The life story of a snow leopard - Part 5
So, here is the final installment of my life story series of posts. Knowing me, I'll want to come back and edit things. That might be time consuming considering how many parts I've had to break it in to.
This was January of 2020 when the chance fell through the cracks. We all know how 2020 went. Things never really improved for me when it came to the job search. With the cloud of the pandemic falling over the world, everything crawled to a standstill. The newspaper didn’t allow us to work from home for long, not providing us the tools but expecting us to have them ourselves. So we used our own computers and internet, or whatever else we needed to scrounge. It was difficult to coordinate the work we did remotely. So after a week, we were back in the office with new rules and restrictions. Everyone probably knows what that was like.
The woman in charge of our department was unpredictable, both when it came to mood and what work she’d cover or help with for the day. She had other projects and responsibilities. Meanwhile, others who worked in our department, at least tangentially, left. Our sports designer left. The company didn’t see a point in replacing him with any urgency. So the sports editor and reporter were forced to take over his duties. Then we finally got a new copy editor/page designer to cover the person’s work who’d left in January. He couldn’t handle the pressure, and management style of our supervisor, so he flamed out and didn’t come back to work one day. Evidently, it was not a pretty phone call. Then, the company never replaced him. We were left more and more short-handed. Come September, the woman who was acting as supervisor or of our department put in her resignation, citing workload and lack of future viability. Her last day was actually my birthday, so that made for a good gift. It was really a pretty lousy day.
I’d had to take over sports design at some point in 2020, to help alleviate the work from the sports department. This meant so much more work for the new person in charge of our department that I’m not sure how she managed. Yet I was still expected to handle myriad tasks that she was not. Since she had to do most of the news design, I was given the task of web content management and all the other end-of-night duties. I often stayed for hours after everyone else had left. The lady who’d taken over the department had been hired to replace the one who’d left in June of 2019. Well, that’s not quite accurate. When the woman who’d hired me left, the other woman I’ve mentioned who was none too nice took her position. When she left on my birthday of 2020, the woman who’d taken the lower-tier job in our department to replace the unkind lady stepped up to take the supervisory role. Her duties were overwhelming though with everything as it happened. I’m not sure many people could have handled the amount of work expected of her. We were still expected to keep our hours down though.
That takes me to the pandemic restrictions on hours. We had our hours reduced to 30 hr per week for months. Eventually, due to a newly formed union that covered hourly employees in the news department, some of us were increased to 35 hours. This didn’t include the managers though. So the woman with the insane workload still had to adhere to a 30-hour workweek. This wasn’t logical or practical, but that’s corporate for you. It just meant that with 35 hours I was expected to take on even more work.
The union or news guild would end up pushing back against the corporation again and again over the next year or so as HR and higher management had no idea how to handle basic things dealing with employees, let alone unions. It broke some laws and was forced to backpedal more than once. Eventually, for cutting our hours without discussion or warning, let alone agreement by the bargaining group, the company had to reimburse us some of the lost income we’d have otherwise received had we been working 40-hour weeks. It wasn’t enough to make up for our losses, but it helped pay for my wisdom tooth extraction.
That came in November, right over the Thanksgiving week. I got a ride from a coworker to the clinic for the surgery. He gave me a ride there and home afterward, picking up and delivering my prescriptions. That was the last I saw of him. No one inquired how I was, not even the clinic, which is usually common practice after you’ve had oral surgery. Considering I’d had anesthesia, it’s even more common just to be sure there haven’t been any issues following the procedure.
That was a painful time, more so than I thought it would be. I couldn’t eat even the simplest of things for days. I ended up relying on chicken broth as it was all I could swallow. I couldn’t even manage noodles in canned chicken noodle soup. So Happy Thanksgiving. Perhaps this was a portent of the rest of the holiday season?
Work just never let up. Neither did the stress. Getting time off for the holidays was very difficult. I wasn’t going to get Christmas itself off. I didn’t want to make others with families work to cover for me either. I always felt bad that way. So I worked over Christmas Eve and Christmas day. This way I could at least get some time off after Christmas coming up on New Year’s.
I intended to go visit family in Texas, but my mother informed me that my stepfather had been pretty sick lately. He’d had a tooth infection earlier, back around when I had my wisdom teeth out. Then, he had the bad tooth extracted and was put on antibiotics to deal with the infection. This didn’t improve his condition though. On the contrary, he seemed to be getting worse.
By Christmas he was so sick my mother didn’t want me to visit. She said they’d not be able to do anything with me anyway because he couldn’t keep food down. He’d been losing weight and deteriorating. This was worrying, but so far just thought to be complications from the tooth infection and extraction.
I tried to get in touch with my sister, but she wasn’t communicating well. That wasn’t surprising, but was kind of disappointing just the same. I couldn’t coordinate visiting. It turned out she was planning on moving from our small hometown to Amarillo, the nearby city. Her new husband’s business was doing well, but they were selling the local buildings and relocating to a better place to use as their base of operations. At least, this is what I was told. I was never given much of an explanation. His business had an apartment where he’d lived before moving in with her in the house she’d bought with her previous husband.
She originally purchased the home she’d been renting from the friends of hers I mentioned. They applied all past rental payments as a lump down payment, then had similar mortgage payments to what the rental payments had been. So she got a good deal. When she sold that house, she was able to use that money toward the new one, which was actually brand new as it had just been built. Final work had been completed before they moved in.
This is the house she and her husband were now selling as they relocated. Since they had their son out of school and were planning to move, it didn’t seem like a wise idea to visit then. I tried to speak with her about it, but again, communication. Strangely, she called out of the blue in the morning of Christmas day as she was wrapping presents. It was in the early a.m. hours, and she kept me on the phone for a couple hours. It was random and unexpected, but also kind of nice to get to talk. She’s so bad about this that we hadn’t spoken on the phone in a year and a half. It allowed me to catch up on some of the details of her life, though I still was missing a lot of things. I never felt like she told me enough to make sense of everything.
I had to work, and she needed to sleep, so we hung up perhaps around 4 a.m. my time. That’s the last time I’ve heard from her, at least on the phone, and as I type this it’s currently November of 2021. She’ll text me occasionally, but I have to reach out first. It doesn’t always result in a response either.
A few days later, disappointed in how my plans to see family had fallen apart, I tried again to speak with my sister. We texted back and forth a bit, and she informed me she and her husband were sick, but she was SURE they were just colds. Since they’re from Texas and very anti-logic in a lot of ways because of their political affiliation, they wouldn’t entertain the idea that it could be anything else. Since there was no way for me to know what they had, they were still supposed to be moving, and I also had no assurances they’d wear masks, I decided again not to try for a visit.
In the end, I wanted to do something at the very least so my time off wouldn’t be a total waste. So I went to see some of my mother’s relatives in Colorado Springs. They’re hippies from the old days, but somehow they’ve become very conservative in their old age. They’re both in their 70s now. Still, I was surprised to find out they were anti-mask, COVID isn’t bad at all, let people die who will die, we want to live life sorts. It was a very uncomfortable visit. I didn’t feel like they took things seriously and worried about catching COVID, besides just feeling upset they wouldn’t even listen to my concerns. I think I was there for two or three days, then I went home. It wasn’t the best of visits, but it was alright I guess. I did visit Cheyenne Mountain Zoo before leaving, making a reservation as was required then. So that was something nice. The snow leopard is who I always go to see mostly, Bhutan my snep buddy. At least, I think of him as my friend.
I haven’t heard from my relatives since, though I’ve tried multiple times to get in touch with them. So I’ve no idea what’s happened. My mother tells me they post to Facebook and communicate with her some that way. I haven’t been on Facebook since March or April. I think I’d only checked it two or three times up to that point in the year. It’s probably not related to my discomfort with their behavior. They’re just like that sometimes. It’s possible they choose to communicate through Facebook and think I am ignoring them if I don’t log on and message them back. I can’t control what they do though. So life goes.
I was taken aside by the union president for our guild early in 2021, perhaps in February. He told me, along with another union representative, that the company wanted to lay me off. They’d agreed upon a severance package but hadn’t a clear end date for my employment. Then, unexpectedly enough, we had a change of publishers again. No explanation was given for this. Things with the company were all up in the air again, and my layoff was no longer a certainty. I tried my best to go on about my work normally since I had no idea what to think. I did, however, renew my job search with extra motivation.
It was also January, or maybe even December, when I met someone quite unique on Twitter. I never thought that would be something I’d say. Twitter is a chaotic place. It triggers my OCD and makes life hard for me. Yet, here I was finding myself intrigued. Early, it was mostly simple interactions via Tweets and happenstance. I didn’t think too much about it at first. He was happy about Christmas, which made me smile because it’s my favorite holiday. He had the most intriguing personality with a cute feistiness and edge of intellect that made him fun to interact with.
All the while, things at my job continued to unfold as haphazardly as could be imagined. I wasn’t having any luck early on in finding another job. I applied to things all the time, but optimism was hard to hold on to with the lack of positive results. The uncertainty at work wasn’t helping my outlook.
My job situation was uncertain, work was breaking me day by day, the search for another job wasn’t going well, and I felt like I had nowhere to turn. I couldn’t talk to my mother. Things with my stepfather had gotten worse. After Christmas, he’d ended up in the hospital for weeks. Without her advocating for him, they’d have discharged him and he’d have died. They insisted he was fine. It took her constantly insisting they keep trying to figure out what was wrong for the doctors to finally find out what was going on. Before they did, he was in and out of the hospital, getting just healthy enough each time to be discharged. He would go home, deteriorate again, and end up back in the hospital. That they sent him home when he couldn’t eat and was barely able to stand is beyond me. Though, he had no insurance, so that might lend some explanation.
