How To Navigate A Casual Sexual Relationship As An Alloaro
Preface - Before I begin this post I just want to get some things out of the way. This is general advice from my own experiences, and every experience is going to be different! That being said, there will be mentions sex and sexual activities and attraction in this post so if that make you uncomfortable please be cautious. There is no material out there for alloaro’s specifically, so this is a post for us.
So, you’re alloaro and you want to navigate a healthy sexual relationship? Well well, you’ve come to the right place my friend! There is a distinct lack of resources like this for alloaro’s in our community, so the following is a compiling of advice from your friendly local Achillean Alloaro on healthy casual relationships! Lets get the basics out of the way first.
Boundaries & Expectations
Boundaries and expectations are extremely important, esspecially in casual relationships. Not only for your partner, but also for you. Make your boundaries clear and known before anything. Some things you might want to bring up to your partner before going through with things:
Casual sex is not a show of romantic interest or affection
Any terminology you are uncomfortable with during sex (i.e, being called certain romantically coded pet names or expression of romantic attraction)
No pressure to be romantically involved after casual sex
Expectations should also be known beforehand. It should be very clear that romantic attraction should NOT be assumed after sex. Esspecially if your partner is not aromantic or on the aromantic spectrum.
With that out of the way, lets discuss more general tips and practices for safe casual sex.
Use Protection
This one is a bit of a no brainer but should still be said. Its best to use protection during any kind of sex. Not only does it help prevent pregnancy but it also protects against STD’s! Incase it was never taught to you, here is a quick guide to properly using a condom:
Be careful while opening the packaging and make sure the condoms are not expired! The expiration date is often printed on both the box and the individual wrapping.
When putting a condom on, make sure to pinch the tip and leave a small well to help prevent tearing.
Condoms should unroll easily. If it doesn’t unroll, it might be on the wrong way. Be carefull not to tear the material by tugging too much.
Unroll the condom fully, never halfway or even a 1/3rd of the way to ensure it doesn’t tear or come off. It it does, replace it immediately.
Establishing Limits With A Partner
Similar to boundaries and expectations, you should make sure your partner is aware of your limits! Whether it be someone you’re only going to sleep with once, or someone you are mutually involved with. Its okay to experiment, however you should be cautious of any limits you or your partner might have. This goes for physical limits such as positions or what kinds of acts they comfortable with, kinks, etc. However it also applies to other limits such as when your partner is willing to have sex (as even alloaro’s have limits. Anyone who experiences sexual attraction and is aromantic can ID as alloaro, which includes greysexuals who don’t always feel sexual attraction).
A Note For Alloromantics
If you are someone who isn’t alloaro or not aromantic at all reading this, a note specifically for you. Its important to keep in mind that all alloaro’s experience and express sexual attraction differently. Alloaro’s can be many thing, but one thing they aren’t is predatory. Its extremely harmful to expect romantic involvement after casual sex with an alloaro even if you are in a QPR. Do not pressure them into a relationship afterwards, and never slut shame an alloaro for lacking romantic attraction.
This post is a bit of a mess but its something at the very least. As an alloaro who enjoys engaging in casual sex, I have a lot of personal experiences and advice to give other alloaro’s, so please feel free to ask any questions you might have. I am always willing to answer! Happy Aromantic Awareness Week, and as always No Romo
“I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hate myself. Make love to me like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did. Go slow. I’m new to this but I have seen nearly every city from a rooftop without jumping. I have realized that the moon did not have to be full for us to love it. We are not tragedies stranded here beneath it.”
Hey, look I finally finished Chapter 6 of Something Wicked!
This was a very, verylong, winding chapter with a lot going on. Over 6,000 words worth, and I’m wondering if I should split it in two, although it does mess up the current pattern I have of two Jade chapters followed by two Caz chapters (which I’m not sure is a great pattern either, but anyway).
There’s quite a few changes I had to make in rewrites, including one extra corpse to dispose of and extending negotiations with Brooks to a scene at a diner.
Anyway, here’s the end of the chapter. TWs for smoking, language, mentions of food, and a sex joke (which may be kind of bad, I’m not sure about keeping it, kind of feels flat).
The ride back in the police SUV was long and painfully silent. As if to make some kind of point to Jade, Caz decided to sit in the backseat with her this time. It only caused more damage to her thighs as his knee continuously pressed into her, since even four feet of upholstery apparently wasn’t enough for him.
Brooks dropped them off where Jade’s truck was still parked near Matt’s apartment. The party had clearly ended a while ago. She wondered how everyone had reacted to the cops showing up following a nearby explosion.
She leaned against her truck and watched Caz hunch over Brooks’ open window. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but saw Caz put something in his hand and then pat the side of the car before Brooks drove off.
Caz walked over to her. He stood there for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Well, I can take off from here,” he said. “You’ll be okay getting back?”
“Yeah,” she said. “You didn’t have to ride back with me.”
Caz shrugged and moved over to where light was pooling under a streetlamp.
You’re a novice demon who managed to convice a mother to give up her first born in exchange for eternal youth. You did so, because it seems like the kind of thing all the other demons are doing, but now you are not sure what you are supposed to do with an infant and it’s way too late to ask.
“You could always eat it.”
Envy looked up in confusion.
“Sorry, what?”
Gluttony gestured to the infant nestled in Envy’s arms.
“I’ve had human before,” they said. “It’s not bad. Like pork. I bet a little one would be soft. Like veal.”
Gluttony ran their tongue over a set of rotten teeth. Gray and emaciated, they always had a pinched, hungry look about them.
“I could take it off your hands, if you want.”
Envy shrank back, cradling the infant a bit tighter.
“No,” they hissed. “This is mine, Gluttony.”
Gluttony chuckled.
“Suit yourself,” they said. “You were the one who asked what to do with it.”
Envy stalked off with the child, unsure where to go next. If this was the advice Gluttony had to give, imagine what Wrath would have to say. Or Lust. Envy shuddered.
