I've had LJ logged in for a couple of weeks. I meant to post when I first opened it, but I'd had to read, first, and then I couldn't do it. Just too much emotion.

My heart went out of LJ when Heather passed. I'd somehow missed something or messed something up when my own world was doing another fall apart and had unexpectedly, abruptly been severed from her LJ right before her birthday. And then she was gone. And I felt betrayed by it. Not by Heather. But by the reliance on this medium for being connected, for mattering, for having it be a sign of truly caring.

I went back to read because it was her birthday again, and I needed to see some of her words. And then it all hit me again, fresh, because I never made myself deal with it and work through it and accept it for what it was. And all of those confused regrets flowed back up and I couldn't escape from them, couldn't slip them. So I read more. I read about other lost friends. I read my mealy-mouthing about what was really going on with me and Will. I read about myself getting far too close to an edge I had no business near. I read the words of people I'll never share a smile with again. I saw their pictures and knew we'd never share a dancefloor again.

Bitter, bitter, bitter. It made me so angry. It made me so sorrowful. I felt helpless. Here was this time of slipping away, so many things and people and hopes...and all I could do is read about it happening, powerless to stop it, knowing how bad it truly got, knowing where it would leave me. And there was no magical invocation to bring the people back. No feather-light wish to restore their sparks to this world. All of their promise, gone. All of their intentions, gone. All of their hopes...gone. Gone.

I couldn't write anything about it. What would I say? "Poor me. People died." Selfish. Misdirected. So, I've been thinking about it, instead. Thinking and thinking and thinking. Endlessly. Why would I give up the place that preserved these connections in at least some form? Why didn't it make me feel safe, anymore? Why did it not feel like a retreat? Because it felt empty and dogged at the same time. I can hear them whispering but will never be able to make out the words.

All those promises to come back and read and share. Not precisely broken, because I do read from time to time. I just very rarely comment. Too afraid that I'll make all the same mistakes again and lose what few people I'm still connected to here and elsewhere. Too afraid, in general. Like a car halfway over a cliff. I scooted out slowly and just left it teetering, better to walk away than crash to the bottom.

Melodramatic? Maybe a little. I let things build up too long. I didn't unplug this bad wiring when it was forming. There are too many layers all mixed together, now. That doesn't mean I can't eventually fix it. Just that it's going to be a lot messier and more difficult. And, facing that down, I knew I couldn't handle it in the moment that I realised all of this. Too much else going on to dedicate my attention to something simultaneously massive and petty. The massive part is unsolvable, really - the grief is deep and just has to be worked through. The pettiness...gods, haven't we done all this before in my years on here? Twice, thrice, infinity?

And that's when I was able to come back and put these words down. When I knew that I couldn't walk through the pettiness again. Like giving myself permission to just let it be. Will I, really? No idea. That's the idea of a refuge, I guess. Intentions and plans are one thing, but doing what's necessary to feel safe sometimes requires circumventing and changing those things. I just want to find my balance again, find the funny again, put words down. I have a few other places I'm writing, but none are like this. None can ever be like this. The residual energy of all of those other people is here. The lingering impressions of all I'd attempted is here.

Here. Can I stay? Will I be back? It can't matter but it has to, it seems. Oh, 5am confessions. That mix of discomfort and peace is inimitable. I needed it.

From: [identity profile] cheryl-f.livejournal.com

I know I'm as guilty as any one for not checking on folks in real life. I check here sporadically, tasting what connections still exist. Be easy on yourself.

I'll always be here, just usually silently.

From: [identity profile] snuffleupagoth.livejournal.com

where's my "like" button when i need it?

i know i don't post here often, only when the bigger
things in life happen. but i do check it everyday to
see if others have left more than 140 characters of
their life for me to read. so i hope you come back
to visit again sometime soon. ;)

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