I’m trying to break out each facet of early 2021, but I keep remembering new ones like this stuff to do with my stepfather. His eventual diagnosis was cancer of the large intestine. It was a very rare type that was difficult to treat. He underwent surgery to have the primary tumor removed, along with some of his intestine. They also found tumors on his liver, but those were inoperable. Afterward, once he’d recovered from the surgery, they began chemo. Initially, this helped reduce the cancer. He was also given an immune therapy meant to gear your own immune system to fight the cancer. When they checked this a couple months in, they discovered it was no longer effective. His cancer was resisting the chemo and appeared unaffected by the immune therapy. A cancer team assembled at the hospital to plan his course of treatment going forward.
Pivoting back to my own life, I couldn’t speak about what was happening with my mother. She was dealing with enough. Besides, she wasn’t the most dependable of people at the best of times. I had to approach her with caution in all things. I don’t think she means to do harm, but it had been known to happen. I didn’t see how she could help anyway.
My father was still living in Illinois, but his older kids from his first wife had convinced him to move into an assisted living center. They undermined his confidence until he no longer believed he could manage on his own. His health had been in the decline since. Doing less for himself, being less active, and losing confidence created a self-fulfilling prophecy. The less he was able to do for himself, the weaker he felt, the worse his stamina became, the lower his confidence became, and then the less he thought he was able to do for himself and so on. He’s also very, very conservative, set in his ways, and thinks the world works the way he thinks the world works. He won’t listen much to me. Telling him what was going on wouldn’t do me much if any good, and it wouldn’t help him in his circumstances. So I handled things mostly on my own.
As I said, it was a complicated spring. This new person I’d met on Twitter provided a soft place for me to fall with everything I was dealing with. It was nice. We were becoming fast friends. I just felt happy when talking with him. At the same time, I was guarded, being careful. I didn’t want to get too close, especially too fast, and I knew circumstances made things implausible.
Also early in the year, I met another person on Twitter quite by chance. I responded to a print production Tweet he made, and it went from there. We became fast friends, too. Slowly, speaking with him gave me perspective on whatever had been loosely defined as my relationship. I was always trying to rationalize actions that didn’t make sense or upset me. This wasn’t right. You shouldn’t have to try to wrap your mind around why someone behaves the way they do, says the things they do, or treats you how they do. Trying to make sense of it all and twisting yourself until you are alright with it is unhealthy. It skews perspective. My new friend was easy to talk to about these things at least. So he helped me to regain my independent perspective and stop trying to twist my brain into perceiving things the way I thought I needed to. Someone you love shouldn’t require you to bend your mind to their way of thinking so you can get along or feel less hurt.
It was a slow process, over months really, coming to terms with what had been real and what had been fantasy. It was a nice fantasy, what we’d had. It was a nice fantasy of a life we’d have together, someday. But it wasn’t happening. My mate, I guess that word fit at one time, had never made the effort to progress. He’d been content standing still, with how things were, even if that meant leaving me out in the cold to strive to survive on my own. It bothered him enough to show basic care, even consideration, but he wasn’t motivated to change things. He was content with his living situation and didn’t seek change.
It wasn’t intended, but I had distracted myself from the impossible person I’d met, or the less plausible one. He and I were interacting as comfortably as ever, but I’d been trying so hard to keep from feeling. I’m early in spring again, going back and forth in time to try to explain. My other Twitter friend was a confidant, good for leaning on, talking things through, and sorting my thoughts. He and I had a good deal in common, so friendship was different. But he had a mate, and boundaries were forged. I’m surprisingly good at that, even under the circumstances. Besides, I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know anymore. I was feeling lost.
These new close friendships had me relying less on the one-sided relationship I’d had, whatever remained. That person was self-sufficient. He didn’t need me like I needed him. His life wasn’t lacking. So he was fine with the slow decline in our talking. It also was a gradual process over months. We never stopped talking, but things changed, a lot.
I felt rather mixed up. My new friend whom sparked such interest was an impossible situation. He was from another country. He was younger. He might not even know what he wanted. Surely, we couldn’t make it work.
I suppose I’m going into far more detail than I meant to. It’s just all coming out into words now that I’m writing. Imagine, this was still spring. All of this had transpired over such a short time. Here I had someone I just clicked with, who was interested in me and wouldn’t listen to sense, or at least what I thought was sense, when it came to the implausibility. I also had a friend helping me to see things from a less distorted perspective. I was no longer in this mindset of upturning my thought process to make sense of what another said and did.
Then, I began to let go. I’m not sure when that was. Perhaps it had actually started at the beginning of the year, to be honest. I think it happened slowly all the while, with everything going on in my life, and then in time with the process of unraveling my thoughts and feelings from what I’d done to force understanding of the one I’d loved for so many years. It’s a process. Step by step, day by day, you find yourself disconnecting. You need someone less, rely on them less, believe in them less, and begin to give up on dreams you’ve held for so long. They were my dreams, after all. They weren’t happening. I’d been fooling myself.
It wasn’t his dream anymore. I don’t know if it ever was. I mean, I failed to mention this before, but in all those years he wouldn’t even acknowledge we were together. He wanted to keep it private. He wasn’t comfortable with friends let alone family knowing we were together. He had reasons. He always had reasons. Reasons will dig you into your grave. Time flies past us in life. Nothing stands still. His reasons held less and less weight as years went by. I couldn’t even “be” with him as far as anyone knew. We were just friends. It was demoralizing.
I suppose it’s probably obvious by now that my love interest was my best friend. Fortunately, few will ever read this to find out the truth of it. He hadn’t visited since 2013, and my life had been a mess ever since. I had never been in a position to visit him; however, there was one time I offered. His family was moving to be closer to another family member, so he’d be moving with them. This was in the opposite direction of what he was meant to be doing, moving to be with me, to give us a chance to see if we’d work in real life. Instead, he didn’t think he had any other choice because he wasn’t financially independent. I offered to take time off from work and drive to help him move. I’d certainly done it enough. He gave me reasons this wouldn’t work though. He didn’t want my help. “Thanks, but no thanks. I appreciate the offer though.” Well… that’s how it went. Even though he was moving the wrong direction and not at all bothered by it, even though this upset me and gave me concern over the chances for the future we both supposedly wanted, I still was offering to help him. He didn’t want my help.
This was several years ago. Now, we’re up to spring of 2021. I think everything is fairly well laid out so that it makes some sense. Forgive me if it’s confusing. I’m sure a lot is. There’s just too much that happened over the years to fill in all of the gaps. I’ll just add that it was over the course of 16 years of loving him and 8 years of supposedly being “together” that I came to the point of giving up. It wasn’t easy or fast. I’m a dedicated cat. I believe in love. I hold on and try with all of my heart.
Now, I had someone vying for my love that was kind and caring, thoughtful and attentive, loving and full of idealism and belief in love. No matter how I tried to convince him circumstances wouldn’t allow for things to work, that there were things he didn’t know, he was not dissuaded. On the contrary, he believed all the more. His belief was infectious, I suppose. For I began to believe, too.
I tried my best to never give him any indication things could happen between us until I had finally abandoned all remaining hope for the dream that had come before.
I didn’t want to give him false hope. I even told him that on several occasions. It felt awful.
I’m not even sure I was as successful at it as I should have been. I was trying to maintain boundaries with someone who was good and kind and pure.
Meanwhile, I’d been going through some particularly hard times at work. This meant I tried to reach out to this lingering ember or person who had been my best friend.
I needed to talk. I needed some support. He was quiet though. Ever busy. Unresponsive. Less and less engaged. I couldn’t handle it. Not more obtuse disinterest. He was only interested or willing to be there for me when it was convenient. He even told me that. Why should this be any different? He didn’t understand why I’d expect him to inconvenience himself to be there for me, virtually that is. He certainly wasn’t going to be there for me in person. And even online, he wasn’t able to be present as I’d needed. No matter how hard things were, he had what he called “responsibilities.” Self-created gaming goals and writing about these games had priority. His own endeavors came first. Hell, he once told me, “You don’t come first, but you also don’t come last.”
I’d gravitated, however slowly, to my new friend as a confidant. He was kind and helped me to see more clearly. He never pressured me or made me feel uncomfortable, or like I needed to reorient how I thought to make sense of things. He never made me feel inconvenient or unwanted. I guess that’s how the feeling of who was my best friend began to change. He even visited me in person. What a thought? Granted, he lived far closer, but it was still a big gesture. It meant something.
And, with my heart now free (or as free as it could be after what I’d been through with the one I’d given years to, now that I’d gone through the psychological hoops of letting go) I began to give in to my feelings for the person I’d met at the beginning of the year. I still had uncertainties. We had little in common, I thought. There was an age difference. We had an ocean between us. It all seemed impossible. But I didn’t care. I felt something there. I’d begun to fear losing him if I didn’t at least try to express my feelings in response to what he’d shown. I didn’t want to drive him away like that. At least, I thought, if I’d finally begun to try to move on from the person who’d held my heart for so many years, I could now try to make something work with someone who truly wanted me.