But something even worse happened to Envy, instead.
I just want to remind you all that consensual sex can be traumatic and/or upsetting. Consensual sex isn’t always great. Or sometimes it may seem great in the moment and then feel upsetting later. I just want you to know that you’re valid and your trauma is valid.
It’s hard for wlw who grew up in homophobic religions to form connections and not feel bad or weird about their sexuality. It’s especially hard for people who grew up in such a controlled environment where they tried to control how you dressed, who you dated, when you started dating, how often you dated, when you could date one on one, etc to make genuine romantic connections and sometimes people just turn out ace or aro (nothing wrong with that, I love my aro/ace buddies so much <3 ) because of how controlling the environment was. Controlling your teenagers dating life so much to where they can’t even look at someone of another gender or hang out with them (thanks Mormons) does NOT stop them from dating bad people, having s*x, doing anything of that nature. If you try to control them to that point, or your religion does, then it’s going to make things worse. I grew up in the church where if I even had friends of the opposite gender I couldn’t hang out with them alone. This has just made it super hard for me to form actual connections romantic and platonic.
mom was describing a tattoo a girl once took her to a back bedroom to show her, which was a fishing pole low on her pelvis with a line and hook that descended into her bush where a small clownfish hid amongst the hair. and that’s just. that’s a goal. and the ultimate freedom from obligation, like “gah I wouldshave but it would ruin my very good joke, what are you gonna do, I gotta make sure there’s foliage for my little clownfish to hide in”
then mom finished telling me this and looked off for a moment. “my god,” she said. “she was flirting with me. fuck. goddamn it.”
Ok but, if sex didn’t involve genitals it’d probably be dope as hell. like, kissing, cuddling, making out with your partner, and feeling good together sound hot but we’re not going all the way lol
Full disclosure, I’m currently writing this at 4 am. I suppose if you’re reading this it’s some time in the future when I finally finished getting everything out and decided to actually send it. At the time of writing, it’s mainly me just… needing to scream into the void so to say. So I apologize in advance for how rambly this is going to be. Literally just writing as things come to me.
That being said, I really hardly know what to say, or whether I should say anything at all. So much happened between us. A lot of which we never properly talked about, especially at the end.
I can’t say I necessarily regret that things ended. That would mean saying I regret what I have now. My child means absolutely everything to me and I would never wish her to not exist, regardless what I gave up along the way. I do regret HOW they ended. It’s been over a year since we last spoke as I’m beginning to write this and it still hurts.
There’s a lot of questions I often find myself wishing I could ask.
Does it still hurt you?
Are you like me and have tried to move on, but still feel an ache in your heart some nights when your mind wanders back to us?
Do you prefer to just not think about it at all?
Do you still talk about me? Reminiscing about some fun time we had, or maybe a quiet deep moment we shared?
One of my most vivid memories of you is the first time you held me. Laying on the futon, just goofing off. You saw cuts on my leg and you just rolled over and hugged me from behind. You told me, “you scare the shit out of me.” I don’t know if I’ve ever told you the feelings that came over me that night.
For damn near as long as I could remember I’d felt hollow and empty. Like the shadow of a person. Broken pieces that had been taped together to somewhat resemble a functional human being.
That one hug felt like it both broke me entirely and pulled my pieces back together all at the same time. It was one of only two times in my entire life that I felt really and truly wanted, cared about, seen.
It hurt.
I wanted so badly to just melt into the kind of love you seemed to be offering.
I wanted so badly to also run away and hide from the hurt and pain I was terrified would come along with that type of love.
Guess I did a bit of both?
I remember telling you about how friends I’d had for years turned their backs on me. You said you’d never do that. And you truly never did, even when I turned my back on you multiple times. I’m going to try and avoid sounding guilt trippy in this… we both know what I did and saying I’m sorry over and over again won’t change or fix anything. Lord knows it doesn’t make any pain I caused go away.
There are times I wonder how things might have been different if I’d talked to you more openly. If we would have worked things out, or if we were just meant to eventually drift away from each other. I tell myself often that we just were at different points in life. A big part of me thinks that’s true, but maybe instead of basically being strangers we could have still been a part of each other’s lives in smaller ways if I’d just talked to you.
I did always mean it when I said you were one of my best friends.
At times I think I miss that the most. Not and of the romantic aspects, but everything else.
The way you made me smile and laugh.
How big, warm, and comfortable your hugs always were.
Hell, even the way you used to purposefully get me riled up over something stupid just to hear me rant.
When you’d smile and wiggle your eyebrows. You have probably the sweetest smile on anyone I’ve ever known. I miss seeing it.
Sometimes it’s seemingly stupid shit that’ll make me think of you.
I was listening to Fruits Basket opening/ending songs in the car today and remembered watching with you. Anytime a Sasuke thing comes into Gamestop I still will think, “Oh I should send him a picture of this.” Going up to Shreveport reminds me of the time you went with me to see my psychologist and the waiter at Olive Garden gave us butter.
Sometimes a new game or show will come out and I still get the urge to message you to ramble about it.
I still have your number in my phone. I’ll randomly check Facebook sometimes to see if you unfriended or blocked me.
I’ve never been good at letting go of things. Especially anything that ever gives any kind of pleasure or happiness. Fuck, even when that happiness comes along with pain. Probably why I’ve always clung so tightly to people and things that were bad for me in the end.
Something I’m still working on. And apparently failing.
At one point a few months ago I deleted all the pictures I had of you off of my phone. A part of me regrets it. Probably the part that I literally just said doesn’t like letting go of the past. I guess part of me writing this whole letter is is somewhere in me hoping that somehow it’ll bring some sort of closure.
I don’t ever talk about you. That’s part of what hurts. All these memories of someone who meant the world to me, and I can’t even talk about you. Not about how I still miss you, or about some funny or stupid thing that just happens to remind me of you. At times I feel like I just need to get drunk and just vent/gush about you to someone for a few hours. Get it all out and maybe finally I could actually begin to properly move on emotionally.
