In those moments when I'm not really me
I find myself in the clouds, drifting.
Far away from anything, anyone.
Sometimes
I wash up on the shore
of a cold, dark beach.
There is someone here
who I have known forever
and who is a complete stranger to me.
Tell me, Isabeau, have I been alone all along?
In those moments when they aren’t really themself
I don’t know how to reach them.
They withdraw so deep into their own mind
that I’m not even sure they know I’m here.
I am unwanted in this place.
They try to drive me out again and again.
They want their mind to be theirs and theirs alone.
Can I blame them?
But when they lose themself in the clouds…
Tell me, Eight, have you been alone all along?
In those moments when I’m not really me
I don’t wash up on the beach anymore.
I clutch the cold metal staff
feeling the grooves dig into my flesh
and I turn towards the shore, saline water lapping against my ankles.
The wings of a deity block my view of the beach that had become my home.
My head hurts.
“They went looking for gods,
and died in lonely places.”
Tell me, Calypso, have I been alone all along?
In those moments when they are not really themself
Why would I care?
If they want us to be no more than a figment of their imagination
then they can stay off of our beach.
You want to be alone, little girl?
Then you do not need Isabeau
and you do not need me.
If you want to tell me that you are real and I am not,
then keep away from us.
Tell me, Eight, have you been alone all along?
You feel that you are drowning, sometimes.
Weight
bearing down on you
from every side.
Crushing your chest,
filling your lungs,
every stolen breath
desperate
and hard-won.
You’d spent years on your sinking boat,
cupping your hands,
desperate to keep out the rainwater and the sea.
Exhaustion has claimed you.
There is no point in trying anymore, it’s too late.
You’ve never left the ocean,
and you fear you’ll always carry it with you.
You’re water-damaged,
you’re no good.
They can see you flailing, you’re sure,
while everyone else floats easily together in their own boats,
and you can’t help but wonder
how useless you must seem to them.
Someone who can’t love like everyone else -
the way they write books and poetry and music and shape their lives in the pursuit and celebration of this thing that seems so foreign and incomprehensible to you, that everyone else sees as so enormous and joyous and life-changing and human and you
are an outsider.
It’s the voice of your parents,
smiling and confused
as they ask if you’ve met anyone,
if you’ve fallen in love yet,
isn’t that what kids your age do?
It’s the voice of friends who drift away
and fall out of your life slowly,
as friends become less important than partners,
until you aren’t important at all.
It’s your voice, as you again and again
think you’ve fallen for someone
only to find that you prefer them as a friend once you grow close.
It’s always your voice.
You should be able to do this.
You should be able to want this.
But no matter how much you love someone,
it’ll never be enough,
because you cannot love like they do,
and they
didn’t choose you anyway.
They will grow bored and distant,
walking and walking while you stand still.
They will fall in love and grow and change,
and you will always be you.
Just you.
You are trying to reach out,
and for now, there are people reaching back.
But they will leave you behind.
…Someone lets go.
You are drowning.
It terrifies you, the first time.
But then you open your eyes
and realize that maybe
it’s not that bad.
Maybe it’s alright.
The sea has always known your name.
You’ve always been a part of it.
Editors Note: This was written way back when I first figured out I was aroace. At the time, I felt really insecure about it. I've since come to feel a lot more secure and accepting of it, and I don't feel this way very often anymore. When feeling so alienated, it's important to take a look around you at your family and friends and acknowledge how far from being alone you truly are; how far you are from lacking people to confide in and love in the way that you know how. You're never truly alone.