social media and decided to be vain so here is mine! Fun facts about me:

1.) I am the biggest sap I know and the biggest hopeless romantic lol I love romantic comedies, love stories, love songs, couples/wedding/engagement photography, Hallmark Christmas movies, they give me all the feels πŸ˜† I believe in love at first sight and true everlasting love lol Give me all the cheesy stuff and I’m good to go
2.) Nearly all the music I listen to each day is 50’s/60’s – Oldies has always been my favorite
3.) I walk 10+ hours a day, seven days a week, for work and for fun; I don’t recommend it because while it’s very fun and keeps me physically fit (not workout level fit but in good condition), I frequently get injuries because of overuse
4.) I have a naturally cheerful temperament but also have s*icidal depression that comes and goes, particularly when I don’t have close in person friends/enough socialization, I’m very social and need basic human companionship consistently. I can be good friends with someone who isn’t very social and comes and goes, but cannot have someone like that as my main or only friend, I need a consistent friendship with enough in person socialization, doesn’t have to be every day, but enough. I wouldn’t try making a friend like that change, just hope to find another who is more social like me
5.) I am very mild mannered and soft spoken and shy and reserved in social settings but still love being around lots of people
6.) People say I have the voice of a child, angel, mouse, Cyndi Lauper…lol I’m frequently told it’s comforting and soothing and have been told my voice should be used as an audio version for kids books. Occasionally strangers think I’m faking it as a joke at first πŸ˜‚
7.) Some of my interests are: photography, especially night/city/architectural, glitch art, digital art, reborn/silicone babies/hyper realistic dolls(I don’t make them myself, just love them), reading (especially fiction thrillers/mysteries, apocalyptic, psychological, detective, legal, medical…but also like educational stuff), listening to music all day, walking, iced lattes, movies, especially horror and romantic comedies
8.) I am very quiet and calm and not a crier and not very reactive no matter what is happening. My boss says a bomb can be going off and I’ll just be standing there smiling saying oh it’s ok πŸ˜† lol I had teachers throughout school who were concerned about this, but there is nothing wrong with me. It’s just my nature. I’m not emotionless at all, just calm. I have been told by clients that this puts their pets at ease (I’m a pet nanny)
9.) I’m very low maintenance, just give me all the love and hugs and call me pretty and we’re good 😊
10.) I’m very understanding of last minute canceled plans, unreturned texts, stuff like that, I don’t take it personally as long as a friendship isn’t one sided in general or it appears it’s only me someone does that to, people have whole full lives, I am just one part of it.
11.) Now for something not so pleasant. lol I am the biggest slob there is, not like consciously, just am, since I was little. I was told by elementary school teachers I had the worst desk of all the kids, my handbags are always a mess, my boss said he sees trash just hanging out of them, my mom and sister argue with me over it(I live with them), my sister said I have the bedroom of a 17 year old boy, lol pizza crust on my dresser, coffee or milkshake cups spilled over and left there, my bedroom can be on “Hoarders.” lol πŸ˜† It’s the kind of slobbiness that could turn someone right off who is interested in dating me if they found out πŸ˜‚ We all have to have some flaw though, right? It could be worse lol (not that the slobbiness could be worse, I could have a worse flaw πŸ˜†)
12.) Cold weather is my favorite, but I also love the beginning of Spring
13.) I love Christmas and am all decked out for it in Christmas leggings (these are Christmas leggings but may not look it) and other clothing, jewelry every year. I listen to Christmas music all season and like a little kid am joyful over anything Christmasy, even have an empty feeling the day after Christmas
14.) I am a fan of practical jokes, risque jokes, bathroom humor…and just laugh at everything, everyday, like full on bellylaughing. lol My boss says I’m a perv, and my mom & sister say I’m a pig and unladylike and “must have been a guy in another life.” πŸ˜‚ I always got in trouble for laughing in school during class, and my mom has told me “No one likes a clown!”
15.) Another flaw, I’m not responsible, financially. I buy more expensive lattes than I should, but I never ever ask for or accept money off friends or anything like that. I would never let someone pay for me when we hang out unless we switch it up , I’m not a fan of people who take advantage of others or see people as opportunities
16.) I love kids but never wanted any of my own, not for any particular reason, just no calling for mom life (but I have always loved mommy blogs & jokes lol) Unlike what many assume, this doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing all about your kids, just don’t want my own. I love newborns especially.
17.) I have never been someone with big dreams or very goal/career/family oriented. I could be happy working at Starbucks and living with friends/roommates/pets for the rest of forever. lol I’m a simple girl. I used to see this as a flaw, but it’s just the way I am. My job now is my dream job and what I would do even if I did not need a pay. Only downfall is it’s not an adequate pay to live on my own, not underpaid, but it’s impossible to work enough hours as the traveling (which isn’t paid work) takes up most of the day, not the actual work
18.) Every year in December, since 2019, Amazon shows me my most listened to songs that year, and “Ice Ice Baby” has made it on every list since 2019. lol Who can get tired of it?