Until then, I guess I’ll just keep coming back to this letter anytime I need to say anything. Wonder how long this will end up being. Wonder if you’re going to read it at all.
I’m not sure I would.
I’d probably see it and want to just delete it. Bury down whatever feelings I knew it would cause to creep up that I’d rather not have to face and deal with.
I’d want to delete it, but it would more likely just sit in my inbox, unread. I’d go back and stare at it sometimes, not opening it, but just seeing that it was there.
For me, at least, it would answer the question of “do you still think of me.” For a while that’d probably be enough for me. I’d just cling to that thought, not really wanting to face whatever else was inside.
I’ve never been good at accepting the idea of people I love no longer loving me. It’s something I’ve always preferred to just assume, because confirmation and me fully acknowledging it gave it a sense of permanence that felt like the end of the world.
Probably why I did a lot of what I did with you. Especially at the end. Instead of just telling you how I was feeling I just… stopped.
In some ways it was a way to defend myself. Others a way to protect you from me.
Knowing my own feelings for you and how I am when it comes to those sorts of strong feelings, I knew if I allowed you to remain in my life at all during that time I would never be able to let go.
Granted, I guess me writing this is me still not letting go… but I think I would have destroyed myself trying to hold onto something that was no longer there. I don’t know how long you’d have stayed for it, but the idea of dragging you even further down with me sealed the idea in my head that it was better for both of us if I just walked away.
Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. That was my reasoning at the time. I still feel like it holds water, to some degree. I mean look at me. It’s now 5 am and I’m sat here still writing this letter to you. Not sure where I’m even going with it. I just need to get it all out before I lose my mind, whether you ever end up seeing any of this or not.
I still have some of your stuff. Stuff I got you that you never took home. Stuff you brought over and forgot. I’ve debated asking Ariel to give it to you multiple times. Me clinging to the last remnants of you I guess. Without even pictures anymore it almost feels like if I give that stuff back it’ll be as if you never existed.
Even just sitting here thinking about it now has me on the verge of tears and wanting to message you “hi” just to see if you’d respond. Sound stupid? Maybe. Can still hear the sound of your voice in my head, maybe reassuring me that its not stupid.
Wonder what you would do if we saw each other in passing. Would you pretend to not see me? Would you meet my eyes and just keep walking? Would you smile back if I smiled at you?
I’ve been at work at Gamestop so many times wondering what it would be like if you walked into the store while I was there. Wondering how it’d make me feel. How you would feel to see me there.
I do a lot of wondering. Especially right now. Being alone at night and up at weird hours with a baby leaves me entirely too much time for my mind to wander. Usually to darker parts of my mind I prefer to forget exist.
I was doing good for a long time, you know. I got a tattoo that covers the scars on my one shoulder. I still think about it, though. The urges are still there, especially recently.
I’ve thought about going back on medication. Doctor offered it to me at my two week post-partum appointment because I was showing moderate symptoms of post-partum depression. Couple weeks later during my therapy appointment I was worse and was ranking as severe in both depression and anxiety.
I’ve had more breakdowns in the last month than I have in over a year. The loss of progress itself is depressing.
Maybe that’s part of why I’m writing this letter. Maybe it’s part of why I ran away from you. You reminded me too much of a darker time in my life, despite the fact you were one of the reasons I even got through that time at all.
I just had to stop writing for a minute because my baby spit her pacifier out in her sleep and was fussing. She’ll probably wake up hungry soon.
It’s been over an hour since I started writing. I’m really tired, but it feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface of what I want to tell you. So much more I feel like I want to say knowing this may actually be the last time I have the chance.
So at the time of writing this part its like 11:30 in the morning. I’ve slept. Still tired. Not gonna read through what I already wrote for the sake of keeping it honest.
Can say right now I’m having one of those, “am I really doing this” moments.
Day two of writing this letter. It’s a little after 5 am once again. Saw several posts yesterday about people changing. I often think about how different of a person I am now than when we first met, and even how different I am from when things between us ended. I wonder how different you are now.
Would we even still get along, if somehow things between us were erased and we happened to meet for the first time again?
Weird question maybe. It’s something I’ve wondered before with others I’ve lost contact with or cut out over the years for one reason or another. A couple of times the answer has been yes. Or at least a “sort of” yes. Some people I wasn’t ever close to before I’ve grown extremely close to later on. Others I was close with and now, while we aren’t strangers, we definitely don’t have near as close a friendship as we once did. Some of those lost connections I find myself mourning at times. Others I have sense enough to appreciate the distance.
As of right now I still flip flop a bit on how I feel about you. I miss the friendship we shared, but I question whether I’d actually want it back, if ever given the opportunity.
Acknowledging that I could miss something down to the deepest core of my soul… and yet not necessarily want what I’m missing back… It’s been an extremely hard thing to finally come to terms with.
I once read a post about how people you knew in the past that you no longer see or speak to walk around with a certain version of you in their head forever. Always thought it an interesting idea and wondered what version of me people from before had in their minds and what they’d think of the me now compared to that one.
Another post I see on and off over the years is about people being close and then drifting apart… and just going through life knowing bits and pieces of each other. Knowing a former friends secrets that you still haven’t ever told anyone, or how someone you once knew preferred their eggs cooked.
It’s always been a hard concept for me to believe that I in any way lived on in anyone’s mind.
I read about “emotional impermanence.” Sort of like the idea of object permanence. Where just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it suddenly stopped existing. Emotional impermanence referring to the idea that if someone isn’t actively stating or showing that they like/love me or enjoy company then they must automatically revert to hating me. Or at the very least feeling nothing at all about me.
Sometimes I’m not sure which of those options scares me more.
Hate means there’s at least some value placed on my existence. “Where there is hate, there was once love” is a saying I heard a very long time ago. Hating me at least means I still have some impact on people. That even if I were gone someone would think of me in some way and give some sense of confirmation that I existed.