I think I rationalized things from the beginning, when we first started talking, to give myself reasons we couldn’t work. Yet, if I’m being honest, part of me always wanted to give in. With the comparison in mind, it was clear it had been only the lingering hope I had for someone who’d treated me as an inconvenience that had kept me from giving in far sooner. Feeling was there. I probably even expressed more than I meant to. I’ll share this with him, I think. Because I want him to know a major reason why I held back, how hard it was, and the truth that I can’t deny now. He made me smile from the beginning.
He was like joy itself. I had to act carefully. I couldn’t let this chance slip away. The more I thought about it, the more afraid I became. Had I really risked losing a chance with someone so wonderful? I was worried and decided to try to make amends. Emotions were shared. Perhaps, thinking back, they always had been. I just had to show him.
I think I did, too. I opened up more, was open to feeling more, and rebuffed his interest less and less. I’d tread with care, but I was hopeful. It had been a long time since I’d had hope. He was becoming my light. The light in my life. I had a friend I could rely on, kind and helpful, there for me even in person. And now I had a kitten I could love. For that’s what I called him. My kitten.
The term came not from his own profile but from the moment I realized his age. He and I were talking, and I don’t remember how, but he came upon the subject of my age not being a big deal. Perhaps it had do to with wisdom of experience and how he had so little. I told him that was not true, he had insight and kindness, and there was wisdom in that. Then he let me know he was just -insert age- and thus knew very little. I was surprised and said that perhaps I should call him a kitten. I guess it stuck.
I never intended to be this way, to think of love like I do. Or have the deep desire for it. I didn't set out to be like this. Then I met him, and there was something I still can't describe. I almost cry when I think about it. I know he felt it, too. I know there was something deep, abiding, and special. Falling in love with him was different. In the past, I'd always, always set out seeking love. In some way. Pursued it. Idealized things with a person. Tried to make it work. But he came along without any of that effort. He simply was. Nestling himself into my heart. I didn't anticipate it. I didn't anticipate him. But the contrast with what I’d had before was startling. Someone I’d chased after who barely gave me anything in return, vs. someone who wanted me. Someone so lovely it hurt.
It's ironic, amidst all I'm dealing with right now, loss of job, income, financial stresses, anxiety, OCD, general depression, stepfather with cancer, family's fractured dynamics, lacking direction in life at this point - all I can think about day in and day out is a snep in England. It sounds daft. Maybe it makes some sense? With how things went. How I feel with him. About him. At some point, I realized this was a cat I could spend my life with. Just knowledge that I could be happy with him. He could show up in person, and I would just hug him and never let go. Idealistic? But I never sought this. It's like I woke up one day, and it was so.
I’ve never felt so much happiness in loving someone. It’s different from anything I’ve known. Sparking early on, but developing naturally over time, and serving as a balm for the pain of a mate so many years absent and unwilling to give the least of which this young cat did. He offered it freely without expectation, just hope. Hope that I would love him.
I don't know if I can explain why I feel how I do. He made me feel in a way I've never felt before. Not for anyone. It's a bit like first love. The initial feelings I had when I fell in love years ago. Yet, it's different. There's something of newness, sure. But it's more the raw feelings. A sense of connectedness from the beginning. I didn't know I could feel this way. Warm and welcoming. Natural. Things with the most recent person I’d loved never were like that. With him they were built over a very long period of time, where I realized one day we had a bond, and I had feelings beyond friendship. Subtle. It seemed to make sense, like I made a rational decision about it. Then, lack of commitment or reciprocation over time, years of denial, refusal to acknowledge we even had a relationship. It all added together to make for an underlying sense of not being accepted, wanted, needed, or anything really. An absence of comfort.
By contrast, a kitten contacted me first. Beyond the initial interactions we had through Tweets themselves. He reached out after I'd randomly replied to a Tweet he'd made in response to someone else. It was an anti-LGBTQ sort of statement they'd made. He thanked me for coming to his defense, being his usual "it doesn't matter, they're just being foolish" self. Bold. He was cute. Our interactions were so simple. Just filled with delight. Full of warmth and kindness. Playful, but innocent. I think we both sensed longing in the other. We clicked. I tried so hard not to let that get to me, to maintain friendship. I was worried. Hesitant. So I tried to dissuade him. I learned his age, and I tried all the harder. He broke down my walls brick by brick. I couldn't resist. He melted me. That's something big for a snow leopard. I realized the wish for love I'd had all along could be fulfilled in him, someone willing, hoping, trying to court me. With cuteness at that. It was all new. Different. Unique. How it made me feel surprised me. How he could wash away pain and make me glad to be me. To think maybe I was worth something after all. He gave me hope.
I saw light in him. His insights were always so accurate. He could see right in to me. He was open and never condemning. He didn't make me feel worse for my thoughts or ideas, or shortcomings. He built me up instead of tearing me down. He had all this hope. This want for life, and joy and love. He embraced it, and me. He reassured me that our age difference didn’t matter. Why would it? It was just a number. He sought comfort and security that he saw I was willing to provide. He thought with age came wisdom, and despite my arguing that I wasn’t nearly as smart as he, his confidence remained. He was confident in us working. He was confident in me being a good fit for him. Beneath the appearance he made publicly, also, there was more than anyone else saw. I could see it. He let me see. I don't know why. His beauty shines from the inside. It's inexplicable, as how I feel seems.
Too young, too far away, too impractical. I understand all this. But, as I said above, one day I realized I might lose my chance at having him share his life with me, and everything snapped into focus. This was just what I needed. Who I needed. That I never knew I needed. I knew at that moment I could be truly happy with him. I also knew someone like him didn’t come along often in life, or show an interest in you. He's this rarity I failed to see. No, I think I saw. I was just afraid. How could he want to be with me?
I always called him beautiful, and he wondered why I said that. I just saw his heart and wanted to hold it. You know, he didn't share his face for a long time. He's very private. I didn't know what he looked like. I just loved him for the person he was. Now, I hold on hoping he’ll open back up to me. Because to lose him is not something I can handle. I have to hold on to hope. He is the dream I never knew I had, so close to coming true. Like your greatest fantasy made reality. But it wasn't something you consciously grasped. Until it was before you. Not perfect. But right for you. Just right to fit into your soul. I want to wrap around him like a snep hugging another snep, to hug his soul with mine. It feels so right.
I’d been letting go and trying to move on and, seeing this new person for what he was, I felt that fear I mentioned before of losing him. So I took every opportunity to show him that I cared. I tried to always be there for him, support him, and offer him words of encouragement. I loved unconditionally. Even as he began to withdraw, for reasons he only vaguely alluded to, I held on. I kept loving him.
By August, he was nearly a ghost. I guess that’s fitting for a ghost cat seeing as he is a snow leopard just as I am. I tried to hold on and keep him from slipping away. I did everything I knew how to. My life, meanwhile, was falling apart. I’d been given official notice of being laid off in May, with my last day set for June, but then had the end date extended to July when the company mismanaged the transition of work to a centralized design center. My supervisor was supposed to take on the workload of designing the entire newspaper and work remotely out of that location, but the pay wasn’t sufficient, and the stress was too much. So she resigned. They asked her to remain longer than two weeks in order to help with the transition, but then the company procrastinated with the process until she was gone. I had to handle the transition instead, with my workload increasing even more, the stress as high as possible, and the knowledge that my job was ending. Who forces you to keep working for them after they lay you off, for two months no less, and emphasizes the risk to your severance if you don’t follow through?
So perhaps I failed to be as present as I could have been. I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’ll ever know. The snep became more distant, but he did occasionally talk with me. My other friend became someone I relied on more and more, my best friend (was he still my best friend?) occupied with his own endeavors and not even aware of my situation at my job. I tried to speak with him about it, but it wasn’t a good time. Perhaps later. Always that. I stopped bringing it up. He didn’t know about my last day, he didn’t know when I was no longer going in to work, and he didn’t know what was happening as I tried to navigate the world of being unemployed. He didn’t ask. He just went on about his life.
That’s alright, perhaps. I stopped trying. He stopped being forced to care. It was what it was. I couldn’t manage the energy necessary to keep interacting on the level we had before. My reserves were gone. I just knew I had to give what I could to a snep. He was worth it. My old flame was just embers, and he hadn’t tried to change that. I’d given up some time before, and he’d not said a word. So I tried my best to move on.
Without a job time becomes distorted. It’s all muddied and difficult to gauge. I filed for unemployment as advised by the union lawyer, even though I was going to get severance. I went on some trips to the mountains with my new friend who lived relatively close by. Nearby in comparison to anyone else I knew at least. That kept me from wallowing in misery all the time. Still, I fell into a rut. I wasn’t making progress. Job prospects weren’t panning out. Employers weren’t hiring me. Time passed. Mountains, visits with my friend, sparse chats with the person who had been closer to me than anyone for so many years, but now seemed so distant, and the constant attempts to find work. These were the things I knew.
I felt a renewed sense of hope regarding photography, inspired by a snep. He believed in me. So did my cheetah friend. That’s what he is, the one who lives within a two-hour drive. So I tried to feel motivated and explore this interest. Perhaps there was hope for a future in that? I began to make more effort with it. I had a spark of hope.
More time passed. The cheetah motivated me to keep getting out and doing things, to find joy in life as best I could. Denfur with COVID precautions came and went in August. We only attended for a day. The following day, we tried to go to Mt. Evans but found we needed a reservation, so went for a drive through the mountains and over Guanella Pass instead. There was hiking. We made another attempt at going up Mt. Evans, this time with the chee’s mate and a friend of theirs. In September, the chee and I went to Steamboat for a day. More hiking happened. Photos were taken. Jobs were applied to. I went to Denver to see my friend a few times through all this. Things were at least varied, if hope was a bit sparse.