If there was a problem, yo, I’ll solve it. πŸ˜†

Who can’t use a bit of that motivation each day? 😁

Anyone here relate to any of this? Or are you the polar opposite? Lol Let me know!

Thank you for reading!! ❀️

Sending love & virtual hugs to all who want any. I hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are! πŸ’•

Xoxo Kim πŸ’‹πŸ˜˜

Sister Sara πŸ–€

These are my Halloween Instagram pics & captions I’m sharing here now πŸ–€πŸŽƒ

I was Sister Sara for Halloween, always wanted to be her not just for Halloween but just for fun, to bring Alice Cooper’s character to life. 😁

Sister Sara πŸ–€

“Now I don’t know but I’ve been told
There’s a nun having fun, and she lost her soul
She got cash, she got laid
Now she’s dealin’ with me, and she gonna get paid
She got caught with the bishop
Got caught with the abbot
Even cardinal sin tried to feed her habit
Now we get wh*res and pimps and skanks
But when the judgement came down even he gave thanks” πŸ–€πŸ˜‚

Halloween costume inspired by Alice Cooper’s “Sister Sara.” (Lyrics above 😍)


That’s a stranger’s used & discarded cigarette in my mouth; I found it on the ground. Lol I tried ordering fake ones, but Amazon was d!cking around as usual and wouldn’t send them. So if I contract anything, it’s Amazon’s fault(my mom insists I’m going to lol I told her I was going to use a used cigarette with my costume, and she did not really believe it. I sent her this pic, and she responded “No f*cking way!”). πŸ˜† I checked multiple stores in person and couldn’t find any. So I contemplated buying a real pack and taking one out and giving the rest to a homeless person. Then I decided I can just find one on the ground. πŸ˜† I’m gross like that. Lol

I also found a bottle of Brandy on the ground that appears in one of my naughty nun pics. πŸ˜‚

“Roll me up and smoke me when I die
And if anyone don’t like it, just look ’em in the eye
I didn’t come here, and I ain’t leavin’
So don’t sit around and cry
Just roll me up and smoke me when I die.” πŸ–€

Sister Sara πŸ–€

“Whatever happened to me
Can’t remember my name
Flying so high on angelic wings
Flew too close to the flame” πŸ–€

Sister Sara, so depraved πŸ–€πŸš¬πŸŽƒ

Gone Wiccan 😁

“You had every opportunity to call His name
Don’t look surprised, don’t be in shock
You’ll be a lovely little demon in my private stock
I’m just doing my job to pull you down
‘Cause it’s a one way ticket down to Dragontown” πŸ–€

I found this cigarette & bottle of brandy on the ground outside. Lol πŸ˜†

This is my first Halloween costume as an adult! I was overjoyed like a little kid opening it. Lol πŸ˜† I almost got butterflies. Adults should play and dress up more often! πŸ˜πŸŽƒ πŸ‘»πŸ–€

If only I had a little bit more @$$, it may be a tad sexier. Lol

I loved dressing up! It brought out my inner child!

It’s so good for us adults to do stuff purely for fun or play!

What can you do to lighten up and summon that inner child?

Coloring, toys, dress up, dancing, painting, kid/family movieswe’re never too old!

We don’t stop dancing because we grow old. We grow old because we stop dancing.

I hope you’re having beautiful day or night!