Been a few days since I’ve written on this at all. It’s almost midnight right now.
Correction… it is now just after midnight cause my baby keeps fussing.
Not even sure why I’m on here right now. Had a really bad day and just in a depressed and venty kinda mood. Probably not the best headspace to be in while writing this, but hey…
I was thinking the other night about something that created a pretty big rift between us. I know I tried talking to you about it many times while we were still together. How you could never seem to properly have sex with me. You used to always tell me it wasn’t my fault. Never got much more of an answer beyond that aside from at the very end when you said something about a porn addiction. Which honestly just made it worse. It just reinforced an idea that had been put in my head long before you came along that I failed at being sexually pleasurable.
The whole thought process wasn’t entirely your fault, of course. Someone years ago put the thought there first, and it had plenty of time to fest and plenty of other experiences to make me believe it more and more over the years. It’s something I struggle really bad with even now. No matter how hard I try, I still can’t shake the subconscious level thinking that I absolutely need to be sexually desired by whoever I’m with at any given time. And if I’m not then my worth just goes completely out the window.
That being said, I also to this day haven’t ever fully forgiven you for blabbing about our sex life to other people. Especially parts of it that were really personal even beyond just being about sex in general. Or the time (times?) I would wake up to you touching me. That both made me feel violated and really shitty because it was like you had no trouble getting aroused when I wasn’t actively involved, but as soon as I even just touched you suddenly it was gone.
I’m currently typing this on a laptop and I just accidentally erased a chunk of text and now I’m even more depressed and frustrated. I really want to just sleep right now. I won’t bother getting into all the reasons I can’t. I’ll just leave this here for now, though. I’m too upset to even bother venting anymore.
Been a bit since I wrote on this. Debated deleting it yesterday. Then I had a dream last night that you died. The feeling of my heart dropping out of my chest felt way too real. It reignited an old fear I used to have about a long distance friend. That he’d die somehow and I’d never know. He’d just stop replying one day and I’d never know what happened to him.
I guess now I have that fear with you. Except we don’t even talk. So I’ll just never know unless someone else decides to tell me.
I wonder if you’d be sad if you found out that I died.
I had another dream about you.
It wasn’t anything crazy.
I saw something I thought you’d like and sent you a picture of it with no context.
You replied as if it were nothing, commenting on whatever it was I had sent.
Left me wondering what you would actually do if that happened.
Full disclosure, I’m currently writing this at 4 am. I suppose if you’re reading this it’s some time in the future when I finally finished getting everything out and decided to actually send it. At the time of writing, it’s mainly me just… needing to scream into the void so to say. So I apologize in advance for how rambly this is going to be. Literally just writing as things come to me.
That being said, I really hardly know what to say, or whether I should say anything at all. So much happened between us. A lot of which we never properly talked about, especially at the end.
I can’t say I necessarily regret that things ended. That would mean saying I regret what I have now. My child means absolutely everything to me and I would never wish her to not exist, regardless what I gave up along the way. I do regret HOW they ended. It’s been over a year since we last spoke as I’m beginning to write this and it still hurts.
There’s a lot of questions I often find myself wishing I could ask.
Does it still hurt you?
Are you like me and have tried to move on, but still feel an ache in your heart some nights when your mind wanders back to us?
Do you prefer to just not think about it at all?
Do you still talk about me? Reminiscing about some fun time we had, or maybe a quiet deep moment we shared?
One of my most vivid memories of you is the first time you held me. Laying on the futon, just goofing off. You saw cuts on my leg and you just rolled over and hugged me from behind. You told me, “you scare the shit out of me.” I don’t know if I’ve ever told you the feelings that came over me that night.
For damn near as long as I could remember I’d felt hollow and empty. Like the shadow of a person. Broken pieces that had been taped together to somewhat resemble a functional human being.
That one hug felt like it both broke me entirely and pulled my pieces back together all at the same time. It was one of only two times in my entire life that I felt really and truly wanted, cared about, seen.
It hurt.
I wanted so badly to just melt into the kind of love you seemed to be offering.
I wanted so badly to also run away and hide from the hurt and pain I was terrified would come along with that type of love.
Guess I did a bit of both?
I remember telling you about how friends I’d had for years turned their backs on me. You said you’d never do that. And you truly never did, even when I turned my back on you multiple times. I’m going to try and avoid sounding guilt trippy in this… we both know what I did and saying I’m sorry over and over again won’t change or fix anything. Lord knows it doesn’t make any pain I caused go away.
There are times I wonder how things might have been different if I’d talked to you more openly. If we would have worked things out, or if we were just meant to eventually drift away from each other. I tell myself often that we just were at different points in life. A big part of me thinks that’s true, but maybe instead of basically being strangers we could have still been a part of each other’s lives in smaller ways if I’d just talked to you.
I did always mean it when I said you were one of my best friends.
At times I think I miss that the most. Not and of the romantic aspects, but everything else.
The way you made me smile and laugh.
How big, warm, and comfortable your hugs always were.
Hell, even the way you used to purposefully get me riled up over something stupid just to hear me rant.
When you’d smile and wiggle your eyebrows. You have probably the sweetest smile on anyone I’ve ever known. I miss seeing it.
Sometimes it’s seemingly stupid shit that’ll make me think of you.
I was listening to Fruits Basket opening/ending songs in the car today and remembered watching with you. Anytime a Sasuke thing comes into Gamestop I still will think, “Oh I should send him a picture of this.” Going up to Shreveport reminds me of the time you went with me to see my psychologist and the waiter at Olive Garden gave us butter.
Sometimes a new game or show will come out and I still get the urge to message you to ramble about it.
I still have your number in my phone. I’ll randomly check Facebook sometimes to see if you unfriended or blocked me.
I’ve never been good at letting go of things. Especially anything that ever gives any kind of pleasure or happiness. Fuck, even when that happiness comes along with pain. Probably why I’ve always clung so tightly to people and things that were bad for me in the end.