I interviewed for jobs. There were several from July to now. Nothing panned out. I’m not sure what I did wrong. Severance ran out at the end of September, surprising me. Details in the severance agreement were confusing. It appeared as if payments would last 13 weeks, but that was not the case. So I’ve been relying on unemployment and savings alone since. That’s a month and a half of getting far less in funds than living expenses. I don’t live lavishly. I think most people would tell you I live a bit too frugally. It’s just how life has conditioned me. There are things I’m considering changing in order to save more money. They offer some level of solace, or contribute to my mental health, but they’re not worth the expense. If I get rid of TV and cellphone expenses, cutting back, I can save a little bit. It’s something. Beyond that, not much more can really be trimmed. I don’t even eat that much. I make food last an absurdly long time, only going grocery shopping perhaps once a month.
My father ended up in the hospital with back pain that was “extreme” as one of his older children put it when they sent me a text from his phone. I never heard anything as follow-up and had to wait weeks to get any real answers. His older children are like that. It’s all very strange. He was transferred to a nursing home for weeks until he could return to his apartment at the assisted living complex. There he’s able to do physical therapy and is supposedly doing better. I’m not sure if he’ll ever be who he was before he moved in to that place. He’s so much less independent and self sufficient. I can’t do much about it though. I tried to convince him to get in-home care and maintain his independence for as long as possible, but he was unwilling to believe it was possible.
My stepfather’s condition has worsened. The new regiment of chemo the doctors tried was two or three types of very harsh stuff. He had a negative reaction to it after a few days’ treatment, paired with a very bad UTI. His immune system is compromised, of course. So he was admitted to the hospital for a couple weeks until they could get him stable enough to send home. Weeks later, he began a different type of chemo that was supposed to be very strong but also administered less often. This was easier on him. He didn’t seem to have an adverse reaction to it. Though, he has continued to deteriorate. The last scans showed the cancer had spread over more of his liver and other places. So it’s hopeful this bout of chemo will help fight it.
His health is still in decline. He eats far, far too little. He doesn’t feel hungry, and food is odd for him. He’s often nauseous even with the nausea medicine, and things don’t taste the way they’re supposed to. Often, textures alone cause him to get sick. The nurses insist he try to eat more, that he needs to take in so many calories each day to support his body in fighting the cancer and enduring the chemo therapy. He was frightened by this, but even trying to force himself to eat, he still can’t do much. He often gets sick from trying.
He’s depressed, and my mother texts me constantly about it. She’s unhappy. Even though he took care of her several years ago when she was ill, helping her through the ordeal, she is just so dour about this. She’s upset and constantly frustrated with him. I guess it’s hard on her. They live in a trailer on a lot with a run-down house, after he allowed the house she’d owned for 25 years to be foreclosed on. He spends money as fast as he makes it, always having new ideas and plans. He’s bipolar so has trouble behaving in a stable way.
Now, he’s sick and depressed. He won’t get therapy. He doesn’t think it helps. He just hides in sleep and doesn’t feel motivated to do much if anything. Their finances can’t be great. They were getting by before with him working, but now, I don’t know what they’re doing. The income they have off his business and the few places he has his jewelry in to sell can’t be that much. They have some sort of means of paying for medical bills, or at least some of them. I think they arranged with a need-based program at the hospital where his cancer is being treated. They still have a huge amount of medical debt, and it’s increasing every day.
She still doesn’t know I lost my job or what’s happening in my life. I can’t tell her about any of it. I certainly can’t tell her about my relationship. I Tweeted about a conversation I had with her a couple months ago regarding that. She wondered when I was going to find a woman to marry so I could give her grandkids. The things mothers say. I’m pretty much on my own aside from a few close friends. I can only hope things turn around. I need for something to go right.
All things considered, I’m not sure how I keep going. My longest friendship with someone whom I thought I’d spend my life with has become frayed, far more distant than ever before. Love is shattered. He did that to it. This was the year I stopped holding out hope. I think the day I decided to stop trying is the last day I told him I loved him. That’s a long time now. I don’t say the words if I don’t feel them. When he said my wanting him to figure out how to make our future goals happen was nagging, I think that’s when I truly gave up. And I think I’m still sad for what was lost, the chance at a life and happiness. But just as much, the years that have gone by. I gave up so many waiting. I just feel empty when I think about it now.
My job ended months ago. No prospects seem all that hopeful. My finances are slowly dwindling. Winter is upon us. It feels cold, and somehow that emphasizes the discomfort of the situation in which I find myself. It’s like an outward representation of my inner state. It reverberates and makes me feel all the worse. Perhaps it’s because it feels like the walls are closing in, job opportunities and the realistic capacity to move are reduced with winter. Then there are the holidays as well. Those feel oppressive instead of hopeful or something to look forward to. When things go wrong, you stop looking forward to those occasions that once would have seemed positive.
My chee friend tries to get me to see the positives in my life. I’m trying. I am. It’s just not easy. Especially when … Well, something happened in October, right before Halloween. It haunts me. Ironic.
The young snep had become withdrawn to the point of hardly talking with me. A message here or there was received, but it was so rare. I didn’t understand. I tried to. I continued to message him. I explained my thoughts, what was going on in my life, my fears, and asked that he at least tell me what was going on. So much silence filled the void. My heart became the void. He once said he lived in my heart, curled up and purring. I wanted to feel that again.
He closed himself off though. I still don’t understand what happened. I don’t know if he’s alright. I’ve no idea if it was something to do with me. Did I press too hard, shine with too much intensity with the love I had for him? Have. For it isn’t fading. It burns so brightly, almost as brightly as he burns. Like a star. I think I called him that once. Well, I might be mixing things up.
I don’t sleep. I do, but I don’t rest. It’s hard to describe. I have nightmares. I wake often. I did dream about him once where it wasn’t filled with longing, before this happened. I described it. Let me see if I can remember.
I wrote it down so I could remember it. I’ll paste in what I have:
“Back on September 23rd, I had a strange dream. The family of a lady from England had come together. I knew her growing up in my small hometown. It's mixing up details. Her daughter had come to visit, but she was somehow the first girl I loved, and I knew this. Though, she looked different. But I knew. Older, yet I recognized her. I guess I'm older, too. She and I acknowledged one another. They were on a stair step thing, kind of like bleachers at a football field. I went up to talk to her, thinking I no longer had feelings of melancholy. I had a cute British boyfriend now. Or did I? I wondered to myself. Then she said she'd turned out gay, and I could see that, thinking about it. In RL no, not at all, but in the dream it made sense. So it was like the dream was continuing the evolution I've experienced through life, or outlining it in some way. The next thing I knew, she was a guy, a British guy talking about being gay, and I wondered that I ever thought she was a girl. So was my dream telling me something? I woke feeling strangely calm.”
He didn’t respond to this when I shared it. I wonder what he thought. Like I said, maybe the intensity of how I felt was too much. I didn’t make it a secret online. Anywhere. I liked being able to share how I felt with others. To tell the world that I loved this British snep. I was open and happy about things. I didn’t have to hide how I felt. It meant a lot.
He’s hidden now. Hiding. A bit at a time he’s come out of this, at least allowing me to see into his Twitter again. That’s something, right? I have to hold hope. I have to believe. He told me once he loved and trusted me wholly. I love and trust him wholly, too. I won’t let go. I won’t give up. I don’t know how to. If I can hold out for 16 years with someone who barely gave me any reason to believe, then I wonder how long I can hold on now.
I suppose that I am loyal. That goes further than what most might think makes sense. Perhaps it’s more a perspective on relationships. I consider RP with another an intimate thing. Almost like it’s real. I’ve never slept with anyone. I’ve had chances, but it always felt wrong. Circumstances made things uncomfortable. It’s always been my belief that you should love someone to be intimate in such a way, and there should be commitment and trust between you. This could have to do with my demisexuality, a term I only heard about a few years ago. I don’t even flirt with someone unless I feel especially close to them.
Perhaps, I wonder, I was letting go of my love of all those years when I met a snep. Perhaps, it was the right moment. Or perhaps I recognized something like a connection that can’t be put into words or explained, and I naturally fell into such. Was it flirting? I think it was interplay. Romantic wishfulness. We both wanted something and sensed the other wanted it, too. Whatever the case, meeting him made me question my relationship that was not even defined as a relationship. When love, commitment, and dedication toward goals are one-sided, it’s easier to let go. I don’t know that it had ever really been a relationship. I saw something in a young snep I’d never seen in anyone before. And suddenly, everything I knew about love was upturned. My world changed.
Maybe he was what I needed in order to awaken. My cheetah friend helped me to reorient my thoughts, finding reality. The little snep I met showed me what love was meant to be. I was free. I don’t understand how it happened.
I’d spent years dealing with never hearing “I love you,” being told I didn’t come first, didn’t matter more than others, shouldn’t expect to be the most important thing in someone’s life, and never being able to tell anyone we were together. I dealt with dashed hopes, disappointment, and promises that never came true. There was betrayal, lies, and gaslighting. I don’t think he realized or meant for the last one there, but it happened. I asked what we were, and he never could define us. He said he couldn’t think of a word for what we were. So not mates or boyfriends. Best friends, but more. I wonder if best friends with benefits, virtual as they might’ve been, would fit. I still don’t understand. Such restrictions on even definitions kept him from admitting anything. It took the pressure off. He didn’t have to meet any expectations if he created ambiguity in the simplest of things. Or, he could claim expectations were unfair and shouldn’t exist in what we had. Whatever we had. A few times he told me, “You are loved,” but that’s not the same. He always chose his words carefully. Then half of the time he maintained plausible deniability. He did everything possible to keep from truly committing to anything. Years passed like this. So much time.