Xoxo Kim ❀️

Last night I had the strangest dream…{for real though 🀣 total cray cray πŸ˜œ}

Pretty in pink today! I’m all pink, I even have a pretty pink bra/panties/socks/nail polish(it’s chipped though lol)/mask….lol πŸ’•

Ain’t nothin’ gonna to break my stride
Nobody gonna slow me down, oh no
I got to keep on moving
Ain’t nothin’ gonna break my stride
I’m running and I won’t touch ground
Oh no, I got to keep on moving
You’re on the road and now you pray it lasts
The road behind was rocky
But now you’re feeling cocky
You look at me and you see your past
Is that the reason why you’re runnin’ so fast?
And she said
Ain’t nothin’ gonna break my stride
Nobody gonna slow me down, oh no
I got to keep on moving
Ain’t nothin’ gonna break my stride
I’m running and I won’t touch ground
Oh no, I got to keep on moving πŸ–€


Trigger warning ⚠️: Mention of depression and s*icidal contemplation, may be disturbing or triggering to some, may be slightly graphic details

This post was meant for 11/28/2022 It’s after 12:00am now so the date changed.


Last night I had the STRANGEST dream/experience. Actually, early this morning. It was BIZARRE! I think it may have been mild/partial sleep paralysis, which happens sometimes when I’m depressed, ever since I was young. Usually my sleep paralysis when it does occur (which is not often and even less the older I get), is severe and extremely unpleasant. This wasn’t but was certainly strange. It was actually beautiful and inspiring and just so weird! Usually when I’m experiencing sleep paralysis, I try hard to get myself up and experience a sense of panic and being deeply disturbed and terrified. With this, I was accepting and not trying to force myself awake.

First I will mention for some context that I have a tooth infection that I have had for months now(I’m embarrassed to admit this but over half a year, actually). A few years ago, I cracked my tooth flossing(I have very soft teeth). A few years later (now), that break is infected. I work seven days, morning through evening, sometimes lighter weekends, and we are understaffed so I been doing home remedies and putting it off. My boss doesn’t want to lose clients, and I’m basically the only worker now. We have a few people helping out, but what they do is very limited. I’m a full worker. He said me taking off when we’re so busy would be disastrous for his business. So I been trying to hold off as long as I can. I warned him that it’s life threatening and I can succumb any day(he said ugh! I’ll lose so many clients! I can’t afford that! Just try to stay alive! πŸ˜†). Months ago my whole face was swelled up, and I was in agony. I got it under control and swelling down, but cannot get the infection gone. A couple nights I walked myself to an emergency room when it was flaring worse but decided nah I’m not sitting in there for 12 or more hours and don’t want to overwhelm our healthcare workers any more than they already are. Last thing they need is another dental patient running there when they have so many other patients needing them. I just can’t. So I left and got it under control again. One day, at the end of October, I woke up at 3:00am feeling as if it was spreading. I got out of bed and walked to an emergency room then decided I couldn’t stay because I was taking care of someone’s dog and couldn’t leave him alone so walked to cvs instead for some first aid stuff. It helped a bit. I thought I was dying that morning. I had pain & mild flu like symptoms (wasn’t this virus). I was a regular blood donor for years and haven’t been able to donate in so long because of this.

Recently I was very very sick, as sick as I have ever been in this life, and I seriously never get sick. I couldn’t even get out of bed. I had to tell my boss I literally couldn’t work. This is unheard of. In the six years I worked here, I never ever took hours off for being sick. I did work that day, all day, but got too sick by the evening to do my evening work. I thought it was my infection making me sick, turns out, it was just some virus(I wear a mask and don’t go near anyone, don’t work with humans). But being sick like that showed me what can happen but worse if I succumb to my infection. I NEVER get sick like this and it was like seeing another side of myself I did not know. It was so uncharacteristic of me. I am healthy and energetic as can be, walking 10 and more hours a day. I never even get tired. I never just lay around in bed, I’m either out walking or dancing around my room blasting Oldies. My body feels so healthy it’s palpable, the feeling of health I experience each day. And I am very conscious of how healthy and full of endless energy I am/feel.
Any physical sickness/cut/injury I get usually heals in a day and doesn’t take me down. This took me down for days. I couldn’t even stand, and I had to work, but had to keep stopping places to rest. So this was so so unusual and I was taken aback. It was like a wake up call. I don’t want to get sick like that but worse with sepsis, which untreated tooth infections lead to.