Something I’m still working on. And apparently failing.
At one point a few months ago I deleted all the pictures I had of you off of my phone. A part of me regrets it. Probably the part that I literally just said doesn’t like letting go of the past. I guess part of me writing this whole letter is is somewhere in me hoping that somehow it’ll bring some sort of closure.
I don’t ever talk about you. That’s part of what hurts. All these memories of someone who meant the world to me, and I can’t even talk about you. Not about how I still miss you, or about some funny or stupid thing that just happens to remind me of you. At times I feel like I just need to get drunk and just vent/gush about you to someone for a few hours. Get it all out and maybe finally I could actually begin to properly move on emotionally.
Until then, I guess I’ll just keep coming back to this letter anytime I need to say anything. Wonder how long this will end up being. Wonder if you’re going to read it at all.
I’m not sure I would.
I’d probably see it and want to just delete it. Bury down whatever feelings I knew it would cause to creep up that I’d rather not have to face and deal with.
I’d want to delete it, but it would more likely just sit in my inbox, unread. I’d go back and stare at it sometimes, not opening it, but just seeing that it was there.
For me, at least, it would answer the question of “do you still think of me.” For a while that’d probably be enough for me. I’d just cling to that thought, not really wanting to face whatever else was inside.
I’ve never been good at accepting the idea of people I love no longer loving me. It’s something I’ve always preferred to just assume, because confirmation and me fully acknowledging it gave it a sense of permanence that felt like the end of the world.
Probably why I did a lot of what I did with you. Especially at the end. Instead of just telling you how I was feeling I just… stopped.
In some ways it was a way to defend myself. Others a way to protect you from me.
Knowing my own feelings for you and how I am when it comes to those sorts of strong feelings, I knew if I allowed you to remain in my life at all during that time I would never be able to let go.
Granted, I guess me writing this is me still not letting go… but I think I would have destroyed myself trying to hold onto something that was no longer there. I don’t know how long you’d have stayed for it, but the idea of dragging you even further down with me sealed the idea in my head that it was better for both of us if I just walked away.
Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. That was my reasoning at the time. I still feel like it holds water, to some degree. I mean look at me. It’s now 5 am and I’m sat here still writing this letter to you. Not sure where I’m even going with it. I just need to get it all out before I lose my mind, whether you ever end up seeing any of this or not.
I still have some of your stuff. Stuff I got you that you never took home. Stuff you brought over and forgot. I’ve debated asking Ariel to give it to you multiple times. Me clinging to the last remnants of you I guess. Without even pictures anymore it almost feels like if I give that stuff back it’ll be as if you never existed.
Even just sitting here thinking about it now has me on the verge of tears and wanting to message you “hi” just to see if you’d respond. Sound stupid? Maybe. Can still hear the sound of your voice in my head, maybe reassuring me that its not stupid.
Wonder what you would do if we saw each other in passing. Would you pretend to not see me? Would you meet my eyes and just keep walking? Would you smile back if I smiled at you?
I’ve been at work at Gamestop so many times wondering what it would be like if you walked into the store while I was there. Wondering how it’d make me feel. How you would feel to see me there.
I do a lot of wondering. Especially right now. Being alone at night and up at weird hours with a baby leaves me entirely too much time for my mind to wander. Usually to darker parts of my mind I prefer to forget exist.
I was doing good for a long time, you know. I got a tattoo that covers the scars on my one shoulder. I still think about it, though. The urges are still there, especially recently.
I’ve thought about going back on medication. Doctor offered it to me at my two week post-partum appointment because I was showing moderate symptoms of post-partum depression. Couple weeks later during my therapy appointment I was worse and was ranking as severe in both depression and anxiety.
I’ve had more breakdowns in the last month than I have in over a year. The loss of progress itself is depressing.
Maybe that’s part of why I’m writing this letter. Maybe it’s part of why I ran away from you. You reminded me too much of a darker time in my life, despite the fact you were one of the reasons I even got through that time at all.
I just had to stop writing for a minute because my baby spit her pacifier out in her sleep and was fussing. She’ll probably wake up hungry soon.
It’s been over an hour since I started writing. I’m really tired, but it feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface of what I want to tell you. So much more I feel like I want to say knowing this may actually be the last time I have the chance.
So at the time of writing this part its like 11:30 in the morning. I’ve slept. Still tired. Not gonna read through what I already wrote for the sake of keeping it honest.
Can say right now I’m having one of those, “am I really doing this” moments.
Day two of writing this letter. It’s a little after 5 am once again. Saw several posts yesterday about people changing. I often think about how different of a person I am now than when we first met, and even how different I am from when things between us ended. I wonder how different you are now.
Would we even still get along, if somehow things between us were erased and we happened to meet for the first time again?
Weird question maybe. It’s something I’ve wondered before with others I’ve lost contact with or cut out over the years for one reason or another. A couple of times the answer has been yes. Or at least a “sort of” yes. Some people I wasn’t ever close to before I’ve grown extremely close to later on. Others I was close with and now, while we aren’t strangers, we definitely don’t have near as close a friendship as we once did. Some of those lost connections I find myself mourning at times. Others I have sense enough to appreciate the distance.
As of right now I still flip flop a bit on how I feel about you. I miss the friendship we shared, but I question whether I’d actually want it back, if ever given the opportunity.
Acknowledging that I could miss something down to the deepest core of my soul… and yet not necessarily want what I’m missing back… It’s been an extremely hard thing to finally come to terms with.
I once read a post about how people you knew in the past that you no longer see or speak to walk around with a certain version of you in their head forever. Always thought it an interesting idea and wondered what version of me people from before had in their minds and what they’d think of the me now compared to that one.
Another post I see on and off over the years is about people being close and then drifting apart… and just going through life knowing bits and pieces of each other. Knowing a former friends secrets that you still haven’t ever told anyone, or how someone you once knew preferred their eggs cooked.
It’s always been a hard concept for me to believe that I in any way lived on in anyone’s mind.
