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aoifeanamadan · 3 years

Text

After School Special

Fandom: Minecraft YouTube rpf (mcyt)

Word count: 6488

Relationship: DreamNotFound (DreamxGeorgeNotFound)

Summary:

Montague versus Capulet, Taylor versus Katy, Dream versus George.

It was one of those fueds, the kind you barely even had to acknowledge. The sky is blue, we breathe air, Dream hated George.

Needless to say, neither of them were over the moon when they found out they had to spend two months working together in weekend detention.

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Chapter Four: Hat Trick

Dream didn’t think texting George was meant to be this exciting. He didn’t think texting any of his friends was meant to be exciting point-blank . Not in the way texting George was. Every time his phone buzzed he was rushing to grab it, always on guard, always waiting. He had spent years calling his friends stupid for the way their faces lit up reading their phones. Now he was worse than all of them. But, it was different. This was George. And texting George was fun.

Dream was certain now that he was definitely funny. And he was smart, in the hard kind of way. He was unpredictable. Dream never knew what was coming. And he was nice to talk to. Every message sent, every message received, Dream felt them growing closer.

So, yeah, maybe his eyes were constantly scouring his phone screen. But he had a good reason. He was talking to George.

George, who said he didn’t normally talk to be people through the phone. He called it a handicapped form of communication, just as George-like as ever. Dream had forgotten to make fun of him for it, mind too busy with ‘ He doesn’t normally talk to people over the phone. He talks to you over the phone’. It meant he was special.

George (2:20 am)

i dont want to annoy you lol

Dream (2:20 am)

if you sending me memes at fuck o clock in the morning was annoying me i wouldn’t have kept sending them back

George didn’t read the message for a full minute. Staring at the tiny symbol, showing his message was unopened, Dream couldn’t bring himself to feel pathetic. In the back of his mind he thought he should, but the rest of him was buzzing. Every cell was humming with a new kind of want. He wanted to know what George thought, hear how he felt. It was overwhelming. There was no room left for shame.

George (2:23 am)

i dont want to keep you up

Dont you have that match tomorrow

Dream did. It was against ‘ Saint Joseph’s Preparatory Institute ’ a private school just half an hour away from Dream and George’s school. The kids there were spoiled in ways Dream found difficult to understand, summer homes in Italy and money thrown away on nights out in the city. The person Dream thought Geoge had been just two weeks ago was nothing compared to the Saint Joseph boys. It was as if all of them wanted to play God, a family of clashing entitled titans, a Grecian mess.

Dream was certain if anyone on his team brushed against one of their arms they’d be on the floor, crying for the referee. It was the first match of the season, only a challenge, but he had been preparing his boys for almost three weeks to make sure they didn’t give away any fouls. Even if it didn’t affect their standing in the league it would affect team morale. It was important. He wanted to win, just like he always did.

But, that night, Dream couldn’t have cared less. The match, less than 24 hours away, was pushed to the back of his brain. His entire frontal lobe was taken up with George’s words, glaring brightly up at him from his screen, awaiting Dream’s reply.

Dream (2:24 am)

ur coming right?

Dream hit send, he always did. He was a full-send person down to the bone. For him, it was easy. He did everything with complete confidence, full fucking send. He couldn't imagine it any other way, not when everyone was hanging off his every word. Shame was foreign to him.

But, the second he hit the arrow on that message, something foreign happened. His stomach knotted itself, his heart sped up. His eyes glued themselves to the screen, trapping him in the silence of his bedroom, waiting for any kind of reply. Dream didn’t understand why he cared so much about a stupid message.

No matter how hard he tried to tell himself to calm down, it didn’t work. His mind couldn’t be reasoned with. Logic was out the window, replaced with the thought of George standing on the sidelines while Dream scored a winning goal. His heart was in palpitations for an agonising 40 seconds. George’s message was the first morsel of food in a year to Dream’s hungry eyes.

George (2:24 am)

do you want me to

Dream was typing a response before he could think. He didn’t need to think.

Dream (2:24 am)

yes

It wasn’t until he sent it that he realised how it could be read. Desperate. It was overwhelming, this new way of thinking. Dream had never considered how other people might read his texts. His mind never had the time to consider how he was perceived, always racing away from him. This new thing, it was dwelling. Dream hadn’t dwelled before.

George (2:25 am)

okay

ill go then

everyone knows i love to spend my saturday evenings outside in the cold

Dream didn’t mean to grin the way that he did when he read the reply. He didn’t even notice the smile snaking its way onto his. He had never smiled at someone's texts before.

George (2:26 am)

what time

Dream didn’t mean to lie. But he did accidentally tell George to be there an hour early so they had more time, away from the pressure of his role as captain. By accident . He felt justified in his deceit, his new constant urge to make George his friend was enough to allow it. He wanted to be around him, talking and laughing, bickering and disagreeing and teasing. He wanted all of it, the before and after of the years of resentment. The new growing fondness that Dream was trying his best to ignore.

Above all, he wanted to be liked by George. He wanted the reassurance of his approval.

If George, who had hated him for years, who had been on the receiving end of his cold stares and scoffs, could like him then it would be sure. Dream could be certain that he was a good person.

They kept texting until George sent his death sentence, in the form of a digital message.

George (2:31 am)

go to sleep

And that was that. George’s status switched to inactive and Dream was left staring at the tiny dot where his green light used to be, the Daisy to his Gatsby.

Dream (2:31 am)

george

georgie

Dream forced himself to turn off his phone, it felt as if he was cutting off a hand. Giving up the hope of hearing anything more from George that night and accepting the isolation. But he could do it, almost happily, comforted by the knowledge he would see George the next day.

He recentered his weight and let his head sink into his pillow. It smelled old. Not bad, but old. Dream couldn’t stop himself from smiling, sad and gentle. He held his phone to his chest and squeezed. The metal didn’t move but his fingers ached with the force.

In the back of his mind, Dream realised it was dangerous. This smiling, this thing burrowing itself into his heart. But he couldn’t stop himself. He let himself imagine a world where he knew George fully, recognised every part of him as George. A jigsaw in the shape of a man where Dream knew the place of each part as if it were the back of his hand. It was a different kind of friendship than what Dream had known. He wanted to understand him, to uncover all the secrets he was holding so close to his chest. It felt as if knowing George was inevitable. And he wanted George to do the same to him, to see all of him and like it. To prove he could be known in full and still seen as himself, still Dream. Still human.

Dream didn’t feel himself falling asleep but he didn’t wake up until 3 in the afternoon, his phone still lying over his heart.

Sapnap collected him before George, so he had time to explain his misleading statement before George got in the truck clueless at half four in the afternoon, three hours before the match started.

George understood what had happened once they arrived at the empty pitch. Dream was thankful he had briefed Sapnap before their arrival, because without Sapnap there he was convinced he would have ended up in a morgue.

Once George had accepted and made peace with the situation, that is to say 95 minutes and multiple very stern telling offs later, Dream and Sapnap decided the only natural thing to do was warm up an hour early.

With a ball from Sapnap’s truck, they started to pass gently to each other. George only managed to claim he couldn’t play for 10 minutes before Dream and Sapnap convinced him to join in.