Also, I have been struggling with s*icidal depression off and on because of lack of close true friendships for a few years now. This gets me to not care as much about myself, feeling I’m not worthy and my own life doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not a philosophy I hold; it’s the depression. It triggers depression then depression tells me I’m a worthless loser with no friends and no purpose and no accomplishments in life…And it just weakens my will to survive. Recently, a fifteen/sixteen year friendship of mine that used to be close officially ended like Facebook unfriended ended lol That’s how we make it official these days. πŸ˜† I went to unfriend him and lo & behold! He already unfriended me(so I went a step further and blocked his account πŸ˜† good to know we still think alike!)! I guess it wasn’t very surprising. We have been drifting apart for years (on his part) and resentment was building for a while, on my part and apparently on his part too since he saw reason for unfriending. And we were inseparable for years. Even whenever he would get a new boyfriend, he wanted to spend every second with me. He would invite me on dates with them, even on their valentine’s day celebrations. We met at a dance and danced all night and that was it, we were bff’s. He even included me in family only events shortly after meeting each other. He came to visit me everyday during my psychiatric hospital stays for my depression. He became very unhappy with his own life through the years and began acting differently in unhealthy ways. Recently he began showing signs of a midlife crisis. He also has severe depression. I held out hope he would change and go back to being himself, but he wouldn’t. His behavior became toxic to me. It would trigger my depression or make it worse. This unfriending doesn’t help my depression, but I was already emotionally done with him (after so much turmoil over the loss of closeness through the years and having no other close friends – we had mutual friends, but we drifted apart too – we were mostly all friends through him, that’s the problem when one person holds a group together) so it’s not the biggest blow.

Depression makes me very physically ill and fatigued when it’s to a certain point, but I still feel a sense of ingrained physical health. I want to keep it this way.

I finally made a dentist appointment a while ago, but there was nothing available til around a month away. So I can’t get help til mid December. I have no dental insurance so found a place where they give us discounts if we’re poor lol The infection seems to have spread into my sinuses, and my nose has been gushing blood for days on the side the infection is on. But there isn’t a thing I can do about it. Dentists and hospitals are overwhelmed and backed up. So I’m just here waiting to get sepsis and die or for my healthy body to hold me over til mid December. I am extremely healthy. I have a wicked immune system. That’s why I’m still alive. I looked it up, and basically I should have been dead months ago. lol I decided to stop neglecting/abusing my body in certain ways I have been, I’m going to get it the help it needs. It’s strong and beautiful and carries me and keeps me alive. It kept me alive much longer than it should have. I’m going to pay it back with kindness and basic needs.

So this is what happened early this morning.

I woke up, and it was too early for work. So I rolled over and fell back asleep. What felt like only a few seconds later, I woke up standing in the bathroom in my house walking to the toilet to pee. lol I had this general confused feeling like how did I wake up standing in the bathroom. And who wakes up standing? Suddenly I peed my pants a little bit before making it to the toilet right in front of me. lol (I recently read a funny post by a mom who has incontinence after giving birth to three babies, and she peed when she laughed and yelled to her husband “I just peed my pants, this is mom life!” and he burst out laughing at her, and they fell over laughing hysterically together. lol She posted a picture of them laughing together. I thought this was funny and cute but was thinking no thanks I’m glad I never had kids! I don’t want to pee my pants whenever I laugh{and I laugh A LOT, like full on belly laughs}! Not that it’s the worst thing and is very common in assigned female at birth people, particularly those who give birth, but I would prefer not to lol I would be peeing all day!)

So then I sat on the toilet to pee the rest lol I was concerned about the incontinence thinking why would this suddenly happen, but even more concerned about the sleepwalking. I sleepwalked my way into the bathroom which made no sense. I never sleepwalk! I was thinking so is this going to keep happening now, the incontinence and the sleepwalking? The incontinence I can handle, but the sleepwalking just isn’t ok! I also noticed I was wearing blue jeans as I was pulling them down. I fell asleep in soft blue pj’s. I don’t sleep in uncomfortable clothes. So that was off. Did I get changed in my sleep too? I was still wearing my red pj shirt though. Just the soft pj pants turned to blue denim ones.