I think, maybe, we were only ever really mates in my head. I created the fantasy. He fed into it, but he never truly embraced or shared the dream. It took meeting someone with whom I instantly clicked to show me this. I fought so hard not to give in to those feelings. I felt like I had to create walls and maintain boundaries. Yet, I failed. Being in his presence alone was enough to make me weak. Wistful. Dreaming new dreams. He truly believed in love. He wanted my love. And I wanted to give it.
The moment I met this snep, I began to realize. I began to see the false reality I’d constructed, been led to believe, to follow to no real destination. I could waste my life dreaming, or I could embrace reality. It just so happened that reality had someone waiting for me. Waiting for me to realize what we could be.
So maybe from the moment we started to talk, I sensed something. I didn’t know what to do with it, but it was there. The false reality I’d been living in began to fade, its luster lost until I saw it for what it was. A facsimile. I had to finish letting go of what had been an imagined relationship so I could have a true one. Hell, maybe my denial of emotional reciprocation was all a fantasy. I could look back and see how well I succeeded at holding back. I don’t think I’d find the resistance I thought I was making. Upon reflection, I might realize I gave in little by little from the beginning. When two souls meet and instantly know … it’s kismet? I certainly couldn’t hold on to the embers of a make belief relationship in face of this.
I’m only sorry I held back for as long as I did. I found every reason possible. I didn’t think things were plausible. Distance, age, and other life circumstances separated us. Then, what is the saying, “all you need is love”? I think that might be true.
You are the light of my life, kitten. I didn’t know what it felt like to have someone like you in my life before. Now, I can’t go back. It’s like gaining sight for the first time. The thought of losing that, with knowledge of what love feels like, is unthinkable.
I wanted to spend Christmas with him, to maybe have him come spend it with me. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it work. It was possible though. Everything is possible. That’s what I want to believe. If you want it badly enough, it should be, right?
He was like a miracle that came into my life. Someone pure and good, beautiful of heart and spirit, couldn't be real. But he was. I love him more than I can ever convey. So I wait. Like the prodigal son, I'll welcome him back if he returns. He always did call me a dadcat. *Sighs and curls up, staring at his upturned paw where a tuft of fur rests.*
*************
(The last line there won’t make sense if you haven’t read the story I wrote about sneps. Ask me, and I might share. It’s mostly romance, but it includes NSFW content as well. So fair warning.)
Addendum:
I have an expanded version of the events from 2021 that I trimmed down before posting here. If anyone is interested in reading, I can share. It's just a lot more detailed than what I ended up with, and this is already so long. So I made some edits for brevity's sake.
This was January of 2020 when the chance fell through the cracks. We all know how 2020 went. Things never really improved for me when it came to the job search. With the cloud of the pandemic falling over the world, everything crawled to a standstill. The newspaper didn’t allow us to work from home for long, not providing us the tools but expecting us to have them ourselves. So we used our own computers and internet, or whatever else we needed to scrounge. It was difficult to coordinate the work we did remotely. So after a week, we were back in the office with new rules and restrictions. Everyone probably knows what that was like.
The woman in charge of our department was unpredictable, both when it came to mood and what work she’d cover or help with for the day. She had other projects and responsibilities. Meanwhile, others who worked in our department, at least tangentially, left. Our sports designer left. The company didn’t see a point in replacing him with any urgency. So the sports editor and reporter were forced to take over his duties. Then we finally got a new copy editor/page designer to cover the person’s work who’d left in January. He couldn’t handle the pressure, and management style of our supervisor, so he flamed out and didn’t come back to work one day. Evidently, it was not a pretty phone call. Then, the company never replaced him. We were left more and more short-handed. Come September, the woman who was acting as supervisor or of our department put in her resignation, citing workload and lack of future viability. Her last day was actually my birthday, so that made for a good gift. It was really a pretty lousy day.
I’d had to take over sports design at some point in 2020, to help alleviate the work from the sports department. This meant so much more work for the new person in charge of our department that I’m not sure how she managed. Yet I was still expected to handle myriad tasks that she was not. Since she had to do most of the news design, I was given the task of web content management and all the other end-of-night duties. I often stayed for hours after everyone else had left. The lady who’d taken over the department had been hired to replace the one who’d left in June of 2019. Well, that’s not quite accurate. When the woman who’d hired me left, the other woman I’ve mentioned who was none too nice took her position. When she left on my birthday of 2020, the woman who’d taken the lower-tier job in our department to replace the unkind lady stepped up to take the supervisory role. Her duties were overwhelming though with everything as it happened. I’m not sure many people could have handled the amount of work expected of her. We were still expected to keep our hours down though.
That takes me to the pandemic restrictions on hours. We had our hours reduced to 30 hr per week for months. Eventually, due to a newly formed union that covered hourly employees in the news department, some of us were increased to 35 hours. This didn’t include the managers though. So the woman with the insane workload still had to adhere to a 30-hour workweek. This wasn’t logical or practical, but that’s corporate for you. It just meant that with 35 hours I was expected to take on even more work.
The union or news guild would end up pushing back against the corporation again and again over the next year or so as HR and higher management had no idea how to handle basic things dealing with employees, let alone unions. It broke some laws and was forced to backpedal more than once. Eventually, for cutting our hours without discussion or warning, let alone agreement by the bargaining group, the company had to reimburse us some of the lost income we’d have otherwise received had we been working 40-hour weeks. It wasn’t enough to make up for our losses, but it helped pay for my wisdom tooth extraction.
That came in November, right over the Thanksgiving week. I got a ride from a coworker to the clinic for the surgery. He gave me a ride there and home afterward, picking up and delivering my prescriptions. That was the last I saw of him. No one inquired how I was, not even the clinic, which is usually common practice after you’ve had oral surgery. Considering I’d had anesthesia, it’s even more common just to be sure there haven’t been any issues following the procedure.
That was a painful time, more so than I thought it would be. I couldn’t eat even the simplest of things for days. I ended up relying on chicken broth as it was all I could swallow. I couldn’t even manage noodles in canned chicken noodle soup. So Happy Thanksgiving. Perhaps this was a portent of the rest of the holiday season?
Work just never let up. Neither did the stress. Getting time off for the holidays was very difficult. I wasn’t going to get Christmas itself off. I didn’t want to make others with families work to cover for me either. I always felt bad that way. So I worked over Christmas Eve and Christmas day. This way I could at least get some time off after Christmas coming up on New Year’s.
I intended to go visit family in Texas, but my mother informed me that my stepfather had been pretty sick lately. He’d had a tooth infection earlier, back around when I had my wisdom teeth out. Then, he had the bad tooth extracted and was put on antibiotics to deal with the infection. This didn’t improve his condition though. On the contrary, he seemed to be getting worse.
By Christmas he was so sick my mother didn’t want me to visit. She said they’d not be able to do anything with me anyway because he couldn’t keep food down. He’d been losing weight and deteriorating. This was worrying, but so far just thought to be complications from the tooth infection and extraction.
I tried to get in touch with my sister, but she wasn’t communicating well. That wasn’t surprising, but was kind of disappointing just the same. I couldn’t coordinate visiting. It turned out she was planning on moving from our small hometown to Amarillo, the nearby city. Her new husband’s business was doing well, but they were selling the local buildings and relocating to a better place to use as their base of operations. At least, this is what I was told. I was never given much of an explanation. His business had an apartment where he’d lived before moving in with her in the house she’d bought with her previous husband.
She originally purchased the home she’d been renting from the friends of hers I mentioned. They applied all past rental payments as a lump down payment, then had similar mortgage payments to what the rental payments had been. So she got a good deal. When she sold that house, she was able to use that money toward the new one, which was actually brand new as it had just been built. Final work had been completed before they moved in.
This is the house she and her husband were now selling as they relocated. Since they had their son out of school and were planning to move, it didn’t seem like a wise idea to visit then. I tried to speak with her about it, but again, communication. Strangely, she called out of the blue in the morning of Christmas day as she was wrapping presents. It was in the early a.m. hours, and she kept me on the phone for a couple hours. It was random and unexpected, but also kind of nice to get to talk. She’s so bad about this that we hadn’t spoken on the phone in a year and a half. It allowed me to catch up on some of the details of her life, though I still was missing a lot of things. I never felt like she told me enough to make sense of everything.
I had to work, and she needed to sleep, so we hung up perhaps around 4 a.m. my time. That’s the last time I’ve heard from her, at least on the phone, and as I type this it’s currently November of 2021. She’ll text me occasionally, but I have to reach out first. It doesn’t always result in a response either.
A few days later, disappointed in how my plans to see family had fallen apart, I tried again to speak with my sister. We texted back and forth a bit, and she informed me she and her husband were sick, but she was SURE they were just colds. Since they’re from Texas and very anti-logic in a lot of ways because of their political affiliation, they wouldn’t entertain the idea that it could be anything else. Since there was no way for me to know what they had, they were still supposed to be moving, and I also had no assurances they’d wear masks, I decided again not to try for a visit.
