The End of a (very short) Era

Life is a series of moments, snippets of time, most of which will be forgotten. A special few of these snippets will be preserved as memories, which also fade then disappear when we fade and disappear. Life is fleeting, but that is what makes it special. One of my favourite song lyrics is a strangely romantic one from Avenged Sevenfold’s Acid Rain “Life wouldn’t be so precious dear, if there never was an end”. Rather poignant for men with ridiculous names like M. Shadows, Zacky Vengeance, Synyster Gates, and Johnny Christ.

Those moments, both happy and sad, are what makes us who we are. This is why I embrace my depression. It built me. It made me strong. Very few of my positive moments of change involved other people. But in the last few months I’ve been lucky enough to have been changed by someone, for the better. Someone who reminded me what if felt like to have self-worth. Someone who pulled me out of a cycle of self-loathing and disgust. Someone who made me feel beautiful for the first time, even if it only lasted while I was in his presence.

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Flower to seed, end to new beginnings. Viva la Jenny!

 

But that moment is over now, and I know I’ll cycle backward a little, that’s inevitable, but five steps forward, and two steps back, is still progress. Sexy Hands isn’t gone from my life, but the context has changed. That’s what we as humans do, we’re constantly changing and evolving, relationships change and morph. He is searching for his happiness and I hope he finds it, he was never going to find it with me and I know that. I don’t like it, but I know it.

For selfish reasons I would have been happy to keep him locked in my wardrobe in a state of suspended animation, waking him up whenever I wanted cuddles or sex or a friend. But I don’t think his family would have approved of such an arrangement, and it would have had a drastically negative impact on his income. I adore him, he’s a wonderful person and a good friend, but I don’t delude myself, what I loved the way he made me feel about myself.  I’ll miss him terribly. I know I’ll see him again, but it won’t be the same. He’s the person I pine for when I’ve had a bad day.

I want to curl up in somebody’s arms and vent my soul but he’s the only person that I know that I feel comfortable enough with to do that with; lack of close human friendship is an unfortunate side effect of social phobia. But that is no longer an option. And so I write. And I will be okay, because I’m always okay. And the world keeps on turning. And I’ll remember what was and it will be bittersweet, but it wouldn’t have been so precious if there never was an end.

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