After peeing (can’t remember if I washed my hands or not – I would in reality though πŸ˜†), I was walking out of the bathroom back to my bed and collapsed to the floor in the bathroom doorway. Something was pulling me down so hard beyond my control. Half of my body was in the bathroom still and the other half (my upper half) was in the hallway. (The bathroom in my house is in my bedroom! no hallway! It wasn’t my actual house even though it was supposed to be, but I did not realize when it was happening! For real I live in one of those super small houses with only one bathroom that happens to be in a bedroom where everyone has to walk through that bedroom to get to the restroom, and it’s in my bedroom, my sister did not want everyone going in and out of her bedroom lol This house was large) I wondered why I was collapsing. It was happening in slow motion. I couldn’t stop it. Then I realized I was dying. At first I wondered if I was dying then it hit me that I was literally straight up dying right there half in the bathroom, half in the hallway. It was not painful, and I did not feel sickly at all, could just feel the life slowly draining out of me. I remember thinking so this is what it is to die. And it’s my turn here & now. I felt helpless, powerless, but not really in a negative way. I just wasn’t attaching a negative perspective to it like most probably would. It was a powerful feeling. Not pleasant but can’t say it was fully unpleasant, almost neutral but more on the unpleasant side if it were a scale that was slightly tipped to one side or the other. I was intrigued. As I lay there dying, I was racking my brain trying to understand why. It made no sense. I am so healthy, so energetic, so physically fit (not fit like I work out level fit, but physically active enough), how could this be??? There was some anxiety at the thought of dying since it was a new to me experience and there was some uncertainty about what it would be like.

But my curiosity was more prominent than my fear. And I had a faint feeling of this is too bad that I’m dying and felt like I may be on my way to experiencing full-blown fear, I felt panic potentially arising, but more so I had a feeling of it is what it is, if I have to go now, I do, but why?? My age isn’t quite old enough just yet for my body to shut down because of age. Then it hit me. Oh, sh!t, that’s right! The infection is finally taking me out. I thought of my mom and how she wouldn’t be happy as she has been begging me all year to get it treated now. She said f your job and get taken care of. lol She said she can’t believe someone can choose to go this long with an untreated infection. She keeps asking me aren’t you scared?! lol I’m not. She tried getting me to get antibiotics off family members who had them, but I do not take illicit drugs.

I felt something non physical leaving my physical body as I laid there on the bathroom floor. It was like two of me, the physical body I am so familiar with, and a “spirit” me (I don’t actually believe in a spirit that can leave a body, but this was my experience this morning) leaving it. Both were me but like two sides of a coin. I was laying there unable to move at all thinking this is it, I’m dying. The spirit me was slowly leaving. My consciousness still identified more with the physical body. So it was nerve wracking to be leaving it even though it was still aware and going with the spirit me. It was almost as if the consciousness was a thing of its own, independently, watching its physical self and its non physical self. But it had to go with the non physical aspect. There was some anxiety and unhappiness about the thought that I will never be here on Earth again, all my thoughts, interests, experience… gone forever. The anxiety was just at the thought that it’s an unknown to me experience, and the unhappiness was just like I guess I’ll miss out on all the things I love each day. But I told myself it’s beyond my control and has to happen sooner or later anyway. It has to happen to all of us, and I’m no exception; we all have a time to go, and this is mine. It has to happen someday so why not now? What’s the difference if it’s now or in twenty years or forty years or whatever?? Same thing either way. This may seem wise. But in my case, it’s my depressed view. When I’m not depressed I have clung to life if I ever thought I was dying. Kicking and screaming and clawing at whatever I could to stay on Earth (not that I was ever really dying but a few occasions I have thought so).

Then I had another thought, wait! Could I be sleeping and this is a dream and I’m not dying but waking up back into my reality? I wasn’t sure but strongly suspected that. I felt that it’s dream me who is “dying” as the dream world is ending, not actually me dying. In a sense, dream me was dying as that version of me was ending and would never be again. At this thought, I felt more relief than I was expecting as I did not realize how put off I was at the thought of dying. Consciously, I was mostly indifferent to it. (This happens when I’m depressed and depressed I was both in reality and this dream) But I guess I wanted to live more than I realized. I noticed when I am at my most depressed s*icidal points, I often have dreams about wanting desperately to live even though in reality it feels I don’t. When I am dangerously s*icidal, which is not often but recurring, it’s common for me to have dreams that someone is trying to k!ll me, and I am trying desperately to run and get away and live. I noticed it through the years when my s*icide contemplation is serious. In my dreams I want to live and would do anything to survive. My depression produces very life affirming dreams.