In the end, I wanted to do something at the very least so my time off wouldn’t be a total waste. So I went to see some of my mother’s relatives in Colorado Springs. They’re hippies from the old days, but somehow they’ve become very conservative in their old age. They’re both in their 70s now. Still, I was surprised to find out they were anti-mask, COVID isn’t bad at all, let people die who will die, we want to live life sorts. It was a very uncomfortable visit. I didn’t feel like they took things seriously and worried about catching COVID, besides just feeling upset they wouldn’t even listen to my concerns. I think I was there for two or three days, then I went home. It wasn’t the best of visits, but it was alright I guess. I did visit Cheyenne Mountain Zoo before leaving, making a reservation as was required then. So that was something nice. The snow leopard is who I always go to see mostly, Bhutan my snep buddy. At least, I think of him as my friend.
I haven’t heard from my relatives since, though I’ve tried multiple times to get in touch with them. So I’ve no idea what’s happened. My mother tells me they post to Facebook and communicate with her some that way. I haven’t been on Facebook since March or April. I think I’d only checked it two or three times up to that point in the year. It’s probably not related to my discomfort with their behavior. They’re just like that sometimes. It’s possible they choose to communicate through Facebook and think I am ignoring them if I don’t log on and message them back. I can’t control what they do though. So life goes.
I was taken aside by the union president for our guild early in 2021, perhaps in February. He told me, along with another union representative, that the company wanted to lay me off. They’d agreed upon a severance package but hadn’t a clear end date for my employment. Then, unexpectedly enough, we had a change of publishers again. No explanation was given for this. Things with the company were all up in the air again, and my layoff was no longer a certainty. I tried my best to go on about my work normally since I had no idea what to think. I did, however, renew my job search with extra motivation.
It was also January, or maybe even December, when I met someone quite unique on Twitter. I never thought that would be something I’d say. Twitter is a chaotic place. It triggers my OCD and makes life hard for me. Yet, here I was finding myself intrigued. Early, it was mostly simple interactions via Tweets and happenstance. I didn’t think too much about it at first. He was happy about Christmas, which made me smile because it’s my favorite holiday. He had the most intriguing personality with a cute feistiness and edge of intellect that made him fun to interact with.
All the while, things at my job continued to unfold as haphazardly as could be imagined. I wasn’t having any luck early on in finding another job. I applied to things all the time, but optimism was hard to hold on to with the lack of positive results. The uncertainty at work wasn’t helping my outlook.
My job situation was uncertain, work was breaking me day by day, the search for another job wasn’t going well, and I felt like I had nowhere to turn. I couldn’t talk to my mother. Things with my stepfather had gotten worse. After Christmas, he’d ended up in the hospital for weeks. Without her advocating for him, they’d have discharged him and he’d have died. They insisted he was fine. It took her constantly insisting they keep trying to figure out what was wrong for the doctors to finally find out what was going on. Before they did, he was in and out of the hospital, getting just healthy enough each time to be discharged. He would go home, deteriorate again, and end up back in the hospital. That they sent him home when he couldn’t eat and was barely able to stand is beyond me. Though, he had no insurance, so that might lend some explanation.
I’m trying to break out each facet of early 2021, but I keep remembering new ones like this stuff to do with my stepfather. His eventual diagnosis was cancer of the large intestine. It was a very rare type that was difficult to treat. He underwent surgery to have the primary tumor removed, along with some of his intestine. They also found tumors on his liver, but those were inoperable. Afterward, once he’d recovered from the surgery, they began chemo. Initially, this helped reduce the cancer. He was also given an immune therapy meant to gear your own immune system to fight the cancer. When they checked this a couple months in, they discovered it was no longer effective. His cancer was resisting the chemo and appeared unaffected by the immune therapy. A cancer team assembled at the hospital to plan his course of treatment going forward.
Pivoting back to my own life, I couldn’t speak about what was happening with my mother. She was dealing with enough. Besides, she wasn’t the most dependable of people at the best of times. I had to approach her with caution in all things. I don’t think she means to do harm, but it had been known to happen. I didn’t see how she could help anyway.
My father was still living in Illinois, but his older kids from his first wife had convinced him to move into an assisted living center. They undermined his confidence until he no longer believed he could manage on his own. His health had been in the decline since. Doing less for himself, being less active, and losing confidence created a self-fulfilling prophecy. The less he was able to do for himself, the weaker he felt, the worse his stamina became, the lower his confidence became, and then the less he thought he was able to do for himself and so on. He’s also very, very conservative, set in his ways, and thinks the world works the way he thinks the world works. He won’t listen much to me. Telling him what was going on wouldn’t do me much if any good, and it wouldn’t help him in his circumstances. So I handled things mostly on my own.
As I said, it was a complicated spring. This new person I’d met on Twitter provided a soft place for me to fall with everything I was dealing with. It was nice. We were becoming fast friends. I just felt happy when talking with him. At the same time, I was guarded, being careful. I didn’t want to get too close, especially too fast, and I knew circumstances made things implausible.
Also early in the year, I met another person on Twitter quite by chance. I responded to a print production Tweet he made, and it went from there. We became fast friends, too. Slowly, speaking with him gave me perspective on whatever had been loosely defined as my relationship. I was always trying to rationalize actions that didn’t make sense or upset me. This wasn’t right. You shouldn’t have to try to wrap your mind around why someone behaves the way they do, says the things they do, or treats you how they do. Trying to make sense of it all and twisting yourself until you are alright with it is unhealthy. It skews perspective. My new friend was easy to talk to about these things at least. So he helped me to regain my independent perspective and stop trying to twist my brain into perceiving things the way I thought I needed to. Someone you love shouldn’t require you to bend your mind to their way of thinking so you can get along or feel less hurt.
It was a slow process, over months really, coming to terms with what had been real and what had been fantasy. It was a nice fantasy, what we’d had. It was a nice fantasy of a life we’d have together, someday. But it wasn’t happening. My mate, I guess that word fit at one time, had never made the effort to progress. He’d been content standing still, with how things were, even if that meant leaving me out in the cold to strive to survive on my own. It bothered him enough to show basic care, even consideration, but he wasn’t motivated to change things. He was content with his living situation and didn’t seek change.
It wasn’t intended, but I had distracted myself from the impossible person I’d met, or the less plausible one. He and I were interacting as comfortably as ever, but I’d been trying so hard to keep from feeling. I’m early in spring again, going back and forth in time to try to explain. My other Twitter friend was a confidant, good for leaning on, talking things through, and sorting my thoughts. He and I had a good deal in common, so friendship was different. But he had a mate, and boundaries were forged. I’m surprisingly good at that, even under the circumstances. Besides, I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know anymore. I was feeling lost.
These new close friendships had me relying less on the one-sided relationship I’d had, whatever remained. That person was self-sufficient. He didn’t need me like I needed him. His life wasn’t lacking. So he was fine with the slow decline in our talking. It also was a gradual process over months. We never stopped talking, but things changed, a lot.
I felt rather mixed up. My new friend whom sparked such interest was an impossible situation. He was from another country. He was younger. He might not even know what he wanted. Surely, we couldn’t make it work.
I suppose I’m going into far more detail than I meant to. It’s just all coming out into words now that I’m writing. Imagine, this was still spring. All of this had transpired over such a short time. Here I had someone I just clicked with, who was interested in me and wouldn’t listen to sense, or at least what I thought was sense, when it came to the implausibility. I also had a friend helping me to see things from a less distorted perspective. I was no longer in this mindset of upturning my thought process to make sense of what another said and did.
Then, I began to let go. I’m not sure when that was. Perhaps it had actually started at the beginning of the year, to be honest. I think it happened slowly all the while, with everything going on in my life, and then in time with the process of unraveling my thoughts and feelings from what I’d done to force understanding of the one I’d loved for so many years. It’s a process. Step by step, day by day, you find yourself disconnecting. You need someone less, rely on them less, believe in them less, and begin to give up on dreams you’ve held for so long. They were my dreams, after all. They weren’t happening. I’d been fooling myself.
It wasn’t his dream anymore. I don’t know if it ever was. I mean, I failed to mention this before, but in all those years he wouldn’t even acknowledge we were together. He wanted to keep it private. He wasn’t comfortable with friends let alone family knowing we were together. He had reasons. He always had reasons. Reasons will dig you into your grave. Time flies past us in life. Nothing stands still. His reasons held less and less weight as years went by. I couldn’t even “be” with him as far as anyone knew. We were just friends. It was demoralizing.
I suppose it’s probably obvious by now that my love interest was my best friend. Fortunately, few will ever read this to find out the truth of it. He hadn’t visited since 2013, and my life had been a mess ever since. I had never been in a position to visit him; however, there was one time I offered. His family was moving to be closer to another family member, so he’d be moving with them. This was in the opposite direction of what he was meant to be doing, moving to be with me, to give us a chance to see if we’d work in real life. Instead, he didn’t think he had any other choice because he wasn’t financially independent. I offered to take time off from work and drive to help him move. I’d certainly done it enough. He gave me reasons this wouldn’t work though. He didn’t want my help. “Thanks, but no thanks. I appreciate the offer though.” Well… that’s how it went. Even though he was moving the wrong direction and not at all bothered by it, even though this upset me and gave me concern over the chances for the future we both supposedly wanted, I still was offering to help him. He didn’t want my help.