Dream had been sure George was exaggerating his incompatibility with the sport. Fundamentally, it was just kicking a ball. But Dream was very wrong. Dream tried to tip him the ball, a gentle touch, but somehow George still fumbled it. He managed to stand on the ball three times before kicking it past Sapnap.

They spend half an hour trying to explain the basics of soccer to an increasingly annoyed George, who thanked God when the real team started to trickle in. It meant he was released from the seventh circle of hell - soccer drills

Dream went through the motions of his pre-match routine; the warm-up and laughter and tieing of boots. The coach, their chemistry teacher, arrived ten minutes before the match started. Dream gave a particularly rousing speech and then suddenly they were in the tunnel, waiting for the referee to call them onto the field.

Normally, the time in the tunnel made any other time spent on the field feel tiny, irrelevant. It was a place that didn’t obey the laws of time. Four seconds in the tunnel made a month on the field feel like maybe ten minutes.

That day, Dream had spent three hours on the field before the match. Normally, the tunnel would have made that feel like a millisecond. A blip.

But, Dream could recall the hours spent easily. He barely had to think before George yelling at him and Sapnap rushed to mind. George trying to score a goal from the penalty line, with no goalie, and somehow hitting the crossbar . George’s sigh of relief when he saw one of the players approaching to relieve him of his place in the drill. It was all cased in amber in Dream’s brain. It was proof that he had prepared for this match. There was a time before it and there would be a time after.

Standing on the tunnel, waiting to be called out to play the first match of the year, Dream was calm.

Before he could think too deeply, Sapnap turned to Dream. His eyes were almost pleading. He grabbed ream by the shoulders and tried to look deep into his soul.

“Promise me that you won't start any fights this time.” Dream couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He never started fights, but he replied anyway to put Sapnap at ease.

“I promise I won’t start any fights.” Sapnap breathed a sigh of relief, ever the drama queen.

“Thank you.” Sapnap turned to head to the team huddle, everyone waiting for Dream’s final good luck. Before Sapnap could walk away Dream grinned, lopsided and hyper.

“I will finish them though.”

Dream was walking out before Sapnap could protest, the team behind him. Dream didn’t want to prolong their wait any longer. They knew what he was going to say, and he knew they didn't need to hear it. The atmosphere changed the second the crowd could see them

Oakland had walked out stiff and straight-backed. Proper as always. Beside them, Dream and his team’s causal jogs and crowd-pleasing waves were even more charming. Dream allowed himself a moment to revel in the cheers before locking his eyes on the ball.

Once he adjusted to the floodlights, Dream’s eyes raked over the crowds until they locked on George, leaning on the low fence. He shot him his lopsided grin and waved. He was charm personified. The crowd’s heads swivelled in search of the recipient, but no one looked at George smiling as he rolled his eyes.

Once the whistle was blown, the team came alive. The state champions ran circles around Oakwood. Dream was two-thirds of the way to his aspired hat trick by half time, with the total score at 4 - nil. Their team worked seamlessly together, everyone exactly where they needed to be. It was like watching a well-oiled machine, or embroidery at super speed.

Dream and Sapnap were shining through, their natural chemistry turned to telepathy on the soccer field. It was as if the ball was a piece of metal and they were the magnets. It stuck to them, gravitated to their feet.

By the second half, Oakwood were angry. It showed in their game. They started to slip up, losing easy balls. Their footwork got sloppy. But they also got more aggressive. Somehow, the referee was turning a blind eye to every misplaced kick and accidental shove in the back. But, Dream had trained everyone for this. They stayed calm, took their deep deep breaths and played fair.

Oakwood did not take the same approach. The more time they spent on the field, the rougher they played. Dream had cycled through six of the ten substitutes by the time the second half rolled around. He was convinced the referee had optional cataracts.

With twenty minutes left, Dream’s team were 3 goals up - the only three goals of the match. But, Dream was still a goal away from his hat trick, and he was getting tired.

The rest of the team was playing defence, just like Dream had told them to do during training. He had said it would be stupid to go for glory in this situation, three goals up and approaching the end of the match. It would be plain dumb.

Dream knew all this, thought about it even. He knew it was right, but he saw an Oakland striker, who he was not supposed to be marking, running up the field. He didn’t have the ball, it was on the opposite end of the pitch, but Dream could see it in his mind’s eye. Two easy, unlikely passes and it would be at the striker’s open feet.

There were other boys closer to him, it would’ve made more sense for them to run to mark him. It would have been easy. But Dream couldn’t stop thinking of the one goal he needed for a hat trick.

Aching feet and heaving lungs Dream ran towards him. The striker saw him coming from a mile off.

His leg connected with Dream’s, and suddenly Dream was on the floor clutching his shin.

At first, there was no feeling. Then, just as suddenly as the air had left Dream’s lungs when he hit the floor, there was intense pain.

Dream looked down at his leg, curled up on the floor. He couldn’t hear the referee’s whistle blowing. But he could see the blood.

Before he could make a scene, he was pushing himself up unto his feet. The Oakwood striker didn’t offer him a hand up.

Dream was sent off to the sidelines, limping with an arm around Sapnap’s shoulder. Someone’s mother was a nurse. She assured him it was just a surface wound. Dream saw his parents in the stand, he hadn’t noticed them before. He would’ve waved weakly, or shot them a thumbs up, but he couldn’t focus on them. His mind was racing through anger and pain and anger again.

From the bench, Dream nodded to Sapnap to take the penalty. It wasn’t a question.

He had to sit the final fifteen minutes out, screaming from the bench. The only benefit was George’s spot in the crowd behind him was right behind the bench. He was sitting with his friends, making sarcastic comments about Oakwood. It was nice to listen to, distracting.

With Oakwood playing a man down, the team won 4 - 0.

After the obligatory post-win speech, Dream enjoyed a long warm shower in the changing rooms. It was a scarce rarity for him, only his third long shower in the changing block in four years.

After, Dream was alone in the dressing room, all aching muscles and sore lungs. He was sitting on the bench, legs shaking with the exhaustion of it all. His hair was wet and his shoulders were slumped. There was a low humming echoing off the concrete walls. Dream barely noticed it. He had screwed his eyes tightly shut and had his head hanging between his shoulders. He was waiting there until it was firmly ten minutes since anyone had left, just like he always did. And he was humming, which he did not always do.

It was coming from the base of his throat. The tune of ‘Call Me Maybe’ was raspy, hidden under his breath. But it was there, soft and delicate. The rise and fall, the soft lilts. It made the cold of air of the changing room warmer, familiar. He didn’t think about it, didn’t imagine he would be heard. He just sat there, hair dripping and voice humming. It was tender and charged, too patient.

Hey, I just met you,

And this is crazy,

“Well done, you. You did great” George’s voice came from the doorway, distant and delicate. It shattered Dream’s bubble of gentle calm.

Dream’s brain froze. It caught him off guard, disarmed him. The softness of George’s tone. Too genuine. Before he could unfreeze his mind to think about it, George was talking again.

“Except when you fell. That was embarrassing.”