Something was happening I just couldn’t quite grasp. My physical body was getting heavier and heavier and couldn’t move as I lay there sprawled out on the floor. The spirit me left physical me completely. It turned a corner, half walking, half floating, if I remember correctly (I think it meant to float, but since I am so used to being physical and walking, it was trying to walk out of habit – the consciousness was me, it was my sense of self, it felt just like me so still had some earthly ways about it even though it was no longer restrained by a physical body) in the dark hallway and was going somewhere with a strong sense of purpose, like it had a mission to accomplish (in reality I have been feeling I have no purpose lately, but this aspect of inner me felt deep purpose, and it was a beautiful feeling. It wasn’t clear at first what that purpose was, just that there is one, later I discovered the purpose was to wake up and live). There was no fear, only a deep sense of trust. I felt whatever is happening is happening and is ok. If I die, that’s ok, if I live and wake up in my bed where I remember falling asleep, that’s ok too, even better. There was a hint of anxiety about what if I somehow get stuck in this state and can’t wake up and don’t die and I’m just here forever(sleep paralysis always does this to me). But I chose to be positive and not let my mind dwell there, mostly I felt trust in the journey. I could feel myself cheering myself on. I felt that I had this, a feeling of “You got this self, just keep going.” I remember me in the back of my own mind keep thinking that’s right just keep going…and feeling joy each step of the way. It warms my heart now and stirs love & fuzzies in me. ❀️

Suddenly, I felt a strong force pulling the spirit version of me. I couldn’t see it but felt it. It was pulling so hard, and I realized whatever was going to happen, this was it, this was the moment I was either going to die or wake up. I still wasn’t sure which but strongly suspected I was dreaming and going to wake up. I could not move by choice. Physical me on the floor was immobilized or dead. And spirit me was being dragged somewhere by an invisible force beyond my control and felt so heavy. And the real physical me in my bed, was also immobilized. None of us could move, and we were all so heavy. (very typical of sleep paralysis but unlike sleep paralysis, there was no sense of intense fear and dread hanging over me, and no general sense of evil, ingrained throughout the dream, only curiosity, joy, determination, and a slight sense of anxiety and uncertainty, but nothing I couldn’t handle)


I did not want to admit this here (I actually wrote this for FB but posting here also) or anywhere, but I have been secretly contemplating h*nging myself recently, like seriously. I even have a cord I got for the purpose and a remote place in mind where I entertain the idea of going one night soon and ending it all. It helps me tremendously while depressed to know I have a way out and the resources needed; it’s less of a trapped feeling. Before I really did not know how/where I can go. Then it all fell into place the more desperate I got. I thought about getting the cord and did, and my concern was where without anyone around. Then I accidentally just happened to come across the perfect place one day where there isn’t a lot of activity, especially at night and in the cold. It feels so liberating just to have this potential plan even when it’s inactive. It helps ease my mind so much!! When I’m not depressed at all and am my usual happy self, I know it’s not the best idea to have this cord & place lined up for when I decide to go because it makes it much more likely for me to act on it. When I’m depressed, I don’t realize I shouldn’t act on it. When it lifts, I realize how messed up it is. But even when I’m my usual happy self, I know how much it helps me in that desperate depressed state just to have a potential way out, not just in my mind like before, but actually have the physical things necessary whether or not I go through with it. It makes all the difference. The risk of acting on it is greatly elevated though. Happy self isn’t happy about that. lol I’m not in a major episode of depression like sometimes that lasts straight through for a month or more, but keep having recurring waves of it that get bad for a few days then lift a while then return. I have felt for a while that I have no reason to live, that no matter what I do, even when it has practical purpose, it doesn’t matter, has no deeper meaning. And I struggle to give meaning to it because of my sense of inherent worthlessness. This is when my depression is flaring.

