4_dearfriend

7/14/25

Hey. It's been a bit.

Or has it? Maybe it's just me.

It really hasn't. Just checked. Am I really that pathetic?

I want to ask you a few things, and I just want you to know. I don't need sympathy. I don't need help. I just need you to know this, I just need you to know this so that maybe I can get it out of me and that maybe I can actually be the dragon that you expect me to be, not whatever I am right now.

I'm hurting, friend. I'm not sure why. I'm not sure where it came from. But I'm hurting. I'm really, really hurting. I don't know what to do, I don't know how to fix it, I'm so scared I'm going to fall right back to where I was and lose everything that I care about. You, them, partner. Everything. I'm so scared friend. I'm trying to hide it. I'm trying to hide it so that it doesn't look like I'm a burden, so things aren't going wrong the second we have things going on. I'm trying to act like things are okay. Thank god I'm good at masking, as I said to myself a few minutes ago. I don't know what to do, friend. I don't know.

I've been trying to not bother you, recently. I've been trying to not bother you. We're doing a thing in a bit. That's fun, that's exciting. Wowee. I don't want to overstay my welcome. You're one of the few things tethering me. I don't want to lose you, I can't lose you. I know you have much more. I know. I know. I wish I could say similar. I wish I could reach to all that, and ask for support instead of you, but Ii can't. You know why, you know. I don't have to tell you. I don't ever have to tell you. It's nice. you know. That's why. That's why. That's why, that's why.

Now I've been feeling something else, something worse. I feel like you're upset at me. You're not upset at me! I'm just so. I'm just so. Bad at this. I'm bad at this. I'm so bad at this. We talk past each other instead of to each other for a bit too long, we exist in the same circles (hah) without making eye contact and suddenly it feels to me like you're intentionally avoiding my gaze. I know you're not. I know you are not. I fucking wish my god damn body would understand that. You've been so kind to me. You are so kind to me. Continuously. Every single moment. You have nothing but fucking kindness to show and i cannot HELP but project behavior more in-line with my expectations. My expectations of someone who I care for deeply enough to know that I would be shattered, had they been trying to hurt me. Had they no longer found it interesting or pertinent or any other such to be in my company. it sucks.

I could say hi, I could send a message and go "hihi how are you doing??" but fuck, doesn't that sound like I'm trying to get something? I just wanna hear from you, but I hate being the one to initiate it. It makes me feel like a burden. My asking for your attention is too much. Of course it is. It does not matter that you like my presence, that you have told me. To my face. That you enjoy my presence. That you care for me, and that you hope we can maintain this. That could be all a lie. Of course, it is not. You are too kind to lie. Dragon with a heart of gold. There's books about that, you know.

Pathetically, I've also been thinking about something you said in passing to me. It's home. Of course it is, of course it is. Why am I hung up on that. Why does my mind read it as a slight? Is it just that I decide that it must be, because... What? And do I forget that I am there, with you? That place is mine to be as well? That you have invited me into your home? That you wish for me to be there, AS YOU HAVE SAID. God. I'm so fucking sorry I'm like this. I'm so happy I'm not actually fucking sending this to you. I'm so glad this is going to go rot where it belongs, where I belong.

Fuck.

Things have been wrong, recently, friend. I can't feel that which is mine too often. I feel imprisoned moreso than I usually do. Usually I feel them, as do you. Wings. Tail. That which is there. However. It's been hard, recently. Perhaps the sores are sticking to the suit. Perhaps I've done nothing but work and work pulls me into just this. I don't know. It hurts. It doesn't feel right. You'd think phantom sensations would be better gone but, no. It's dreadfully lonely. I don't even know if I'm me. I hate this. I hate me. I hate whatever the fuck I am.

I hate myself. God. I hate myself. It was a mistake for work to give me a blade. I think about it every so often. Blood is beautiful, don't you think. Something calming about the red. To know that that's you. That's all you are, really. Vasculature holding up a horrid figure. To lose that, to let it free, is to lose yourself. To let yourself free.