I read about “emotional impermanence.” Sort of like the idea of object permanence. Where just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it suddenly stopped existing. Emotional impermanence referring to the idea that if someone isn’t actively stating or showing that they like/love me or enjoy company then they must automatically revert to hating me. Or at the very least feeling nothing at all about me.
Sometimes I’m not sure which of those options scares me more.
Hate means there’s at least some value placed on my existence. “Where there is hate, there was once love” is a saying I heard a very long time ago. Hating me at least means I still have some impact on people. That even if I were gone someone would think of me in some way and give some sense of confirmation that I existed.
Been a few days since I’ve written on this at all. It’s almost midnight right now.
Correction… it is now just after midnight cause my baby keeps fussing.
Not even sure why I’m on here right now. Had a really bad day and just in a depressed and venty kinda mood. Probably not the best headspace to be in while writing this, but hey…
I was thinking the other night about something that created a pretty big rift between us. I know I tried talking to you about it many times while we were still together. How you could never seem to properly have sex with me. You used to always tell me it wasn’t my fault. Never got much more of an answer beyond that aside from at the very end when you said something about a porn addiction. Which honestly just made it worse. It just reinforced an idea that had been put in my head long before you came along that I failed at being sexually pleasurable.
The whole thought process wasn’t entirely your fault, of course. Someone years ago put the thought there first, and it had plenty of time to fest and plenty of other experiences to make me believe it more and more over the years. It’s something I struggle really bad with even now. No matter how hard I try, I still can’t shake the subconscious level thinking that I absolutely need to be sexually desired by whoever I’m with at any given time. And if I’m not then my worth just goes completely out the window.
That being said, I also to this day haven’t ever fully forgiven you for blabbing about our sex life to other people. Especially parts of it that were really personal even beyond just being about sex in general. Or the time (times?) I would wake up to you touching me. That both made me feel violated and really shitty because it was like you had no trouble getting aroused when I wasn’t actively involved, but as soon as I even just touched you suddenly it was gone.
I’m currently typing this on a laptop and I just accidentally erased a chunk of text and now I’m even more depressed and frustrated. I really want to just sleep right now. I won’t bother getting into all the reasons I can’t. I’ll just leave this here for now, though. I’m too upset to even bother venting anymore.
Been a bit since I wrote on this. Debated deleting it yesterday. Then I had a dream last night that you died. The feeling of my heart dropping out of my chest felt way too real. It reignited an old fear I used to have about a long distance friend. That he’d die somehow and I’d never know. He’d just stop replying one day and I’d never know what happened to him.
I guess now I have that fear with you. Except we don’t even talk. So I’ll just never know unless someone else decides to tell me.
I wonder if you’d be sad if you found out that I died.
Full disclosure, I’m currently writing this at 4 am. I suppose if you’re reading this it’s some time in the future when I finally finished getting everything out and decided to actually send it. At the time of writing, it’s mainly me just… needing to scream into the void so to say. So I apologize in advance for how rambly this is going to be. Literally just writing as things come to me.
That being said, I really hardly know what to say, or whether I should say anything at all. So much happened between us. A lot of which we never properly talked about, especially at the end.
I can’t say I necessarily regret that things ended. That would mean saying I regret what I have now. My child means absolutely everything to me and I would never wish her to not exist, regardless what I gave up along the way. I do regret HOW they ended. It’s been over a year since we last spoke as I’m beginning to write this and it still hurts.
There’s a lot of questions I often find myself wishing I could ask.
Does it still hurt you?
Are you like me and have tried to move on, but still feel an ache in your heart some nights when your mind wanders back to us?
Do you prefer to just not think about it at all?
Do you still talk about me? Reminiscing about some fun time we had, or maybe a quiet deep moment we shared?
One of my most vivid memories of you is the first time you held me. Laying on the futon, just goofing off. You saw cuts on my leg and you just rolled over and hugged me from behind. You told me, “you scare the shit out of me.” I don’t know if I’ve ever told you the feelings that came over me that night.
For damn near as long as I could remember I’d felt hollow and empty. Like the shadow of a person. Broken pieces that had been taped together to somewhat resemble a functional human being.
That one hug felt like it both broke me entirely and pulled my pieces back together all at the same time. It was one of only two times in my entire life that I felt really and truly wanted, cared about, seen.
It hurt.
I wanted so badly to just melt into the kind of love you seemed to be offering.
I wanted so badly to also run away and hide from the hurt and pain I was terrified would come along with that type of love.
Guess I did a bit of both?
I remember telling you about how friends I’d had for years turned their backs on me. You said you’d never do that. And you truly never did, even when I turned my back on you multiple times. I’m going to try and avoid sounding guilt trippy in this… we both know what I did and saying I’m sorry over and over again won’t change or fix anything. Lord knows it doesn’t make any pain I caused go away.
There are times I wonder how things might have been different if I’d talked to you more openly. If we would have worked things out, or if we were just meant to eventually drift away from each other. I tell myself often that we just were at different points in life. A big part of me thinks that’s true, but maybe instead of basically being strangers we could have still been a part of each other’s lives in smaller ways if I’d just talked to you.
I did always mean it when I said you were one of my best friends.
At times I think I miss that the most. Not and of the romantic aspects, but everything else.
The way you made me smile and laugh.
How big, warm, and comfortable your hugs always were.
Hell, even the way you used to purposefully get me riled up over something stupid just to hear me rant.
When you’d smile and wiggle your eyebrows. You have probably the sweetest smile on anyone I’ve ever known. I miss seeing it.
Sometimes it’s seemingly stupid shit that’ll make me think of you.
I was listening to Fruits Basket opening/ending songs in the car today and remembered watching with you. Anytime a Sasuke thing comes into Gamestop I still will think, “Oh I should send him a picture of this.” Going up to Shreveport reminds me of the time you went with me to see my psychologist and the waiter at Olive Garden gave us butter.
Sometimes a new game or show will come out and I still get the urge to message you to ramble about it.