This was several years ago. Now, we’re up to spring of 2021. I think everything is fairly well laid out so that it makes some sense. Forgive me if it’s confusing. I’m sure a lot is. There’s just too much that happened over the years to fill in all of the gaps. I’ll just add that it was over the course of 16 years of loving him and 8 years of supposedly being “together” that I came to the point of giving up. It wasn’t easy or fast. I’m a dedicated cat. I believe in love. I hold on and try with all of my heart.
Now, I had someone vying for my love that was kind and caring, thoughtful and attentive, loving and full of idealism and belief in love. No matter how I tried to convince him circumstances wouldn’t allow for things to work, that there were things he didn’t know, he was not dissuaded. On the contrary, he believed all the more. His belief was infectious, I suppose. For I began to believe, too.
I tried my best to never give him any indication things could happen between us until I had finally abandoned all remaining hope for the dream that had come before.
I didn’t want to give him false hope. I even told him that on several occasions. It felt awful.
I’m not even sure I was as successful at it as I should have been. I was trying to maintain boundaries with someone who was good and kind and pure.
Meanwhile, I’d been going through some particularly hard times at work. This meant I tried to reach out to this lingering ember or person who had been my best friend.
I needed to talk. I needed some support. He was quiet though. Ever busy. Unresponsive. Less and less engaged. I couldn’t handle it. Not more obtuse disinterest. He was only interested or willing to be there for me when it was convenient. He even told me that. Why should this be any different? He didn’t understand why I’d expect him to inconvenience himself to be there for me, virtually that is. He certainly wasn’t going to be there for me in person. And even online, he wasn’t able to be present as I’d needed. No matter how hard things were, he had what he called “responsibilities.” Self-created gaming goals and writing about these games had priority. His own endeavors came first. Hell, he once told me, “You don’t come first, but you also don’t come last.”
I’d gravitated, however slowly, to my new friend as a confidant. He was kind and helped me to see more clearly. He never pressured me or made me feel uncomfortable, or like I needed to reorient how I thought to make sense of things. He never made me feel inconvenient or unwanted. I guess that’s how the feeling of who was my best friend began to change. He even visited me in person. What a thought? Granted, he lived far closer, but it was still a big gesture. It meant something.
And, with my heart now free (or as free as it could be after what I’d been through with the one I’d given years to, now that I’d gone through the psychological hoops of letting go) I began to give in to my feelings for the person I’d met at the beginning of the year. I still had uncertainties. We had little in common, I thought. There was an age difference. We had an ocean between us. It all seemed impossible. But I didn’t care. I felt something there. I’d begun to fear losing him if I didn’t at least try to express my feelings in response to what he’d shown. I didn’t want to drive him away like that. At least, I thought, if I’d finally begun to try to move on from the person who’d held my heart for so many years, I could now try to make something work with someone who truly wanted me.
I think I rationalized things from the beginning, when we first started talking, to give myself reasons we couldn’t work. Yet, if I’m being honest, part of me always wanted to give in. With the comparison in mind, it was clear it had been only the lingering hope I had for someone who’d treated me as an inconvenience that had kept me from giving in far sooner. Feeling was there. I probably even expressed more than I meant to. I’ll share this with him, I think. Because I want him to know a major reason why I held back, how hard it was, and the truth that I can’t deny now. He made me smile from the beginning.
He was like joy itself. I had to act carefully. I couldn’t let this chance slip away. The more I thought about it, the more afraid I became. Had I really risked losing a chance with someone so wonderful? I was worried and decided to try to make amends. Emotions were shared. Perhaps, thinking back, they always had been. I just had to show him.
I think I did, too. I opened up more, was open to feeling more, and rebuffed his interest less and less. I’d tread with care, but I was hopeful. It had been a long time since I’d had hope. He was becoming my light. The light in my life. I had a friend I could rely on, kind and helpful, there for me even in person. And now I had a kitten I could love. For that’s what I called him. My kitten.
The term came not from his own profile but from the moment I realized his age. He and I were talking, and I don’t remember how, but he came upon the subject of my age not being a big deal. Perhaps it had do to with wisdom of experience and how he had so little. I told him that was not true, he had insight and kindness, and there was wisdom in that. Then he let me know he was just -insert age- and thus knew very little. I was surprised and said that perhaps I should call him a kitten. I guess it stuck.
I never intended to be this way, to think of love like I do. Or have the deep desire for it. I didn't set out to be like this. Then I met him, and there was something I still can't describe. I almost cry when I think about it. I know he felt it, too. I know there was something deep, abiding, and special. Falling in love with him was different. In the past, I'd always, always set out seeking love. In some way. Pursued it. Idealized things with a person. Tried to make it work. But he came along without any of that effort. He simply was. Nestling himself into my heart. I didn't anticipate it. I didn't anticipate him. But the contrast with what I’d had before was startling. Someone I’d chased after who barely gave me anything in return, vs. someone who wanted me. Someone so lovely it hurt.
It's ironic, amidst all I'm dealing with right now, loss of job, income, financial stresses, anxiety, OCD, general depression, stepfather with cancer, family's fractured dynamics, lacking direction in life at this point - all I can think about day in and day out is a snep in England. It sounds daft. Maybe it makes some sense? With how things went. How I feel with him. About him. At some point, I realized this was a cat I could spend my life with. Just knowledge that I could be happy with him. He could show up in person, and I would just hug him and never let go. Idealistic? But I never sought this. It's like I woke up one day, and it was so.
I’ve never felt so much happiness in loving someone. It’s different from anything I’ve known. Sparking early on, but developing naturally over time, and serving as a balm for the pain of a mate so many years absent and unwilling to give the least of which this young cat did. He offered it freely without expectation, just hope. Hope that I would love him.
I don't know if I can explain why I feel how I do. He made me feel in a way I've never felt before. Not for anyone. It's a bit like first love. The initial feelings I had when I fell in love years ago. Yet, it's different. There's something of newness, sure. But it's more the raw feelings. A sense of connectedness from the beginning. I didn't know I could feel this way. Warm and welcoming. Natural. Things with the most recent person I’d loved never were like that. With him they were built over a very long period of time, where I realized one day we had a bond, and I had feelings beyond friendship. Subtle. It seemed to make sense, like I made a rational decision about it. Then, lack of commitment or reciprocation over time, years of denial, refusal to acknowledge we even had a relationship. It all added together to make for an underlying sense of not being accepted, wanted, needed, or anything really. An absence of comfort.
By contrast, a kitten contacted me first. Beyond the initial interactions we had through Tweets themselves. He reached out after I'd randomly replied to a Tweet he'd made in response to someone else. It was an anti-LGBTQ sort of statement they'd made. He thanked me for coming to his defense, being his usual "it doesn't matter, they're just being foolish" self. Bold. He was cute. Our interactions were so simple. Just filled with delight. Full of warmth and kindness. Playful, but innocent. I think we both sensed longing in the other. We clicked. I tried so hard not to let that get to me, to maintain friendship. I was worried. Hesitant. So I tried to dissuade him. I learned his age, and I tried all the harder. He broke down my walls brick by brick. I couldn't resist. He melted me. That's something big for a snow leopard. I realized the wish for love I'd had all along could be fulfilled in him, someone willing, hoping, trying to court me. With cuteness at that. It was all new. Different. Unique. How it made me feel surprised me. How he could wash away pain and make me glad to be me. To think maybe I was worth something after all. He gave me hope.
I saw light in him. His insights were always so accurate. He could see right in to me. He was open and never condemning. He didn't make me feel worse for my thoughts or ideas, or shortcomings. He built me up instead of tearing me down. He had all this hope. This want for life, and joy and love. He embraced it, and me. He reassured me that our age difference didn’t matter. Why would it? It was just a number. He sought comfort and security that he saw I was willing to provide. He thought with age came wisdom, and despite my arguing that I wasn’t nearly as smart as he, his confidence remained. He was confident in us working. He was confident in me being a good fit for him. Beneath the appearance he made publicly, also, there was more than anyone else saw. I could see it. He let me see. I don't know why. His beauty shines from the inside. It's inexplicable, as how I feel seems.
Too young, too far away, too impractical. I understand all this. But, as I said above, one day I realized I might lose my chance at having him share his life with me, and everything snapped into focus. This was just what I needed. Who I needed. That I never knew I needed. I knew at that moment I could be truly happy with him. I also knew someone like him didn’t come along often in life, or show an interest in you. He's this rarity I failed to see. No, I think I saw. I was just afraid. How could he want to be with me?
I always called him beautiful, and he wondered why I said that. I just saw his heart and wanted to hold it. You know, he didn't share his face for a long time. He's very private. I didn't know what he looked like. I just loved him for the person he was. Now, I hold on hoping he’ll open back up to me. Because to lose him is not something I can handle. I have to hold on to hope. He is the dream I never knew I had, so close to coming true. Like your greatest fantasy made reality. But it wasn't something you consciously grasped. Until it was before you. Not perfect. But right for you. Just right to fit into your soul. I want to wrap around him like a snep hugging another snep, to hug his soul with mine. It feels so right.
I’d been letting go and trying to move on and, seeing this new person for what he was, I felt that fear I mentioned before of losing him. So I took every opportunity to show him that I cared. I tried to always be there for him, support him, and offer him words of encouragement. I loved unconditionally. Even as he began to withdraw, for reasons he only vaguely alluded to, I held on. I kept loving him.