Dream lifted his head from the wall and cracked open his eyes. George was smiling softly at him. It made Dream feel as if he was bending back his ribs one by one to get a closer look at his panting heart. He couldn’t quite bring himself to stand.

“Brave words Mr Speed Chess.” This was easy, this was Dream and George. Sharp banter and too intense bickering. It was easier than the alternative, the thing Dream wanted once the sun went down. The symbiotic vulnerability.

Dream realised just how tired he really was, listening to his own fragile voice. He was sure George had to have noticed it too. He was sure his smile was too soft, his words too tender to be teasing.

He didn’t know what it was, this new wall he was building. This refusal to let George see him vulnerable. Dream tried to rationalise, call to mind the years of hatred and distrust. It didn’t work, he was met with the hours he and George had spent laughing, the simple rhythm they had so quickly fallen into. George’s quiet jokes, Dream’s beaming grin. There was no reason for this guard Dream was invoking. Yet still, he couldn’t stop it. The hand always hovering over his mouth, ready to slap it closed.

Sapnap was coming in behind George before Dream could leave himself exposed.

“I swear to God, whenever I see you two together it’s like I get to watch a chihuahua provoke a wolfhound." Sapnap was next to George in the doorway, grinning. Dream smiled back, heaving himself up off the bench. Dream wasn’t sure if he was meant to be the chihuahua or wolfhound.

“Fuck off, Sapnap.” He muttered it at the same time as George, shouldering his way past them towards Sapnap’s truck.

“You two are the closest thing I have to a real-life soap opera!” Sapnap was calling out as he followed behind. Despite his best efforts, Dream smiled.

Once the three of them were in the truck, they could really talk. Sapnap and Dream were trying to convince George to come to a party at one of the player’s houses in place of their normal bickering. It was only right to celebrate the win, but George was insisting he couldn’t go.

Dream and Sapnap had matching that’s bullshit looks on their faces,

Through a mix of begging and empty threats, they managed to get George to agree to come inside, just to congratulate the team.

He stuck to his word, entering, finding the team all together in the front room and saying a single ‘Great Game’. Then, he turned on his heel and made his way to the front door with his head down. Sapnap and Dream rushed after him.

By the time they caught up, his hand was on the doorknob. But, before he pulled it, he was turning his head to the space on his left. Dream and Sapnap were still standing in the doorway to his right.

“Bad?” Bad’s face lit up as he abandoned his conversation to turn towards George.

“George!” He ran to hug a laughing George.

“Since when were you the partying type?”

“Since when were you?”

Dream and Sapnap couldn’t believe they had forgotten to tell him Bad would be there.

Twenty minutes in, George was on his fifth shot. Dream and Sapnap looked like Christmas had come early. Bad looked like a concerned father spotting his child in the boxing ring with Muhammad Ali.

“George, oh my God! What are you doing?” George was drinking straight from the vodka bottle while Sapnap and George watched.

George kept drinking from the bottle until Bad took it off him.

“It’s been a boring week. I'm about to fix that.” Dream had never seen George like this.

George’s grin was devilish, the kind that would have made Dream’s heart flutter and stomach drop if he was a girl. But he was not a girl. And so he thought nothing of George’s gleaming teeth and impish eyes. Nothing.

One thing Dream realised, an hour into the party, was that George was just as clumsy with his mouth when he was drunk as his limbs when he was sober.

Dream was standing in one of the doorways to the kitchen, talking to a girl. She was nice. She liked swimming and pc gaming, not worlds away from Dream. He figured they could be friends. She left to dance with her friends and Dream left to get himself another drink. George was standing next to the spirits.

“She’s not good for you. She was a dick to my friends last year. Hell, even I would be better for you and you hate me”

He hated the way George made his breath stop with stupid comments like that. Dream gritted his teeth.

“Don’t hate you anymore, Georgie.” His shoulders were stiffer than he wanted them to be.

George grinned back at him and drawled.

“For now, Dreamer.”

That fucking grin, sprawling between his aristocratic cheekbones. And that fucking nickname. He hated the way it made his stomach flip, acrobatic routines in the pit of his stomach. Dreamer, Dreamer, Dreamer . A mantra.

“Are you drunk, George?”

George opened his mouth, ready to deny it, but the cogs of his brain snapped his mouth closed before he could get the words out.

“You know what? Nevermind, you’ll know I’m lying to you anyway.”

Dream didn’t know what it was, the resignation in George’s voice, the gentle familiarity. It made him mad. He made it make him mad, because the alternative was wobbly knees and blushing cheeks. And George didn't have the power to do that to him.

George grabbed his arm, slender fingers gripping strong.

“Come on, let’s dance.” He started to pull him towards the front room, where the speakers were.

“Wait, George, wait,” Dream pulled George back to him gently. He was still clinging to his arm. Dream shrugged him off as softly as he could. His touch felt like hot coals, the way it made Dream’s skin burn. He couldn’t handle it.

“Why?” Dream didn’t like the disappointment painted all over George, stitched on his face and laced through his muscles. He couldn’t hide his emotions the way he normally did. Not here, not drunk and tired looking as if he wanted to beg Dream to dance. Dream had to explain.

“I can’t dance.” George’s face didn’t change.

“Yeah, why?” He was looking up at him expectantly, which had not been the plan.

“What do you- I’m bad at it. I can’t dance.” Dream gestured to his long legs and stretched arms. George’s face lit up, a lightbulb moment. Dream realised, George had thought he couldn’t dance because of his injured shin. He cursed himself internally for not being more dramatic.

“You don’t have to be good at something to do it, Dream. Dancing at parties is fun. It’s like exercise, but for your brain.” George pointed to his two temples with both hands, grinning. Not the plan.

“It’s very literally exercise for your body.” Dream didn’t realise there was a smile on his face.

“Fine, it’s exercise for your soul. Now, come on. Dance with me.”

Dream managed to down a shot while he was dragged out by George, it felt like fire down his raw throat. Before he could say no, George was pulling him to the speakers. Dream didn’t dance, he had never known how to. His limbs were too jerky, arms too awkward. And bad dancing didn’t fit the Dream image , not cool and nonchalant enough.

But George was looking up at him with a messy grin and the speakers were thumping and the bodies around him were thrumming. He tried to justify it to himself, the lights were low, no one would see him, but Dream couldn’t have said no in a million years. Not to George, not there, not then.

It was easy to tell the song was on its outro as Dream and George stumbled in. Dream laughed easily at his accidental win.

“Oh no! There goes that idea. Come on, let’s find Sapnap and Bad.” He went to tug George out, but George tugged him back. It caught Dream off balance, making him stumble after George to keep from falling.

George rolled his eyes, slinking his way to the boy with the aux cord and dragging Dream with him.

“Hey, Toby, what’s up?” George talked to the boy, who he was apparently friendly with. Dream knew he went to their school, but he didn’t know the boy. If George hadn’t just said his name, he would’ve had no idea. He stood awkwardly behind George, unsure whether or not he should introduce himself. He was too caught up in the unfamiliar awkwardness to listen to what they were saying. Before he knew it, George was smiling Toby a thanks and dragging him back into the crowd.