I still have your number in my phone. I’ll randomly check Facebook sometimes to see if you unfriended or blocked me.
I’ve never been good at letting go of things. Especially anything that ever gives any kind of pleasure or happiness. Fuck, even when that happiness comes along with pain. Probably why I’ve always clung so tightly to people and things that were bad for me in the end.
Something I’m still working on. And apparently failing.
At one point a few months ago I deleted all the pictures I had of you off of my phone. A part of me regrets it. Probably the part that I literally just said doesn’t like letting go of the past. I guess part of me writing this whole letter is is somewhere in me hoping that somehow it’ll bring some sort of closure.
I don’t ever talk about you. That’s part of what hurts. All these memories of someone who meant the world to me, and I can’t even talk about you. Not about how I still miss you, or about some funny or stupid thing that just happens to remind me of you. At times I feel like I just need to get drunk and just vent/gush about you to someone for a few hours. Get it all out and maybe finally I could actually begin to properly move on emotionally.
Until then, I guess I’ll just keep coming back to this letter anytime I need to say anything. Wonder how long this will end up being. Wonder if you’re going to read it at all.
I’m not sure I would.
I’d probably see it and want to just delete it. Bury down whatever feelings I knew it would cause to creep up that I’d rather not have to face and deal with.
I’d want to delete it, but it would more likely just sit in my inbox, unread. I’d go back and stare at it sometimes, not opening it, but just seeing that it was there.
For me, at least, it would answer the question of “do you still think of me.” For a while that’d probably be enough for me. I’d just cling to that thought, not really wanting to face whatever else was inside.
I’ve never been good at accepting the idea of people I love no longer loving me. It’s something I’ve always preferred to just assume, because confirmation and me fully acknowledging it gave it a sense of permanence that felt like the end of the world.
Probably why I did a lot of what I did with you. Especially at the end. Instead of just telling you how I was feeling I just… stopped.
In some ways it was a way to defend myself. Others a way to protect you from me.
Knowing my own feelings for you and how I am when it comes to those sorts of strong feelings, I knew if I allowed you to remain in my life at all during that time I would never be able to let go.
Granted, I guess me writing this is me still not letting go… but I think I would have destroyed myself trying to hold onto something that was no longer there. I don’t know how long you’d have stayed for it, but the idea of dragging you even further down with me sealed the idea in my head that it was better for both of us if I just walked away.
Whether that’s true or not, I don’t know. That was my reasoning at the time. I still feel like it holds water, to some degree. I mean look at me. It’s now 5 am and I’m sat here still writing this letter to you. Not sure where I’m even going with it. I just need to get it all out before I lose my mind, whether you ever end up seeing any of this or not.
I still have some of your stuff. Stuff I got you that you never took home. Stuff you brought over and forgot. I’ve debated asking Ariel to give it to you multiple times. Me clinging to the last remnants of you I guess. Without even pictures anymore it almost feels like if I give that stuff back it’ll be as if you never existed.
Even just sitting here thinking about it now has me on the verge of tears and wanting to message you “hi” just to see if you’d respond. Sound stupid? Maybe. Can still hear the sound of your voice in my head, maybe reassuring me that its not stupid.
Wonder what you would do if we saw each other in passing. Would you pretend to not see me? Would you meet my eyes and just keep walking? Would you smile back if I smiled at you?
I’ve been at work at Gamestop so many times wondering what it would be like if you walked into the store while I was there. Wondering how it’d make me feel. How you would feel to see me there.
I do a lot of wondering. Especially right now. Being alone at night and up at weird hours with a baby leaves me entirely too much time for my mind to wander. Usually to darker parts of my mind I prefer to forget exist.
I was doing good for a long time, you know. I got a tattoo that covers the scars on my one shoulder. I still think about it, though. The urges are still there, especially recently.
I’ve thought about going back on medication. Doctor offered it to me at my two week post-partum appointment because I was showing moderate symptoms of post-partum depression. Couple weeks later during my therapy appointment I was worse and was ranking as severe in both depression and anxiety.
I’ve had more breakdowns in the last month than I have in over a year. The loss of progress itself is depressing.
Maybe that’s part of why I’m writing this letter. Maybe it’s part of why I ran away from you. You reminded me too much of a darker time in my life, despite the fact you were one of the reasons I even got through that time at all.
I just had to stop writing for a minute because my baby spit her pacifier out in her sleep and was fussing. She’ll probably wake up hungry soon.
It’s been over an hour since I started writing. I’m really tired, but it feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface of what I want to tell you. So much more I feel like I want to say knowing this may actually be the last time I have the chance.
So at the time of writing this part its like 11:30 in the morning. I’ve slept. Still tired. Not gonna read through what I already wrote for the sake of keeping it honest.
Can say right now I’m having one of those, “am I really doing this” moments.
Day two of writing this letter. It’s a little after 5 am once again. Saw several posts yesterday about people changing. I often think about how different of a person I am now than when we first met, and even how different I am from when things between us ended. I wonder how different you are now.
Would we even still get along, if somehow things between us were erased and we happened to meet for the first time again?
Weird question maybe. It’s something I’ve wondered before with others I’ve lost contact with or cut out over the years for one reason or another. A couple of times the answer has been yes. Or at least a “sort of” yes. Some people I wasn’t ever close to before I’ve grown extremely close to later on. Others I was close with and now, while we aren’t strangers, we definitely don’t have near as close a friendship as we once did. Some of those lost connections I find myself mourning at times. Others I have sense enough to appreciate the distance.
As of right now I still flip flop a bit on how I feel about you. I miss the friendship we shared, but I question whether I’d actually want it back, if ever given the opportunity.
Acknowledging that I could miss something down to the deepest core of my soul… and yet not necessarily want what I’m missing back… It’s been an extremely hard thing to finally come to terms with.
I once read a post about how people you knew in the past that you no longer see or speak to walk around with a certain version of you in their head forever. Always thought it an interesting idea and wondered what version of me people from before had in their minds and what they’d think of the me now compared to that one.