I've been thinking about that more, recently. Perhaps it is better to give the few to whom my death would be a victory their happiness, than gamble on the potential happiness I could bring others in some point, sometime, somewhere. I don't believe for a second I really matter, that I'm much of anything at all. All I do could be done by others. Better. Cheaper. Without the pain of it being me. Would anyone care? Would you care?

To carve myself apart. Cover myself in color. Release. Finally. The End Of It All. God, I want it, sometimes. Horribly often, recently.

Perhaps after our plans, hm?

I'm sorry, that's horrible. I don't wish to do that to you. I know, I know, realistically. I know that you care for me. I know that others care for me I know that I am cared for and that I would be missed if I died you have said it yourself you have said it yourself before we even really got to know each other and I am projecting my thoughts that you would be okay with my absence when that is so clearly not true and you are looking forward to spending time with me and all i can think of and all i will be able to think of at the time is how i want to fucking die and how im worried youre pissed at me and i cant fucking escape it i cant i cant i cant i cant

I am so worried. About that. About going. I've considered cancelling, just giving you the money I had saved up as a consolation prize and tapping out. I'll really have to try not to let on. I don't want to bring it down, and I'm sure he wouldn't be very happy about it, would he. He's right, of course. We're there to have fun, I shouldn't bring my weather out above me. I don't know how not to.

Again, thank god I'm good at masking, huh? If you don't ask me what's wrong, if I never let on that I'm hurting. Hell, maybe if I stop hurting. That will be success. You can know (never).

I've been thinking a lot about drowning, recently, friend. Another friend, another lifetime ago, once told me that they were at peace with it. A dream about drowning. They died. It was peaceful.

Drowning is not that. Drowning is painful, violent. One of the worst ways out. Thrashing. Thrashing, thrashing, thrashing, thrashing, thrashing, until you do not have the energy to anymore, and then pain. Pain as you sink. You sink. You sink. Sink, your lungs crying out in pain from the water. Unbearable. Until you asphyxiate.

It's felt like that, friend. I'm thrashing. I'm thrashing. I can't do anything else. I'm trying to keep my head above the fucking water. It's not working, friend. It's not. It's not. I'm going to die. I'm going to die if this keeps up. I don't know what's happening. This shouldn't be anything.

It makes me think of that stupid picture. "some people don't need help, they just want attention". Maybe that's me. Maybe I just want attention. I can't trust myself. Who knows what the fuck I really am when it comes down to it. I don't need attention. I don't. Need it. I'll have bled out, I'll have sank, I'll have long asphyxiated before I ask for help. I don't. Want. To be. That. I do not need. Attention.

But I do. I do. It's all I want. It's completely absurd how a single paw, just to pull me up, would help. Would make it stop. An embrace, a paw on mine. Words of care. It would save me.

Until the next time. Of course. I don't want to be this. I wish I wasn't this. How do I not be this?

It's so cold, friend. It's so cold. I'm so alone. It's been so lonely. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do, please, what do I do? I.

...

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, if we're done here, soon. I don't want to be. I really don't want to be. I want to keep this. I want to keep us around, I want to keep it all, but I've failed. I've failed them, I've failed her, I've failed you. I've failed myself. I don't deserve to exist.

I want. To keep this. I want to keep this and trust this is stable ground, because when I can, god, it's amazing. I get to be me. Finally. Fucking FINALLY. But I'm shaking, and I don't know if it's me, or if it's the ground.

We talked about this. You were so weirdly blase about this. You've always been. I worry about it. It's impossible not to. You need folks to uplift you if you're ever to actually exist. You know this. You're a key part of mine, right now, unfortunately. I wish that wasn't the case (that's a lie, no I don't), but it's the truth. I depend on you. Because you're, like, a sister I've never had. Safety. Moreso than anyone. God. I hate that that's true. I'm so sorry that's true. I'm so sorry I'm like this. I'm so fucking sorry.

Fuck me. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking glad you'll never see this, I mean unless you look for it. In which case... yeah, it's obvious it's you. Hi, in that case. I'm sorry about this. hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahaha heyletspretendthisdoesntexistformysakeok???

I'm so sorry.

Hex.

4_dearfriend
3_this
2_her
1_voices
0_horrible