“What was that about?” Dream had to bend down to whis[er into George’s ear. George didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

The iconic opening of Carly Rae Jepsen's ‘Call Me Maybe’ started to play. Dream couldn’t stop the barking laugh he let out. George smiled so widely Dream was sure his cheeks would rip open.

Dream wasn’t sure if it was the shots, or the crowds or the boy standing open and soft before him, but he felt the hardened rock around his muscles and tendons melt away. He couldn’t dance, but he could sway next to George while Carly Rae Jepsen sang one of her masterpieces.

George was his only salvation from the heaving, living heat of the crowd. His flushed face and ruined hair were all Dream could see. He tried his casual swaying, but George’s energy called for more.

Dream couldn’t help but sing along.

I threw a wish in a well,

I looked at you as it fell.

George was not a great dancer, really he just flailed and hopped. He yelled to the beat and flung his arms about him. Dream had to apologise on his behalf to a girl he had accidentally whacked. She didn’t acknowledge it.

Dream realised, no one there cared. Everyone just wanted to dance. Dream looked to George, laughing and jumping to the mirage of singing violins. It was all so intense, Dream couldn’t resist it.

His thudding, thumping body didn’t quite match George’s plasmic flow. His muses thrashed with the musical pulses, throat raw from the singing. No matter how loud he was, everyone around him was louder.

It felt like indulgence, sweeping slowly over his skin and through his veins. He had to choose to let himself enjoy it.

His dancing was horrible, but George loved it. Dream felt like it was a newfound candour, this allowance. He was bad, he was having fun. There was no contradiction. He could do both.

Where you think you’re going, baby?

Dream’s thudding stomps didn’t match George’s rough edged-grace, but he was there. And he was dancing. It felt like a win. It felt human, more human than Dream had felt in days. In those three minutes, he wasn’t the Dream. He was just another person.

He felt like one cell in the body of a giant, doing the same as everyone around him, but for the first time he liked it. He was doing the same as George, who was jumping offbeat.

But here’s my number, so call me maybe?

Dream’s panting chest felt like it was holding corporal freedom inside it. He thought his heart was about to beat it’s way out of his cell wall chest and soar away.

Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad.

I missed you so, so bad.

Dream couldn’t believe he had ever thought George was restrained and standoffish.

The George Dream had thought he had known for years, detached and reserved, quiet and reclusive; Dream watched in his mind as he died and was replaced with this new man. This new George had an unrelenting mind and thrashing heart. It fit perfectly with Dream’s aching body and delicate soul. There, sweating next to George as he sang his throat raw, Dream was sure George had to be his missing part. His final puzzle piece. If there was an empty cave in Dream he would stretch and chip away at it until it was the perfect size for George to settle in.

As the song ended, Dream tried to sort out his jumbled thoughts. His brain felt like a smoothie. Before he could take an internal inventory, Sapnap was beside him. It was easy to guide a panting Dream and George away from the dance floor and down a quiet hall, muttering about ‘totally unlike you, both of you’.

Dream couldn’t process the moving. He shut his eyes to keep it out, only opening his eyes for sporadic flashes of the house. He knew they were going down a hall together, but it all blended into one.

Sapnap got more and more excited the closer they got to the end of the hall. When he finally opened the last door, he was practically hopping.

Dream’s muddied brain recognised it as some kind of game’s room, like the basement in Sapnap’s old house. There was an easily ignored pool table, and on the pool table was an open bottle.

George got to the bottle first. He offered it to Dream and Sapnap before drinking from it. He coughed and spluttered as it went down.

“Gin.” His grimace was enough to deter them all.

Sapnap found a VR headset, the kind none of them had at home. They had to arm wrestle for it. Sapnap won, through methods involving plain cheating if you asked Dream. He had kicked Dream’s blooded shin ‘accidentally ’ mid-wrestle and refused a rematch. George hadn’t wanted to get involved.

Sapnap got to play on the VR first.

George was a nice drunk to be around. He wasn’t loud or annoying or excitable. He was just George, but less guarded. He thought out loud about the universe and the human condition and why goldfish were called goldfish when they were orange. Dream sat cross-legged in front of him while he spoke, slow and heavy. His brain felt cloudy, but in a nice way. A buffer between Dream and George, and everything else.

George liked to do things wrong. The more he talked about random things, the clearer it became. He ate pasta at breakfast time. He sat on chairs backwards and sideways and even upside down, laying his back on the seat and letting the blood rush to his head. He used his conditioner before his shampoo.

Dream tried to tell him, tried to enlighten him that he was living wrong.

“Well, I’m doing perfectly fine.”

Dream didn’t know how George managed to slip this gentle tenderness into everything he did. He swapped from sitting cross-legged to lying down, sprawling like a starfish. Dream did the same. He could feel their fingers brushing against each other.

Sapnap was immersed in his own digital world, but Dream was sure they were feeling the same thing, total separation from reality It was as if he and George had escaped time. They just lay there on the dirty carpet together, fingertips barely brushing.

“Ow!” The serenity didn’t last long. Sapnap had walked into a wall.

George laughed aloud. “That's going to hurt in the morning.”

Sapnap held up his middle finger, in the wrong direction. The headset was still on.

“It hurts now, idiot.” Dream grinned between them. He wasn’t used to their friendship.

“Well, at least you did your best!” Dream tried to give his positive input from his position on the floor. Sapnap shuddered.

“God, I hope not.” He went into the game again.

Dream turned his body back to the ceiling, but it wasn’t the same. The bubble was popped and he couldn’t stitch it back together.

Instead, he sat up to face George again so they could talk.

Ten minutes later, Sapnap was still alive and thriving in the game, while Dream and George were falling back into the natural rhythm of their conversations.

“Why did you think I hated you?” George’s voice was a rock skimmed on the pond of quiet. Dream was laying back on the couch, eyes again locked on the ceiling. It made it easier, not having to look at George on the other end of the couch. Their feet were tangled together. George was being gentle with Dream’s recovering shin. Dream didn’t think about it before replying.

“Didn’t you?” He didn’t see the gentle shake of George’s head.

“No. If anything, you hated me.” His voice bounced from the ceiling to Dream’s ears. Dream sat up to face him, ceiling tainted.

“No I didn’t. No, I don’t.” It was Dream’s turn now to shake his head. He wanted to lean forward and tell George a hundred times. He didn’t, he doesn’t.

“Okay, Dream.” George hadn’t sat up, still staring at the white ceiling.

Neither of them said anything for a minute. Dream looked at George, George looked up. Dream couldn’t handle the quiet, the noncommitment in George’s voice. He needed to fix it. He spoke into the silence.

“You just, you stopped talking to me. Like, overnight. So, I just thought you hated me.” Dream couldn’t keep looking at him. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes. He wished he hadn’t had that vodka. It was shoving cotton in his mouth and down his throat. There was morphine in his lips, he couldn’t get his words out.

“Yeah. I was anxious. I wasn’t talking to anyone.” George’s gaze was deadset, not on Dream.

“Well, you ignored me. I thought you hated me.” Dream tried to justify himself to George, to rationalise his behaviour at nine years old. George just hummed.