My body has been so heavy with depression, and while I still experience joy and some degree of interest in things like photography and movies and books and my work and iced lattes, it’s washed out joy, it’s here but numbed out a bit. Sometimes my depression is so bad I cannot even really tatse anything. With deep deep pain, significantly reduced pleasure and interest in things, a body that is so heavy it’s hard to move, no close friends/social support… it’s like why go on?? I keep getting so depressed about no longer having in person friends. I am very social and my happiest and healthiest when I have friends. Research even shows that lack of close friends can physically and emotionally sicken people and lack of physical touch. I am happy and well in every other aspect of life, but this is enough to depress me off and on, sometimes frequently, and permeate all of life. It eventually lifts and I am very happy again(still feeling the lack of friendship though). But it keeps coming back because I need a friend. I have been starved for the love of a friend, and my body has been starved for a hug of a friend. I don’t even have an acquaintance anymore just to hang out with. No phone calls, no texts, no meetups, no invitations anywhere, no message just to say hello or send a funny meme to make each other laugh… literally nothing. Online friends are real friends/family, but it’s not the same and doesn’t make up for in person socialization for those of us who are social/extroverted. Animals are just as important and loved, but different, animal companionship doesn’t make up for lack of human companionship just like the other way around.

Anyway, I promised into the air that if I wake up in my body in my bed, if this could just be a dream, if I’m not dying, I would try to stop giving into my depression, will get my infection treated, and try to stay alive and keep leaning into the joys all around me. That I would keep going. The spirit me was propelled then lifted into the air, up towards the ceiling. I was flying up up up beyond my control being pulled into the unknown then suddenly ripped back down and was falling falling falling so fast at lightening speed with such joy because I knew, I knew then I was alive and waking up. I knew I would find home in my own body. And dream spirit me crashed back into my body, my real body in my bed in my real house with the restroom in my room, not dream me body laying dead on that floor in that strange bathroom and hallway that isn’t mine, but the me who laid in bed, my actual bed. The real me woke with a jolt. It literally truly felt that something crashed off the ceiling into my body, giving me life. I watched and experienced in awe. Two aspects of me merging into one, making me whole, giving me life. That immobilized body in my bed could move again. I woke with a start and a smile. I was back in my soft blue comfy pj pants. The heaviness of my depression was mostly gone, and I felt immense joy, like I can go on. I fell asleep heavily depressed last night. This morning I was layers and layers lighter with a renewed will to live. I still felt the aftermath of being in a deep depression recently. When a depression lifts, if it was very severe, I may still feel some aspects of it lingering for a day or couple days, like the heaviness or a fog or some lingering self deprecating thoughts…, kind of like if you’re just getting over the flu or other physical illness and aren’t really sick anymore but still feel a vestige or hint or effects of it.

The thing that is so strange is how physical it felt. How it truly felt like a spirit or mind or something literally crashed into my body giving me life, waking me. It was so amazing!

I don’t believe in spirits or anything. I know it was my own mind making it all up. And we can dream something is touching us and wake up feeling as if it was real. I believe it was sleep paralysis. I have psychotic depression and have been hospitalized a couple occasions for it many years ago. It’s been acting up again The doctors said I had psychomotor impairment years ago because of severe depression, which can seem like sleep paralysis if we dream or hallucinate/have delusions with it. But I think it was sleep paralysis. It was still early so I fell back asleep. I had another strange dream. lol I woke up in that dream but woke up into another dream instead of reality and remembered the sleep paralysis dream I just had! So I remembered a real dream within another dream that was within a dream. I don’t know if anyone can follow that but anyway, don’t know what was going on with me last night, sounds like I was on acid or something but promise I wasn’t. πŸ˜†

I take no medication or drugs for anything currently. Will be needing antibiotics soon, and sometimes I take over the counter cold meds. That’s about it.

We don’t have to believe in spirits/evil/supernatural…to experience fear of it or believe it/feel it within the context of sleep paralysis. No matter how skeptic/atheist we are in reality, when sleep paralysis takes over and that feeling of evil is all around and we “sense” demons and stuff like that, our skepticism/atheism/logic/reason/non belief can be suspended while we are in that state, and we can feel that we are being taken by evil or a demon or taken to another dimension. Upon waking, we realize it was just a dream/sleep paralysis/night terror… whatever it was. Some people who believe in the supernatural wake up and believe they just had a terrible spiritual experience. A skeptic or atheist, like me, will not believe it during wakefulness. I don’t even necessarily believe it when it’s happening, but that does not make it any less real seeming or terrifying. But this one wasn’t terrifying.


