Here in the In-Between

07 : The Ways of Books and Life

Saturday, May 30th
1:02 PM

It's been a while, in comparison to when I used to update. Once again, thoughts are everywhere. From Haikyuu to mermaids to Dexter to video games. (Cough, cough Sims 4 cough, cough)

Yeah.

All over the place.

Have you guys ever wanted to be something else? Not someone. Something. I have. I believe those wants and wishes are what has lead me to believe in what I believe.

I have wanted to become some crazy things. Dragon, mermaid, fairy, werewolf, shapeshifter, a human with powers, a demon, an angel. A time in my life I only liked being referred to as "an alien shapeshifter" because I felt like I didn't belong on this planet.

I still believe I don't belong here. However people can now refer to me as human and I won't put up much fuss.

Although I have wanted to be normal things. All sorts of animals, royalty, singer, painter, writer. But I know I can't be any of those things, even if the mermaid one has stuck with me through all these years. Seriously, so much of the ocean is unexplored, how do we know there isn't sea beings avoiding us and the surface.

But, there goes my future, right down the drain. Mostly because I know, if I can't be those last three logical things, I can't be anything. I have no other options. I don't have a realistic dream job. Or even a dream future. That's a lie, I do have a dream future.

I want to have cats and a big house, like a really big house. I will never say mansion, just a really big house. Money, although who doesn't, and to make a difference. To save our planet or to show that the LGBTQ+ community exists and has rights.

However I can't do those things, being a lazy, socially anxious, coward of a person.

What I mean when I say "to make a difference" is something that I'll be remembered for. Something that changes the way people think or see things or understand things. Like a plot twist, but in real life and a different one for each person.

A changing book.

For a changing person.

Everyone has one, even if it's just a few words long: "It was warm and safe inside." Miscarriages are an awful thing. My sister-in-law had two or maybe three. I don't even like children or babies, I don't get why people find them cute they're just dumb and pathetic, yet a miscarriage is still awful to me.

It's usually a person who wants that child, who has been waiting for some time, who is willing to put in all the work for the little, sweet moments. Then the thing that will usually bring them such joy, is ripped away before they even get to meet it. Even to a child hater, that's sad.

Maybe I'm so affected by miscarriages is because I was supposed to be a twin. I was supposed to have a sibling for life. From the very first second to hopefully my last. With my kind of family, I didn't need an older sibling to pick on me or a younger sibling for me to look after. I needed a friend who knew about me without me having to say anything.

Sometimes I think about my twin. Then I think about the loneliness I feel, and maybe it's just me wanting to have something to blame or my superstitious beliefs, but I always like to think that loneliness would be filled if they were still here.

But I am twinless.

Futureless.

Dreamless.

Helpless.

And hopeless.

I've accepted that, which is probably what's making those things true. I'm not trying to change them. Or fix myself. I've done all I'm strong enough to do. And before you go assuming things, I have done a lot.

I've talked to counselors, friends, a police officer, teachers, family, Child Protective Services, and a suicide hotline.

I wouldn't be writing this if that had worked. If that had gotten me out of my situation.

I've tried. I've failed. I know I should keep on trying to save myself, but I can't.

Too weak.

Too tired.

Too late.

That would be an interesting place to end this chapter, but I'm not going to. I want to keep talking.

You want to know something? I've never purposely cut myself. I'm not a cutter. In fact, I hate watching people cut themselves. I hate sharp objects, it's actually a phobia I have. Although the word 'phobia' more so describes needles. An intense and irrational fear of needles. I'm good with knives and such, until they're slicing into human. That's when I lose it.

Hailrous right? My body trying to save itself by throwing that shit at me. I say that because when I was younger I loved all sharp objects, besides needles, and actually loved playing with them.

It's only after I considered suicide a real option did I find out that my body decided that kind of fear was now going to be something I had to deal with.

It gets rid of the easiest way for me to kill myself. Drowning is something I have left as a last option. Although it would be kind of poetic to me and now you, knowing that the only thing I still believe in since I was a child is kind of the thing that killed me. Water. Mermaids. Same thing, I guess.

The reason it's a last ditch effort is because I have a fear of going fully underwater, completely below the surface. As long as my face doesn't go under I'm fine.

My body is really trying, knowing that fear controls me. Fear and anxiety. I want to keep on talking, but I don't know what to say.

But this book isn't over, not yet.

Hi, I'm Harmony.