“So all of that, the years of dirty looks and rolling eyes, it was because I hurt your feelings by being too quiet?” George finally looked at him. Dream couldn’t believe he had ever wanted him to. His eyes were cold stone.

“Don’t say it like that.” Dream wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. His voice sounded small. Sapnap still had the headset on, he couldn’t hear them. He wasn’t coming to save him.

“Well, how would you say it, Dream?” George was still staring at him. Dream wanted to sew his eyes shut.

“I-” He looked away, but found himself looking back in George’s eyes before speaking again. “You weren’t just quiet . You ignored me.” It was all too quiet.

“You were too busy for me Dream. I wanted to be your friend, for years. Don’t try and spin this as if I dropped you. You couldn’t deal with me being quiet, with me going through a hard time. You needed my attention, you wanted it, 24/7. You were selfish.”

Dream couldn’t speak. He felt like someone was sucking the air slowly from his lungs and then the last traces of oxygen from his blood. George stood up and it was the final kick.

Sapnap must have sensed the movement, because just then he took off the headset.

“I think I saw some of my friends in another room. I’m going to go and say hi.”

“Hey, we’re your friends.” Dream had no idea how Sapnap knew to make his voice so soft at that moment. He had always had a sixth sense for those things.

“Yeah.” Dream managed to choke the word out.

“Come on Dream. Sometimes I think if you saw me bleeding out on your kitchen floor, you’d act like you hadn’t seen me.” George smiled tightly to Sapnap and left.

Dream let him go. He hated the tightness in his chest, the bitter taste in his mouth. He made himself feel angry in a way he knew he didn’t deserve to be. For the first time in his life, he knew George was right about what had happened. A lot of it had been his fault.

#mcyt #mcyt fic #dnf #dreamnotfound #dreamsmp #dream/george #dreamxgeorge #psa i actually dont ship them i just like creative writing and heat waves made me obsessed with their characters #dream #georgenotfound

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howamisupposedtogoonwithoutyou · 4 years

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26/09/2020 07:40pm

I tried to distract myself the entire day. I redecortated and reorganized my room, you know how I love that. I spent so much time sitting at one place and wondering what you are doing right now. I cried when I found stuff that reminded me of you, of us. I hope you are doing okay. Damn I want to know if you do okay. I hold myself back to text or call you so much, it breaks me. But you are better off alone, without me. I need to respect your decision. I packed all the stuff into the boxes you once gave me on my birthday, Christmas and our anniversary. I want to relive these moments.

I would love to share the idea of the gift I wanted to give you on our 2 year anniversary. I am such an idiot. I should have been a better boyfriend, a better friend, a better person. I still hold on to you like we are still together.

Right now I am sitting on the balcony, smoking your brand of cigarettes. Even your package size because I know how you preferred the once for 7 Euro over the 8 Euro ones. I never understood why.

It hurts sitting here without you. Waiting for something that will never ever happen, something that I lost. I probably deserve it. Like I said you are better off without me.

You even emptied the ashtray when you left the last time. God I wish I would have known it would be your last time here at my place.

I listend to music all day. Only the songs about heartbreaks and love get to me. I jammed in my room, alone, like the crazy goofy idiot you fell in love with. I don't know what happend to him but I know he still loves you. He might seems like he does not care from time to time but he does. And I, the new me, does too.

I was thinking about texting you but the thought of what I will get as a response kills me. I wish you are doing alright and keep your head up. You are the strongest person I have ever known. If someone can get over this heartbreak its you. I feel like I am losing a fight I knew I never could win. At least I tried huh? I am tired of trying.

I feel like I am 15 again fighting with depression and anxiety. I isolate myself from everything. I am not hungry. I feel like crying in the gym, when I finally decided to get my ass out of bed. Nothing feels the same anymore. I shared everything with you and to be honest it doesn't feel right sharing it with anybody else anymore.

How could I let you go. You even told me that I am going to lose you and I still lost you. What an idiot. Maybe it's just the thought of us being together but I know we could have been more. I still struggle with the idea of moving to Munich when I continue our relationship in my mind. But I would rather try all over again everytime then Love somebody else. I dont even know if I want to love someone else anymore. I dint know if I could. Maybe I am better off alone, like you are better off without me.

I make up conversations with you in my mind. I probably look at your social media profiles 20 times a day, if not more. I am scared that I will see something that rips my heart out. Still I prefer to know what goes on then being left out. I hope you don't think I am a creep. Sleep tight tonight, I hope you get a little rest.

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somedaypast-thesunset · 6 years

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this mentally ill person causes an extreme amount of chaos in my life which is completely not needed because although i lack certain things - i could probably get by without them. like im going to be sad and whatever but im not going to die and ill find a way to live.

but their illness absolutely causes many of my issues to be triggered which does not in anyway allow me clarity in the moment because i am still working on my issues. and heres what i can give to myself: i never ran away. ive been knocked down and shit on and dragged through the mud and as much as ive even wanted to - ive never run away and i never gave up. this is my strength. this is the resilience.

i have alot of complex feelings about this and i want to not entangle all of them into this giant lump of grief and sadness but to address each part of it and work through each part on its own to complete the big picture. and i feel im doing this in my own life like ive gone from complete mental break downs to just being really sad. my immediate thought is not ‘i want to fucking die’. like maybe i feel this way and its one of the thoughts but its not the first one. its not the overwhelming one anymore. and i cant even express how this has made things better for me. i am able to cope so much moe when im not in an anxiety attack like death could truly be imminent just by my own hands.

like heres an overwhelming fact: no one will ever give a fuck. no one will ever really want to help.

one day im sure ill be romantically surprised by the prince charming that changes everything for me but until that day comes - ive spent a decade involved in other peoples lives because i have no life of my own. i have no family, no traditions, no holidays. no one can join me for a thing - i join them.

and heres another overwhelming fact: this is not remotely fair. i was dealt a really shitty hand and its not fair but nothing changes this. nothing changes that its not fair. i will not get my parents back. i will not have a family i grew up with. its not fair. this is just a fact, not whining - it’s not fair that this happened. and of course “life is not fair” but its truly not fair to have your parents die at an early age. its not fair to have a child die young. theres many not fairs. its just .. not fair.

what do i do with this information? this is like .. a real turning point to make.

i guess to start, how do i feel? and i feel... sad. and frustrated. and lke.. i wish the world was a better place. im angry that like.. people really take for granted what they were just handed and i dont know how to stop being super bitter about it. im not even pissed i didnt live a glamorous life but the older i get the more i realize that my parents were completely and totally unfit parents to their core. and like this is so hard to admit because i loved my father soo much and this person did so much for me and my ungrateful mother but he did so little as well.

and i repeat this cycle. i was given such little attention as a child that i am absolutely grateful for something i should have gotten purely out of love. like why do i walk around with “i never asked for this” tattooed on me? since i was a small child i just felt like - wow i never asked to be here you know. like im not TRYING to be here. i was just popped out of the womb and now im like this giant burden to your life and like my mother didnt care at all and she held sooo much resentment towards me. and this is what i knew. this is all i have ever known in my whole life. mentally ill people who are completely incapable of caring for anoter human being making me an intregal part of their lives.