It was a positive and enlightening and inspiring experience. I believe it was my unconscious mind sending me a message. My self sending a self love note, to keep going. I think it’s so funny that it involved a toilet and peeing. lol It’s just like me to bring humor into something and I’m immature like that and think bathroom stuff is funny 🀣 πŸ’©

The thing about this dream that was also so unusual is how my reality was incorporated into the dream and dream incorporated into my reality. In the dream I remembered just rolling over in my bed and was wondering how suddenly I got into the bathroom. And as I was walking out of the bathroom before collapsing, I was on my way back to my bed that I was just in. And my dream was incorporated into my wakefulness. The dream spirit me crashing into real me as I was waking into my reality. Like, dream state and wake state clashed, making it so bizarre and interesting. I’m sure there is scientific explanation; I think I read about it before, like when something happens during a certain stage of sleep. Maybe I wasn’t asleep enough and began to dream so wake reality and sleeping dream collided and merged, becoming a very intense, strange experience. I like it! I wouldn’t want it to keep happening or happen often though because it was too intense and engaging and wasn’t peaceful. I wouldn’t get enough rest. And there was anxiety involved. A little bit is ok, but I don’t need anxiety in my dreams every night.


And this seems like it could be a fun short movie clip if any artist out there wants to turn it into some kind of film, let me know! lol πŸ˜† I must say, I’m quite creative while I sleep! 😴 πŸ’€ lolz

If anyone is reading and has any interesting sleep/dream/spiritual stories you have experienced, please share!! And if you want to analyze my experience and/or provide any insight, scientific or other, be my guest! I’m not interested in supernatural explanations as I don’t believe in that stuff.

πŸ’‹πŸ˜˜β€οΈ


And these pictures are me this morning after I truly woke up once and for all into real reality. lol

Thankfully I wasn’t actually peeing as I was dream peeing πŸ˜‚

Also, I totally forgot in October to post my Halloween costume here! I will post it soon! Sexy/naughty nuns are in style all year anyway. πŸ–€πŸ˜†

I hope you are having a beautiful day or night wherever in the world you are! ❀️ sending virtual hugs to anyone who wants.

Xoxo Kim

September 7th ❀️

Lol Just sharing this funny coincidence!

I’m reading this psychological thriller, and September 7th is mentioned, and coincidentally it really is September 7th! πŸ˜† I get too happy and giddy over the d*mbest/simplest things! I had to blur most of it out because I’m not sure we’re allowed to share any of it. It’s called “The Insomniac” by Miranda Rijks Very good book up til now! It’s on Amazon Kindle for a low price.

It’s the little things!

Xoxo Kim

My big balls πŸ˜‚πŸ˜†

Lol For my August post, I’m sharing this social media post of mine a couple weeks ago. πŸ˜†

Content warning: tasteless humor πŸ˜†

My mom was walking by me in the kitchen and I began singing “My balls are always bouncing to the left and to the right; it’s my belief that my big balls should be held every night.”

And my mom yelled “Omg, that’s just godawful!!” πŸ˜‚πŸ˜­

I knew she would have some reaction like that.

She’s a prude lol

The reason I thought to sing this is, I was recently out walking in extra skintight leggins’ (I looked really good in them, I must say! So I wore them two days in a row, and that was a mistake!) in the heat, and the heat and friction gave me very painful welt things on my inner thighs, and they were so big they felt like they were hanging and reminded me of balls hanging. LoL Neosporin took care of it.

It reminded me of one day when my little sister was in middle school, many years ago, and for a homework assignment, she had to choose a song to write about, and my mom asked if I had any ideas, and I said yeah and said she should use the song popularly known as “Discovery Channel,” now called “The Bad Touch.” Discovery Channel doesn’t sound all that bad, does it? My mom said ok and asked to hear the lyrics and I began singing “Put your hands down my pants and I’ll bet you’ll feel nuts.” My mom was horrified and yelled “Get the hell out of here!!”

I have been called a pig/perv/unladylike…and told “You should have been a guy/must have been a guy in another life” because of my sense of humor. LoL

(this picture has no filter {just a blurry background} lol I’m really this orange because of the sun. I work outside. I did increase the saturation a bit to try to showcase the green of my new lingerie top because it looks a bit black in the photo{I have a black set too!}, so it made me appear even more orange 🍊)

πŸ˜†πŸ˜†πŸ˜†

Good day or night wherever in the world you are! 😁

Xoxo Kim ❀️