It’s been one of those weekends. (Yeah, I know it’s Monday, but consider this a recap.) Person I’ve been talking to // have a major crush on continues to absolutely fail at texting, one of my close friends got his heart broken dramatically, it’s the five-year anniversary of a particular event I wish hadn’t happened the way it did, and hell, I’m stressed out. I have a con this coming weekend, I’m up to my ears in family drama, and I’m stressed out.
But as per usual, stress brings out the best in me. In this case, a few musings about how I show love and how the strangeness of my brain makes that better.
One of my main things is I worry about people. A lot. Like, if I care about someone, I probably obsessively worry about them on so many levels. I blame this on the fact that most of my people need to be worried about… and on my anxiety. Girl who gets worried about everything, meet cast of beautiful idiot friends who fail at finding other people to panic about them. I’ve tried to explain this to one of my darlings on several occasions – the main person who brings out this trait in me, and he knows damn well he’s special like that – and poor boy just does not get it. And funny thing is, this has actually gotten worse since I went back on meds. Like, I didn’t notice this trait was a thing and then antidepressant number two got added to my daily routine and all of a sudden…
Again, it kinda helps that most of my friends kinda need someone to panic about some of their questionable life choices. Sometimes I do point out that it’s their own fault. At least partially. But another equally significant part is all me.
In my brain, love means caring too much and getting clingy as hell and wanting to wrap my darlings up in blankets and bubble-wrap.
I’m protective and territorial sometimes. Back a few months ago, when I had a thing with a particular friend, I learned that the only situation in which I can flirt (or at least am aware that’s what I’m doing)… is when I’m trying to make sure another person doesn’t sink their claws into my person. Oooohboy. Didn’t know I did that either; still one of the funniest moments of the last year or so because the other person involved still has no clue what was going on. Nor does the innocent bystander who got to watch usually-quiet-and/or-extremely-bitchy me blossom into… someone I’m usually not. Freaking beautiful. I’m gonna write a story about that at some point, I think.
I make stuff for people. Literally my first thought after checking off some firsts with the ex-ish-creature I’m still friends with (I need to codename these people but the context of what I usually call them would be totally MIA here) was “I am going to make pretty fingerless gloves for this boy”. Yeah, you read that right – that is how my brain responded to discovering that I have a bit of a hand kink. Fast-forward six months to a similar situation with a different person and the main thought running through my head as I drove home afterwards was “if this blossoms, I’m knitting a sweater for this one”. I shower people in handmade squishies because if I can’t hug them as often as I’d like, I will give them the next best thing.
I need to find someone new to squish on asap. Guh. Hopefully I’ll be able to get a temporary fix at con this Saturday – I’m gonna get to see a super-badass girl I met at that particular event last year and hopefully tackle-hug her if she lets me and she’s not getting swarmed by other people admiring whatever costume she’s got on. And sometimes random people are affectionate if one says the right sweet things about their cosplay. So fingers crossed.
(I’ve basically ruled out cons as a dating pool – all I ever seem to crush on from that world are straight married girls, sigh – but let a girl dream here. Maybe someone of appropriate orientation will be super into what I’m running for this one. Maaaybe.)
Ah well. If nothing else, I’ve got a cat who likes to massage my thighs, nuzzle me for like a minute, and then do a flying leap off me in a way that makes me very thankful my reproductive organs are internal. That’s gotta count for something, right??