and what really has confounded me for years is whether or not i am mentally ill. like is everyone around me crazy or am i the crazy one? and its like -- no one knows the isolation ive had except me. and they take this as like being lazy or unsociable but ive been terrified to go out and interact with people because am i the crazy one or are they?

but as i get older i realize i honestly may not be the mentally ill person. how could one ever tell this when ive been under duress since i was 3? its not that i am mentally ill its that im reacting to my surroundings like any normal human being. i am not psychotic or paranoid, i dont have delusions or an ego. im actually, i believe, a pretty fine and sane person who appears mentally ill under these scenarios. i thought i had a mood disorder - no, i just live an extremely stressful life. and have for like two decades. of COuRSE i feel different things quickly and without regard. of COURSE. thats a REACTION to the scenario, usually of which is completely abnormal.

and there is not a single person in my life to pat my back and be like hey, its okay to feel this way you know. its okay that youre angry. its okay that youre sad. ive begun developing the voice in my head that will be this person. i realized its the only way i will be able to survive. when ram dass said you are not your depression, i realized i am not any of my emotions. i am just feeling these things. and there is a reason why i am feeling them. im not just waking up rying to feel this way. thre is a root problem.

but when you are surrounded by mentally ill people, they suck you into their illness and you react to this. so not only do i have my own issues im dealing with seperately on my own but now i have these issues coming up begging to trigger certain emotions and thoughts in me which really are not issues im capable of dealing with because IM not a therapist or a trained professional and i can barely navigate my own life right now. but i work especially hard not to have this fall on other people. i understand that i was handed this deck. no one else was handed it. this is for me to do what im going to do with it. so i blame no one for me not having parents. it is no ones responsibility to fill their roles. or even be a family member to me.

for example; hearing constantly about how this political system doesnt work or poor people are disadvantaged or the city is corrupt etc. -- all facts im well aware of which linger in my mind on a daily basis which i have to fight with everything i have to get out of bed and keep doing something. but now i have it being reiterated to me as well on a regular basis and my desire to do anything has dwindled to nothing.

i have become trapped in this non relationship because it was easy for him to get what he wanted by giving me just a bit of what i wanted. he has been very very very selfish from the beginning because he knows he will not be monogamous or fulfill my emotional needs but continues to maintain this non relationship. he believes i am responsible because he “told me this” and i continued to be involved with a mentally ill person who spent all of his time with me, usually by his own choice because again, it was “easy for him”. he reiterated ENOUGH times that he believes i need to be cared for and that he has done everything he is currently possibly able to do within his own means to care for me.

but its kind of like .. this stray dog. like you know this dog needs care despite its survival on its own and you feed it every once in awhile maybe give it a bath, hang out with it for awhile but you never give the dog what it needs.

and also, you’re treating me like a dog. as if i have no emotional brain to feel what it’s like for someone to treat me like this. as if i dont know that you have a home. and you have all the things you need. and youre just feeding me scraps because you feel bad.

ive lost respect for him because hes running. its not even a jealousy issue becuse i know if i went away for three months and returned, all of my problems would still be there. my parents dont come back in thre months. he never tried to improve his situation and instead ran away from it and ive just lost alot of respect for him for doing that.

and if i cant respect him i dont know if i can even be his friend.

and he has not shown appropriate respect for my own issues either so what i am feeling right now is just an overall lack of respect for this person. like i still love them but i feel like i cant hold my own head high or like sleep at night knowing i dont respect this person but im still supporting them. its like nikki sixx. i dont respect him anymore and i probably will never support his projects again. but i had such a deep love and adoration and like i still have that first love kind of feeling like this person really influenced my life and i owe their character alot for my character but omg do i not respect him at all. could i never look at nikki sixx again?

no.

and thats the confliction. like it does not matter what he does at all. it matters what i do and what i decide upon this and how important he is to my life. i lost all respect for my ex when he cheated and lied. u know its the lieing. its not even the cheating. im not even mad about the cheating, its the lies for months on end. like what a mar on your character. thats who you are now. youre a person who lied. do i still look at him?

yes. do i still talk to him? no. did i talk to him? yes. because being so young i didnt know how i would feel in this scenario like this was anther nikki sixx. five years out of the gate - i would not watch video games to this day if i didnt have this relationship and this is like the most comforting thing in all of my life. like even beyond weed, the most comforting thing is just some guy playing video games. and thats only from my ex. i wouldve never developed this comfort in watching games had i not ha this experience. now thats apart of who i am. and i think about him atleast 10 - 20 times a month. easily. i think about the time we spent together, i think about how much i loved him, how much i loved his guitar playing - i felt really lucky at the time and that this would be the man i would marry and spend the rest of my life with. i wanted to do this.

and i talked to him because i wanted this sooooo bad i hoped that he could say or do something that would regain my respect and nothing he did or said made it any better. i never regained respect for him. and its because the action was already done. i dont think i could forgive an abuser, you know? like i dont think i could get punched in the fucking face and be like oh it was just one time they changed. they did not change at all they just learned to not do that again because the consequences are dire. the action is already done. you were a working brain of a person before you cocked your fist and then you completed the action and NOW you’re sorry? NOW you learned?

i think he is not a person right now you can currently admire or respect. and like nikki sixx, he gave me alot. like alot of negative experiences whch couldve been much worse that allowed me the opportunity to learn about myself. life is not fair and life couldve been some fucking piece of shit jamming a dick down my throat. and like for the position im in thats actually alot more likely to happen to someone like me so its lucky that i encountered some mentally ill jerk off living with his mother.

to be fair, i guess hes right - he hasnt BEEN someone to respect or admire. he has sat on his high horse while crying and then running away. and i cannot at any point n the future see myself saying “wow good job you abandoned all your responsibilities to work on yourself.” because again - you abandoned them; they werent taken from you. you took for granted what youve been given and then took advantage of your priviledge to “take a break from it” and that’s just not respectable in the least bit. no matter if you come out of this as jesus fucking christ - if jesus murdered a dude before he was crucified - fuck jesus.

i feel as the mostly not mentally ill person n ths situation as i look down upon it i see this person running away and realizing how much they took for granted and how poorly they treated me and the love that i actually provided to them. this of course will take weeks, if not months to realize as lonliness sets in and no one is really interested in being friends with someone mentally ill or he encounters similar situations.

what i feel like right now is that i have a choice. i could gamble upon my gut feeling whch could very well lead to repeating a cycle again; hes “not monogamous”. so even if he were to realize anything at all, it remains tht hes “not monogamous” and i would have to gamble two years worth of hearing that against it suddenly changing (it wont.)

or i could walk away and commit myself to the knowledge this person is mentally ill, unlikely to get better an caused a large amount of pain in my life so i should not maintain any communication with them because mentally i will always be thinking like.. i dont care. go fuck yourself. and in turn never provide them with anything they are looking for from me.

because i would also not detriment any future relationships with maintaing contact with him. not because i would be some cheater but because he has proven to make inappropriate and disrespectful comments to other peoples spouses when he has a failed relationship with the person. and i want to respect my future partner enough that they wont have to endure that kind of treatment from someone who thinks they know me on an intimate level.

