hopeless romantic

At times, I’m pretty sure this blog is just an archive of people I’ve loved and mistakes I learned from. That’s not intentional, I don’t think. More… idk.

Official explanation – therapy costs money I don’t have. Blogging is free and cathartic and occasionally gives people the opportunity to see how much they mean to me without any awkward convos and therefore fills the void perfectly.

Other official explanation – I draw from my life for my writing and my cosplaying, and I can’t recycle anything I haven’t analyzed to hell and back.

I’ve been thinking about connections and the cyclical nature of them for the last couple days, ever since I re-found someone I genuinely thought was dead. That one, I haven’t written about before because it happened at a very strange time in my life and… well, turns out he’s not dead and that door is open again.

And yes, I know my life just turned into a bad fanfic plot. AGAIN. Because if there’s one predictable thing in my existence, it’s that any romantic disaster I have tends to play like a romcom they would’ve made ten years ago.

(Sidenote – do they even MAKE big fun romcoms anymore?? I’m pretty sure they don’t, and that’s so darn annoying. I like explosions and superheroes as much as the next girl, but I also wanna watch two pretty people fall in love without the background noise of secret identities or terminal cancer.)

Seriously. I’ve been freaking out about this for three whole days ’cause wow, that was NOT the plotline I thought was gonna recur. Ooohboy.

I’m such a GIRL sometimes.

But yeah. For those of you who are wondering if I do literally anything other than pine after bad ideas and then brood about them for years after the dust settles… okay, yeah, that’s a huge part of my life. But I’m trying to turn that into something super-awesome and bigger than myself. So screw it.

(Also, this blog is gonna be WAY more fun for my future tinies to find than a journal.)

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seven years

According to the “on this day” function on FB (which is so strangely addictive if only as an archive of my questionable fashion choices and that one year I tried to communicate almost exclusively in song lyrics), tomorrow marks seven years since an unexpectedly life-changing event.

I write about the person I refer to on here as Vulcan a lot because that whole mess was one of the turning points in my life. It made me realize a lot of things that wouldn’t have become apparent otherwise a bit earlier than might’ve been ideal, and my entire life changed because of that one moment seven years ago.

Okay, fine, that story spanned over the course of a year and a half. Maybe two and a half if you count the ACTUAL first time I met that boy, but I don’t because the person I wanted to chewtoy and the person who showed me unexpected kindness and caused a lot of unexpected problems… were quite different, honestly. But like all great almost-love-stories, this one had a beginning point, and this one occurred on a cold November Saturday when a boy I’d met exactly once before – and at the time, REALLY did not like based on that previous experience – suggested that I might want to do a content warning at the beginning of my interp.

Look, there were a lot of shitty experiences that came along with being midrange-conservative-Christian homeschooled through high school, but speech tournaments were not one of them. That’s the one part of my adolescence I can look back on and say was solidly GOOD. Maybe in part because the structure of the beast required a level of human decency a lot of us weren’t otherwise capable of, and the dress codes and strict scheduling prevented a lot of the behavior that otherwise went down when more than half a dozen homeschooled teenage girls were in the same space for more than ten minutes, but… whatever the causes, that activity WORKED for me. It got me out of the house and around other human beings, it gave me a valid excuse to cause a little lowkey drama without fallout (pretty sure a few moms reconsidered whether sheltering was such a good thing after watching my senior-year interp)… total win.

But again, back to that one unexpected turning point.

How the hell an 18-year-old male who’d grown up in that culture had ANY concept about content warnings, I will never know. There were a lot of questions I didn’t ask back then, when it mattered, ’cause I was too busy trying to get him to LIKE me. Or, well, assuming he did but also kinda wondering why he didn’t do anything about it. (There are still a lot of unasked questions, but people change and I’ve stopped actively wondering.)

And then a couple months later, another moment my brain goes back to when I need some kind of validation. Different competition, not a particularly good weekend for me ’cause I’d read a book over the holidays that had really screwed me up. Perfect timing on the part of one of two genuine friends I had among the three hundred or so of us… led to a near-death experience and what I realized a couple years later was my first-ever panic attack. And again, Vulcan was inhumanly chill. Calmed me down, made sure I was okay, and made sure I got safely inside before frostbite fully got through my floral fishnets. Again, no reason why someone with those origins and those brackets should’ve been THAT GOOD, and yet.

I’m realizing, as I write this, that all the people I’ve seriously fallen in love with have had that effect on me. They’ve been people who, with their very presence, can either make me melt or make me contemplate how they’d look spread out on the hood of my car. (Or both at once.) It’s pretty freaking rare that people can do that to me, but it has aftershocks that last for years. Pretty undying loyalty, for one thing.

It’s been… guh, I wanna say five years since I physically crossed paths with Vulcan. Dunno if I ever will again, or how awkward that would be. We’re still friends and occasionally talk about random stuff (I’ve accepted that one of my life’s purposes is to make sure that boy listens to decent music once in a while, and that’s a good conversation starter). My tendency to hang onto former crushes is a little weird – when I was talking to one of my female friends a couple weeks ago, I realized that like half the people I trust // go to in a crisis are guys I once thought I was gonna marry – but it works.

I mean, if nothing else… if someone ever seriously screws me over, they could end up facing down an Avengers worth of my sort-of-almost-exes. That’s pretty darn awesome.