I wake up on my couch half delirious, missing my family's cats and feeling lost, thinking if only Tidde was here and wondering if he even is there, I grab my plushie tiger and hug him tightly. Close enough. I usually only rely on him at night or whenever I sleep in my bed but sometimes I need him in my waking hours as well. It's a child's comfort but I got him as an adult and his now greyish yellow body that once was pure white shows that he is very loved despite being owned by an adult who should have grown out of that sort of stuff long ago.
He's been in my possession now for about 6 or so years, I think I got him the last or next last summer that I still lived in the house where I grew up, which must have been 2009 or 2008. He now probably reeks of cigarette smoke and unclean sheets as he's never been washed and I don't intend to put him through that. Not even sure if he could handle that. It is indeed a stuffed animal that I'm talking about, by why not giving it a gender and a name? I call him Whisper cause always when I talk to him I whisper, as if I'm ashamed if anyone would hear me even though we're all alone when we're together more than 99% of the time.
There's something about adulthood that I've never been able to handle. Maybe it's the mentally ill part of me, the forever damaged parts that can never heal. Maybe it's true that if a child is damaged a certain part of that person will always remains a child? I feel lost like the child I was but never wholly could ever be, if that makes any sense. Cause once I was damaged, it's like I stopped being a child, yet I will always be that child. That child that holds on to plushies all through the lonely nights, the child that masturbates in secrecy and hates himself for it, the child that is somehow lost between the childhood and the adult world.
Did I reveal too much? Who ever reads this crap anyways? I would tell people if they asked, it's not exactly a secret, it's just something that people definitely never ask about. And it's not exactly something you just go around and tell people either. Maybe I only want for them to know so that they'll never doubt how much it damaged me. It's something, some kind of proof, that I always carry with me. It's been horrible, a way to punish myself, it's been an addiction. The most pleasurable thing most idiots can think of, but we who aren't quite that simple minded know better, right? I hope you do, that it's not just something that totally makes me the asexual that I became.
And I can't help but wonder, who would I have been if none of all those awful things happened, what started during my early school years almost two decades ago? Would I have been less insecure, perhaps, or more sexual or at least just more comfortable with my sexuality and dating people? Just less fucked up in general, I mean. My blood is stained, I can't wash it out. My soul is wounded and it can't ever heal. I sometimes wander back to those darkest corners of my mind, with memories, thoughts and feelings that I can't inspect up close without getting dizzy. It's not just the dizziness that keeps me away from them, but it's the best way I can describe it.
It feels like I just skipped my teenage entirely. I acted a bit like a teen early on, before anyone else of the same age, and then it just kinda wore off when I was supposed to be like that. In one way I grew up faster, became more mature than my classmates. In another way I stayed as that child, the quiet and lonely child that hated the world he was thrown into. Who blamed everything and everyone on ever being here although he still somehow knew that there was no one to blame. The child who held on to fairy tales, worlds of magic and who longed for death as the only release from it all.
Well, maybe I never really was a child because I never once allowed myself to be one. Not after nor before what happened. I only wanted to escape and I only saw that there were two ways: 1) die and be reborn where I was supposed to be, back in Dala, or 2) grow up fast so that I could get on my own two feet and live a decent life here on my own terms. The second option was not really going to take me back home, but I knew it was still a release of some sort.
So, what I mean by skipping my teenage is that it feels like I was a child that grew out of my skin by age 9 and then turned into a broken adult. Inside, I've never been independent like real adults supposedly are, but I was grown up in a way that my classmates weren't. I didn't want to be a child, and from about age 12-13 I had already grown up. I dreamed of moving out from my parents' place, I dreamed of getting a partner and moving in with them, anything to get out and finally be able to start my life. My teenage years was just waiting for something better than the house I could never leave and the school that was my prison. The person who had outgrown their child body had no place to go.
So inevitably I stayed where I was until the time was right. I've always been impatiently patient, one of my neat paradoxes that can't really be explained. But life as an actual adult has never been like the dream I had as a child. I know that many children today and before sometimes wish they were older, but most of them seem to actually like being children, as I never did. I hated it. I didn't hate every second of it, but close to. I fantasised about having my own house, my own family that would be me and a partner and cats, my dream job which was either artist or writer, but most of all I just wanted to be free of all the rules that I as a child had to follow while I was a property of my parents.
I just feel so weird today as I clutch to Whisper and try to find the reason behind my sudden insecurity. It's an insecurity of the soul, something that always lingers within me and sometimes consumes me. Lost, lost, lost in a strange world far from home. I can sense it calling for me from so very far away. When I go to bed almost every night now I pray that I'll dream about flying, thinking that if I focus on it enough the thought will get stuck and it might actually happen, but it never works.
It's the most amazing thing I can do, like the only real comfort I can find these days. The only activity that isn't empty or meaningless. Flying, just floating through the air as if it was water but without the breathing difficulties. If only it was real, if only I could do it for real and really control it. I wouldn't tell anyone, I'd keep it a secret if I had to. Anything to feel that release. I feel so stuck and so lost all the other times, it's only when I'm flying that I feel free, emotionally released and... completely carefree.
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