i made a comment some weeks ago like i’m not going to walk away, i know you’re ill and unlike other people i’m not going to blame you for it. and he said that that had made him feel good and like he could lessen the anxiety of going away to work on his illness and then tonight he commented that i would probably “fuck off” within a few days of him leaving.

and then i think about asia o’hara. and how this is my only reference to anyone without parents in any circumstance that is moderately close to my age. and like all these things she does and says - i get it. i know where its coming from. and one of the last few thngs she said on the runway was that she was put on this earth to serve. and you will feel that way when you lose parents or they become ill before they die. you are here to serve an make other peoples lives better. and feel that. ive felt that. i felt that standing in my fathers living room realizing no one would ever know what this was. if i did not exist my fathers life wouldve been worse. so my existences purpose was to make his better. not to like go out and succeed and be amillionaire and put him in a house. but to serve, to make it my life to make another persons life better and i could expect absolutely nothing at all for it. like my life mightve gotten worse for it. but to this day i am not regretful at all. i couldve went to school and had luxurious jobs and did all the things. i couldve. but instead i stayed home and cared for this stubborn sick man who got up every day for 35 years at 4am to drive a transport truck on winter canadian highways for 14 hours a day. my existence was to see that. i was supposed to see that. i was put on this earth to see my fathers life and to honor that he existed and he worked and he lived and he breathed and people should know this.

she said, “ive learned that friendships have become extremely important and i treat them like family to me” and thats not wrong. thats another person just like me who is saying because i have no family, the people in my life are going to take a bigger step because i do not have the responsibilites or obligations to distract me from helping the greater good.

and m so sad. i could scream from teh top of my building how sad i am and cauterwall like a cat in heat. and im hurt. and im so many things.

but this sick man, who is leaving for months, took the time to ave this conversation because i began the threat that what we currently had was going to be over on his return. and we cannot define what this is. but if you believe you will return and i will be adoring and in love and fascinated and interested by all your tales - probably not. and he is saying, “i may never see you again”, “i cant make any commitments to you.” “i cant tell you whats going to happen” and the ease of the relationship has ended, and he is saying “we are broken up, this is not a relationship anymore” but the conversation continues. no.

no.

its not a conversation as i sit silently tears streaming down my face as he rants on and on about things, contradicting himself at every turn. and hes “angry” but hes not angry, and hes upset that he’s worried about me like he’s never been in love before. he’s upset he doesnt want to leave because hes worried about me like hes never been in love before. and it all sounds so .. psychotic. and he hangs up, and i call back and he answers and he doesnt want to do this and he cant do this and hes done everything he possibly can for me.

i could choose to put myself aside and serve the “greater good” of this person “becoming better”. and by doing this i take full acknowledgement that i could receive absolutely nothing in return. i could be shit on again. i coul watch this person fall in love with someone else (they will) and i have to have the strength to be happy for them because theyve reached “better”. i guess im like.. disappointed in myself that im not better than i thought i was because of my history. like i should be able to accept this opportunity to fulfill my fucking existence but im really ... begrudging my exstence because im still resentful for not getting anthing for my father.

like not like money or anythng but like you get literally nothing. no praise. people literally question whether you should even be applauded for it like it was your job anyways. and thats such a dark side to humanity that you have to remain positive and loyal and “happy” while witnessing all of this and carrying like the burdens this had all created for you.

and i guess i kind of lost respect but i dont think ram dass would say thats okay because i lost respect for the fact he became worn out by being a caregiver. but only a few people in the world are legitimately care givers. you have to truly have something in your soul in order to endure the care of others. and not everyone has this. this is why we have to like super respect nurses and people like that because they are care givers. we respect mothers because they are primary (usually) care givers. they are always obligated. mom has to be there, period. many women upon giving birth learn the trait of being a care giver. and like many women will live until they give birth being selfish ungiving pieces of shit and then spend the rest of their lives caring for someone else.

my care giving is an extremely respectable part of my character. if not the most respectable part. but i have lost alot of this trait over the past three years - i never asked my dad for anything in return. like yeah he already ~ gave me things but i never was like hey ill do ths an this for you if you give me 10$. like hes not paying me to do his groceries. hes not paying me to change his bandages. im not asking him to do that either. nor am i trading any service with him - i dont change hs bandage for him to make me lunch. i am just serving him as a care giver and you will not get anything in return and a good and true care giver expects nothing. i am no longer this person. i went kind of backwards in life and i worry now that maybe ive become sooo jaded that maybe i will never truly be a care giver again.

and of course. of course i dont need to at all give this care to a capable grown ass priviledged man. i absolutely do not. is this even the most deserving person?

i dont necessarily have to jump to a decision right now because the next three months will dictate it for me but i would love to break the cycle by making a commitment to myself on a decision/action i will take and living with the responsibility of that action because if you choose not to decide you still have made a choice.

and my gut says no. my depression says yes. my depression is very desperate and i think holds on to things that arent there. my gut says no, dont support ths person. our call ended with, “ill call you in a few days”. to which i feel like - why bother? i cant actually speak about how i feel about anything and ill just have to sit and listen to his stories about whatever the fuck he did. and i dont care. and i cant pretend to care and i cant pretend to be happy for his decision i barely respect.

i dont wan tto spend my summer looking forward to his calls, you know? i just want to let it go and have my mourning period and move on.

and maybe its shitty of me but i hope he feels guilty and i hope its hard for him. i do. because thats the result of a decision that cant be respected. and thats how you should feel when you go through with it. because honestly? none of this is real and its a projection of the fear of losing me. if it doesnt matter we wouldnt have had the conversation.

and yes, the moment he sleeps with someone else this will all be over for me. and thats the result of being involved with someone who is monogamous. thats a choice he made and will probably make and when youre a hundred miles away, i never have to care about you or choose to see you again. like even with my oshawa ex i fet like i hope he feels like shit. not because i want to be with him but beause he deserves to feel that way. it doesnt even benefit me. you just deserve it.

i do not regret not spending another night with a mentally ill person. i wish i couldve spent the last night with a person i loved but it wasnt able to happen.

he told me i should “take this as a wake up call” to have “more than him” in my life nd i dont believe at all thats what it is. its a wake up call to learn how to take care of myself - n all ways. like no one else can or will or should fulfill anything in my life, i should fulfill everything that i need. so that i make a choice as to who to be around. i will have to live more frugally and learn how to moderate my pleasures.

i am disappointed that again i feel like if i do talk to him that i will begin to lie because i want to be left alone. i do not want to be told what to do or that what im doing isnt enough. i jsut want to tell him what he wants to hear. like i want to tell him that ive gotten a job but the job is on a farm. i want to say that like im already doing what he said he wanted to do. and like i want to be fulfilled with myself so that when i lie and say that this farm is owned by some family who treated me kindly and i felt ths and this its just a personification of my self improvement. llike im half way into it anyways - i lie about a therapist to justify things i already fucking know but no one listens to me so i hve to make up ths story to make it sound like it didnt come from me and now its respectable.