Another post I see on and off over the years is about people being close and then drifting apart… and just going through life knowing bits and pieces of each other. Knowing a former friends secrets that you still haven’t ever told anyone, or how someone you once knew preferred their eggs cooked.
It’s always been a hard concept for me to believe that I in any way lived on in anyone’s mind.
I read about “emotional impermanence.” Sort of like the idea of object permanence. Where just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it suddenly stopped existing. Emotional impermanence referring to the idea that if someone isn’t actively stating or showing that they like/love me or enjoy company then they must automatically revert to hating me. Or at the very least feeling nothing at all about me.
Sometimes I’m not sure which of those options scares me more.
Hate means there’s at least some value placed on my existence. “Where there is hate, there was once love” is a saying I heard a very long time ago. Hating me at least means I still have some impact on people. That even if I were gone someone would think of me in some way and give some sense of confirmation that I existed.
Been a few days since I’ve written on this at all. It’s almost midnight right now.
Correction… it is now just after midnight cause my baby keeps fussing.
Not even sure why I’m on here right now. Had a really bad day and just in a depressed and venty kinda mood. Probably not the best headspace to be in while writing this, but hey…
I was thinking the other night about something that created a pretty big rift between us. I know I tried talking to you about it many times while we were still together. How you could never seem to properly have sex with me. You used to always tell me it wasn’t my fault. Never got much more of an answer beyond that aside from at the very end when you said something about a porn addiction. Which honestly just made it worse. It just reinforced an idea that had been put in my head long before you came along that I failed at being sexually pleasurable.
The whole thought process wasn’t entirely your fault, of course. Someone years ago put the thought there first, and it had plenty of time to fest and plenty of other experiences to make me believe it more and more over the years. It’s something I struggle really bad with even now. No matter how hard I try, I still can’t shake the subconscious level thinking that I absolutely need to be sexually desired by whoever I’m with at any given time. And if I’m not then my worth just goes completely out the window.
That being said, I also to this day haven’t ever fully forgiven you for blabbing about our sex life to other people. Especially parts of it that were really personal even beyond just being about sex in general. Or the time (times?) I would wake up to you touching me. That both made me feel violated and really shitty because it was like you had no trouble getting aroused when I wasn’t actively involved, but as soon as I even just touched you suddenly it was gone.
I’m currently typing this on a laptop and I just accidentally erased a chunk of text and now I’m even more depressed and frustrated. I really want to just sleep right now. I won’t bother getting into all the reasons I can’t. I’ll just leave this here for now, though. I’m too upset to even bother venting anymore.
Seriously if you need fanfiction to teach you what healthy and normal relationships are like, you don’t need fanfiction you need resources geared towards teaching you what healthy and non-abusive relationships are like.
Please go to scarleteen. Please watch MamaDoctorJones’ episode about consent. Please go to people who are actively, explicitly, and specifically trying to teach you about healthy relationships and consent, and crucially, people who have the qualifications to teach you these topics. A fanfic writer might be: secretly a thirteen year old, someone who’s just gotten out of or is still in an abusive relationship and has internalized hurtful messages about relationships because of their abuse, someone who’s bad at writing, someone from an abstinence-only sex education background, someone who has no relationship experience, someone who has different boundaries around sex than their reader, or someone who assumes their readers are all adults who understand what abuse is and the fact that it’s bad and you shouldn’t do it in real life. None of these hypothetical writers deserve to be banned from writing. None of these hypothetical writers deserve to receive abuse for what they’ve written. None of these hypothetical writers should be taken as educational resources about important topics like consent, sexuality, sexual health, or sex education.
There ARE resources out there that are created with the express aim of teaching people, especially young people, what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like. For the most part, though, random fanfiction writers aren’t those people, and that’s okay! They shouldn’t have to be. Fanfiction is entertainment, and it doesn’t have to beat the reader over the head with a moralistic message. Fanfiction writers assume, and should be able to assume, that their readers understand the purpose of fiction and aren’t using fiction as a replacement for actual educational material about sexual health and domestic violence.
In fact, it’s actually fucked up and mega super dangerous to actual real people, particularly children, to act like fanfiction is a replacement for education about domestic violence and sexual abuse. Real sexual health and domestic violence support groups and organizations spend lots of time and money trying to get the public educated about consent and healthy relationships, and we should listen to those people instead of acting like consent is a topic that should or can be learned from osmosis through reading fanfiction or watching media.
Especially considering, you know, how much our culture plays fast and loose with the concept of consent, blames victims of abuse, and generally portrays myths around sex, abuse, and relationships.
Normalize regularly reading and rereading nonfiction guides to healthy relationships. Normalize regularly practicing nonsexual consent, checking in with people if they seem uncomfortable or before starting a conversation about heavy topics, taking “no” for an answer, respecting boundaries (yours and other peoples’) without demanding in-depth explanations of why they exist, making others feel safe setting boundaries around you, etc. Normalize reading multiple sources, examining sources, and asking yourself “Who wrote this? Why did they write it? What credibility do they have? Should I listen to them?” instead of just taking absolutely everything you read at face value.
Fanfiction can’t and shouldn’t be used as an exclusive resource to teach you the things the above sites can teach you.
It would be cool if people realized that and stopped expecting random fanfic writers to start every fictional work they write with the express purpose of teaching their audience how sex and relationships are supposed to work. Instead of abusing fanfic writers who explore taboo topics, read and share resources that can actually help people learn about consent and healthy relationships. Because as someone who used to exclusively read fluff, a lot of fluffy fic writers don’t know SHIT about consent and teaching kids and teens that they should look to random strangers as examples of healthy relationships is fucked up.
Omg somebody f***ing put it into words!!
Thank you!! Fanfiction is not a substitute for relationship, abuse, sex and consent education!!
There are actual professional people who are trained to teach this sh*t. Don’t rely on fiction!!
