Words

4th Apr, 2025

this is gonna be short cause its 8 minutes past midnight, I’m tired, I want a cup of tea, read nice book and lie (in bed, all cozy)

but after the conversation I just had, I refuse to leave that last post up, unfinished.

So lets talk about words.

The previous post did its job, although I didn’t really understand what I was writing it for at the time.

But it was a plea. A call for help. Because I have an amazing circle of friends, and I knew I could trust them to be there when I needed it.

(As an aside: Do not EVER be ashamed of needing to cry for help, in whatever form it takes. It’s hard but it is necessary and it is always better than drowning. I promise.)

Tonight, since my last post, a few things have happened.

I sat in a room and watched my friends sit a few metres away, within arms length, smiling and laughing, and I smiled too while feeling desperately, horribly alone.

(Please know that this is not their fault. They did not know, and they would have helped if they did, if they could. I know this.)

I said goodbye to them, in the cold and the dark outside, and I nearly didn’t hug one of them goodbye. I am horrified by how close that was to being the worst decision I ever made. But she noticed, and she asked, and I hugged her and it was okay.

I got in my friend’s car, and I managed to avoid the subject for all of 5 seconds before she asked me how I was doing. I answered with something stupid. She read that blog post.

And deep, deep underneath all those horrors I wrote about earlier tonight, in spite of them, some part of me started praying.

She hugged me, and as we started driving, we talked. She was gentle, but unyieldingly so.

I talked about the ocean. She made a joke about pop-punk. I laughed, and I recited a poem I wrote many years ago.¹ She complimented it, unyielding through all my half-baked objections that it was flawed.

I rambled about a movie I saw once², not deliberately avoiding the subject, but not in a rush to return to it either.

She listened, and waited. I returned on my own. Beneath the indifference, I kept praying.

We talked. We talked, and we talked, and we talked, and then I started crying.

First anger. Then desperation. Then sympathy. Maybe a few other things in between. The order doesn’t really matter. We talked.

And the prayer was answered.

The moral of this story is that words are really fucking important.

And yeah, there’s a million more eloquent ways to say that, and I could find them if I tried, but thats not the point right now.

Sometimes the words themselves do not matter. What matters is that they are said. That someone cares enough to listen, to respond, to take it seriously no matter how badly you fuck it up.

Tonight, someone noticed the cry for help, the silent prayer, and took up the role of the angel who would answer it.

She was able to do that, to be there at all, because two other friends kept me afloat when I wanted to sink into the mud and drown. She was able to find me because two people I love very fucking much held up the torches and lit the way.

There are a dozen other people in this story. People who kept the spark burning without even knowing they were doing it. Who shared words without any meaningful purpose or reason except the pure joy of doing so with another person.

I cannot thank them enough. I cannot repay this.

I don’t need to. But nevertheless, I may have the chance to try. Because of an angel, and two very dear friends, and a sea of sparks all around us.

This was not short after all. I am too full of words and wonder for that.

The pattern will continue, this is inevitable. But I must remember the most important part of it: that nights like this exist.

That people care, and want to listen.

You do not need to suffer alone in the dark.

And we all have so much more to say.

💚💜💜💜💚