so fine. ill ‘see a therapist’ and ‘go to work’. but again, i’m not really going to talk in detail about these things. and if he asks i would just tell him that its just something im doing and im not interested in talking about it. that it doesnt define me or anything in my life at all. it gives me an ongoing excuse to turn down phone calls or texts when im not prepared to answer them at that time as well. remaining silent is just not good enough.

ive been a very honest person in my life and i think its time for me to be selfish in order to et myself to the next step and it sounds really stupid to be dishonest to better myself and attempt to regain my care giving traits nd maybe itll all blow up in my face and ill learn a new lesson but for now this is how im going to sleep. i will tell him its my therapists advice not to talk to him about these things until weve established a mutually respectful way of communicating and if we dont it doesnt matter what i did or did not tell him because it literally doesnt matter. if he is capable of maintaining his own interest in my life then maybe ill open up more - he can either work towards that to be a mature, respectful human begin or disregard it and any sort of relationship between us. of course, the position is just a summer job, giving me an out if ths somehow lasts the summer.

tomorrow i have to go through excruciating pain - again for my fucking cyst and i have contract testing at some point and i really want to do these things on my own and grab my last weed for like a week and just exist. not for a week. id like to wake up and do shit on friday too. and i know so hard that depression will be the firs tthing i feel when i wake up. and as the days go on its going be even harder and sadder but i just have to figure it out an get myself through it.

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redvelvetvenom-blog · 7 years

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the only thing i could be jealous of you for is your is your 10k fake tits

some days it hurts more than others but today it hurts more than anything to write, i dont want to do it/ todays like one of those days where i dont feel like myself. but today is also one of the first days this year that i have woken up and known what day of the week it is. todays also one of the first days i was productive. yeah, i cant believe it. actually i can. i mean look where i am. writing is the only way i can communicate effectively with people... when im talking i feel like im always searching for words or saying to much or not saying how i really feel. i feel like im annoying the person which honestly i dont really care about but in relationships where it matters i usually just isolate myself and ignore them because the thought of being misunderstood which is my reality scares me to death and makes me furious and just give up. i havent been writing and i feel like my brain is in this disgusting knot i dont recognize. im focused on irrelevant shit like jen and her lies and my nails and bleaching my asshole (actually that one is important) and making peter not think im 12, and stewart losing interest in me, when im completely apathetic about my future and my physical and mental heath and making friends or having a job. its gross. i am gross. although i am the most attractive i have ever been i am also the most ugly and un put together on the inside as ihave ever been. its funny cause a year ago when i was writing and also dealing with a lot of loss, and going for days without sleep, dealing with my rape (more than one unfortunelty), and completely losing it due to the dope, i was somehow okay because i was writing. its like my own self medication. without writing my thoughts, its like i cant speak or think. and so maybe that sounds stupid but i cant explain how good it feels, as scary as it was to start, to speak again. i was so scared. i wouldnt admit it to myself, i just would ignore it all together. but i was so fucking scared to write, to type to be more specific. i could write in my diary, that would be slow and my hand would hurt and id NEVER be able to catch up to my thoughts. and thats been this whole year. its been a whole year. tina is a bully. i dont like her, but i feel like i cant live without her, and being an ex heroin addict, i feel pretty stupid saying that. but i am not a functional drug addict. some people are. infact, most people on here tumblr, “tumblr tweaker girls” or whatever or hashtag tweaker nation seem like they are doing more than just fine. like it hasnt completely destroyed their life like it has mine. but its funny because i was one. atleast until some dude decided to start blackmailing me because he found my page but he is irrelavant and so is that and not worth my time to talk about. moral of the story: dont bitch if you post videos on tumblr of you smoking meth in your bra. its not private, even if your tumblr is. anyone can figure out how to get the software to download your videos or pictures or whatever. well besides the obvious screenshot. anyways, ive come to the long and painful but unavoidable conclusion that stewart is not worth my time and wasnt since he moved up there. i should have never talked to him after the car incident because as much as i love him and it hurts, that was not fucking acceptable and me doing meth isnt an excuse for him to take it personally and lash out on me or punish me by pretending i dont exist. i just had so much happen and with all of that came low self esteem and with all the lies i was telling it was IMPOSSIBLE for me to feel good about myself. i guess it comes with borderline personality disorder but all that shit is nonsense to me because theyre going to find anything they can wrong with people and slap a name on it and then tell you your not normal. everyones fucked up, i am extremely fucked up and im okay with that. i cant understand it all now, fuck im only 20. up until this year i was ashamed of everything i did and everything that made me who i am, and its so hard to break out of that. in all honesty, i still dont really believe i am beautiful with or without makeup and thats fucking not true but i am insecure. but in the grand scheme of things, life is way to short to feel bad about yourself the way i do. i know that. life is to short to be in a haze trying to forget about everything and going through the motions, as lame as that sounds. ive been doing that and ive been waiting to die subcontiously because the truth is i dont really value my life like i should and i havent learned how to be happy on my own. i am the most materialistic person i know, and that unlike everything else i am not ashamed of because i know that it is so far rooted me that theres no use in denying it or being embarrassed because its not my fault, its the only way i know how to feel better. its always been. but the fact that i constantly feel like i need something to fill this hole is getting ridiculous and so is my shoplifting. i am way to fucking good at it and i have gotten away with it to many times to where its become my biggest addiction. i didnt really even notice it till a few months ago. ive noticed that everyone who does dope has a hustle, well almost everyone. atleast of the people i know. some of them are stupid, others are brilliant but not thought out as well as they could be or excecuted in the right manner, and some are like the expected, selling drugs or your pussy. i kind of am ashamed because my “hustle” is retarded, and i want a job more than anything. unfortunately my social security card has been stolen 3 times already this year and i cant get another one, i cant even dance. i dont know how it started, but for about a year now, ive just been living off whoever i could, and the bare minimum. bare minimum is a broad term, because somehow i still have a car and a cat and expensive makeup, an iphone 7,hair products and my drug habbit supplied, but i dont know for how long. ok. honestly time. i dont like it anymore than i like the fact that i am a slave to this chemical but i have spent the last year filling my days with going from store to store stealing shit. anything from iphone cases to shoes to greeting cards to lingerie, you get it. ive gone into several stores and filled up my shopping cart and then just walked out. im not bragging.. its pathetic. in fact im sure no one is reading this anyway and im more than okay with that. the point of this page is for me and to be able to keep a record of my thoughts without having to worry about anyone i know reading it and so i can go back and read it, like an online diary. i got the idea from jenna from awkward but im not sure what she used for hers. i used to have one but had to delete my page because of all the drug related pictures and videos i had posted of myself, which unfortunately i can still find on youtube or here if i really try. i am ashamed, but a little less then before i wrote all of this. this is my truth. and my voice and my last little shred of sanity i have to cling onto because its the only way i know how and i dont even feel like i know or trust myself anymore. if you dont want to read this then please dont waste your time, the less followers the more i can make sense of this war inside my mind.. also please no messages trying to help me or anything, its annoying and i dont need your help. thanks, its 9am and im passing the fuck out. goodnight. more for nxt time <3 bbygrlldz

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