mental health

Interlude

Before I begin the post I have a question. On my Instagram account, bots are able to like, follow, and comment. On WordPress, all the bots have done is like a few posts. Are these bots not able to follow or comment? I feel like it would make the fantasy complete.

Now onto business. Today is not so much a story as an explanation. Please excuse this short break.

I should clarify something before I go further with blogging. Early on, I used Boy Meets World to label my relationships. I never had time to go into details needed to assign them to their ultimate roles.

I have called my Bestie from the 3rd grade “My Shawn” to covey we became as close of friends as Shawn and Corey. At the time of those stories, that was accurate.

After decades together, I know she is actually my Eric. She is my biggest constant, my responsible big sister. When I do something particularly stupid, she is going to help me fix it. She may lecture me the whole time, but she won’t abandon me.

** I hope you all understand the magnitude of that statement. What it takes for me to trust I won’t be abandoned. She is the only one. If my parents, Hubby, nephew, or any others abandoned me, I would not be surprised in the least. **

Only family can move hundreds of miles away and still be soulmagjnas. We had to make our own word for how much our souls belong together. She still lives in another state, but not a day goes by we don’t talk. My end-of-life plan has always been to widow with her in her rich person house. I really hope it’s her plan too. I mean I’m pretty sure it is. She may have some depression and anxiety but she makes Life her bitch and I envy that.

In 8th grade, I met my real Shawn. She plays the part more accurately. I am to her, what Bestie is to me.

My Shawn makes Real Shawn seem like a Boy Scout. I sincerely look forward to writing an entire “Crazy Shawn” series. I’ll need to make sure it isn’t spelled Sean. It bothers me, there is no reason those words should make the same sound.

If Eric is the angel on my shoulder, Shawn is Satan. She’s fantastic, the decisions she makes when faced with dilemmas are beautifully tragic. She is an artist and should be designing a mascot for me right now, but I don’t have the heart to tell her I know she won’t get around to it. She really does mean well. It’s the thought that counts.

I feel like she deserves an introduction to my imaginary friends. She is family after all, you’re going have to get along sooner or later. Anyone who can go into the Dark Place for years at a time, and come back like we spoke yesterday is always welcome here.

The reason I have not written any stories about her is because I was too lazy to explain this whole dynamic. And not knowing what to name her or how to convey the sentiment these two friends are different from the rest. They don’t actually register as “people” to me, they are extensions of myself and therefor not-a-threat.

When I say “one of my friends” in a random story, it means “This is a person with whom I was acquainted for a period of time.”

When I mention one of the “not-a-people” it means they can come into my safe space or touch something I own without me having a panic attack. If they hug me, I don’t go into convulsions from being touched.

In the grand scheme of my life so far, I only had four permanent friends I kept from childhood. Two of those four are now dead. I may never be able to talk about either, but one day, I would like to try. They deserve to be remembered beyond a memorialized Facebook page.

I know this is a lame post, but I have to get this house cleaned. Now that I have gotten all this out of my head, maybe I can listen to my podcasts and be productive today. Wish me luck guys!

Truth.

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