By August, he was nearly a ghost. I guess that’s fitting for a ghost cat seeing as he is a snow leopard just as I am. I tried to hold on and keep him from slipping away. I did everything I knew how to. My life, meanwhile, was falling apart. I’d been given official notice of being laid off in May, with my last day set for June, but then had the end date extended to July when the company mismanaged the transition of work to a centralized design center. My supervisor was supposed to take on the workload of designing the entire newspaper and work remotely out of that location, but the pay wasn’t sufficient, and the stress was too much. So she resigned. They asked her to remain longer than two weeks in order to help with the transition, but then the company procrastinated with the process until she was gone. I had to handle the transition instead, with my workload increasing even more, the stress as high as possible, and the knowledge that my job was ending. Who forces you to keep working for them after they lay you off, for two months no less, and emphasizes the risk to your severance if you don’t follow through?
So perhaps I failed to be as present as I could have been. I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’ll ever know. The snep became more distant, but he did occasionally talk with me. My other friend became someone I relied on more and more, my best friend (was he still my best friend?) occupied with his own endeavors and not even aware of my situation at my job. I tried to speak with him about it, but it wasn’t a good time. Perhaps later. Always that. I stopped bringing it up. He didn’t know about my last day, he didn’t know when I was no longer going in to work, and he didn’t know what was happening as I tried to navigate the world of being unemployed. He didn’t ask. He just went on about his life.
That’s alright, perhaps. I stopped trying. He stopped being forced to care. It was what it was. I couldn’t manage the energy necessary to keep interacting on the level we had before. My reserves were gone. I just knew I had to give what I could to a snep. He was worth it. My old flame was just embers, and he hadn’t tried to change that. I’d given up some time before, and he’d not said a word. So I tried my best to move on.
Without a job time becomes distorted. It’s all muddied and difficult to gauge. I filed for unemployment as advised by the union lawyer, even though I was going to get severance. I went on some trips to the mountains with my new friend who lived relatively close by. Nearby in comparison to anyone else I knew at least. That kept me from wallowing in misery all the time. Still, I fell into a rut. I wasn’t making progress. Job prospects weren’t panning out. Employers weren’t hiring me. Time passed. Mountains, visits with my friend, sparse chats with the person who had been closer to me than anyone for so many years, but now seemed so distant, and the constant attempts to find work. These were the things I knew.
I felt a renewed sense of hope regarding photography, inspired by a snep. He believed in me. So did my cheetah friend. That’s what he is, the one who lives within a two-hour drive. So I tried to feel motivated and explore this interest. Perhaps there was hope for a future in that? I began to make more effort with it. I had a spark of hope.
More time passed. The cheetah motivated me to keep getting out and doing things, to find joy in life as best I could. Denfur with COVID precautions came and went in August. We only attended for a day. The following day, we tried to go to Mt. Evans but found we needed a reservation, so went for a drive through the mountains and over Guanella Pass instead. There was hiking. We made another attempt at going up Mt. Evans, this time with the chee’s mate and a friend of theirs. In September, the chee and I went to Steamboat for a day. More hiking happened. Photos were taken. Jobs were applied to. I went to Denver to see my friend a few times through all this. Things were at least varied, if hope was a bit sparse.
I interviewed for jobs. There were several from July to now. Nothing panned out. I’m not sure what I did wrong. Severance ran out at the end of September, surprising me. Details in the severance agreement were confusing. It appeared as if payments would last 13 weeks, but that was not the case. So I’ve been relying on unemployment and savings alone since. That’s a month and a half of getting far less in funds than living expenses. I don’t live lavishly. I think most people would tell you I live a bit too frugally. It’s just how life has conditioned me. There are things I’m considering changing in order to save more money. They offer some level of solace, or contribute to my mental health, but they’re not worth the expense. If I get rid of TV and cellphone expenses, cutting back, I can save a little bit. It’s something. Beyond that, not much more can really be trimmed. I don’t even eat that much. I make food last an absurdly long time, only going grocery shopping perhaps once a month.
My father ended up in the hospital with back pain that was “extreme” as one of his older children put it when they sent me a text from his phone. I never heard anything as follow-up and had to wait weeks to get any real answers. His older children are like that. It’s all very strange. He was transferred to a nursing home for weeks until he could return to his apartment at the assisted living complex. There he’s able to do physical therapy and is supposedly doing better. I’m not sure if he’ll ever be who he was before he moved in to that place. He’s so much less independent and self sufficient. I can’t do much about it though. I tried to convince him to get in-home care and maintain his independence for as long as possible, but he was unwilling to believe it was possible.
My stepfather’s condition has worsened. The new regiment of chemo the doctors tried was two or three types of very harsh stuff. He had a negative reaction to it after a few days’ treatment, paired with a very bad UTI. His immune system is compromised, of course. So he was admitted to the hospital for a couple weeks until they could get him stable enough to send home. Weeks later, he began a different type of chemo that was supposed to be very strong but also administered less often. This was easier on him. He didn’t seem to have an adverse reaction to it. Though, he has continued to deteriorate. The last scans showed the cancer had spread over more of his liver and other places. So it’s hopeful this bout of chemo will help fight it.
His health is still in decline. He eats far, far too little. He doesn’t feel hungry, and food is odd for him. He’s often nauseous even with the nausea medicine, and things don’t taste the way they’re supposed to. Often, textures alone cause him to get sick. The nurses insist he try to eat more, that he needs to take in so many calories each day to support his body in fighting the cancer and enduring the chemo therapy. He was frightened by this, but even trying to force himself to eat, he still can’t do much. He often gets sick from trying.
He’s depressed, and my mother texts me constantly about it. She’s unhappy. Even though he took care of her several years ago when she was ill, helping her through the ordeal, she is just so dour about this. She’s upset and constantly frustrated with him. I guess it’s hard on her. They live in a trailer on a lot with a run-down house, after he allowed the house she’d owned for 25 years to be foreclosed on. He spends money as fast as he makes it, always having new ideas and plans. He’s bipolar so has trouble behaving in a stable way.
Now, he’s sick and depressed. He won’t get therapy. He doesn’t think it helps. He just hides in sleep and doesn’t feel motivated to do much if anything. Their finances can’t be great. They were getting by before with him working, but now, I don’t know what they’re doing. The income they have off his business and the few places he has his jewelry in to sell can’t be that much. They have some sort of means of paying for medical bills, or at least some of them. I think they arranged with a need-based program at the hospital where his cancer is being treated. They still have a huge amount of medical debt, and it’s increasing every day.
She still doesn’t know I lost my job or what’s happening in my life. I can’t tell her about any of it. I certainly can’t tell her about my relationship. I Tweeted about a conversation I had with her a couple months ago regarding that. She wondered when I was going to find a woman to marry so I could give her grandkids. The things mothers say. I’m pretty much on my own aside from a few close friends. I can only hope things turn around. I need for something to go right.
All things considered, I’m not sure how I keep going. My longest friendship with someone whom I thought I’d spend my life with has become frayed, far more distant than ever before. Love is shattered. He did that to it. This was the year I stopped holding out hope. I think the day I decided to stop trying is the last day I told him I loved him. That’s a long time now. I don’t say the words if I don’t feel them. When he said my wanting him to figure out how to make our future goals happen was nagging, I think that’s when I truly gave up. And I think I’m still sad for what was lost, the chance at a life and happiness. But just as much, the years that have gone by. I gave up so many waiting. I just feel empty when I think about it now.
My job ended months ago. No prospects seem all that hopeful. My finances are slowly dwindling. Winter is upon us. It feels cold, and somehow that emphasizes the discomfort of the situation in which I find myself. It’s like an outward representation of my inner state. It reverberates and makes me feel all the worse. Perhaps it’s because it feels like the walls are closing in, job opportunities and the realistic capacity to move are reduced with winter. Then there are the holidays as well. Those feel oppressive instead of hopeful or something to look forward to. When things go wrong, you stop looking forward to those occasions that once would have seemed positive.
My chee friend tries to get me to see the positives in my life. I’m trying. I am. It’s just not easy. Especially when … Well, something happened in October, right before Halloween. It haunts me. Ironic.
The young snep had become withdrawn to the point of hardly talking with me. A message here or there was received, but it was so rare. I didn’t understand. I tried to. I continued to message him. I explained my thoughts, what was going on in my life, my fears, and asked that he at least tell me what was going on. So much silence filled the void. My heart became the void. He once said he lived in my heart, curled up and purring. I wanted to feel that again.
He closed himself off though. I still don’t understand what happened. I don’t know if he’s alright. I’ve no idea if it was something to do with me. Did I press too hard, shine with too much intensity with the love I had for him? Have. For it isn’t fading. It burns so brightly, almost as brightly as he burns. Like a star. I think I called him that once. Well, I might be mixing things up.
I don’t sleep. I do, but I don’t rest. It’s hard to describe. I have nightmares. I wake often. I did dream about him once where it wasn’t filled with longing, before this happened. I described it. Let me see if I can remember.
I wrote it down so I could remember it. I’ll paste in what I have:
“Back on September 23rd, I had a strange dream. The family of a lady from England had come together. I knew her growing up in my small hometown. It's mixing up details. Her daughter had come to visit, but she was somehow the first girl I loved, and I knew this. Though, she looked different. But I knew. Older, yet I recognized her. I guess I'm older, too. She and I acknowledged one another. They were on a stair step thing, kind of like bleachers at a football field. I went up to talk to her, thinking I no longer had feelings of melancholy. I had a cute British boyfriend now. Or did I? I wondered to myself. Then she said she'd turned out gay, and I could see that, thinking about it. In RL no, not at all, but in the dream it made sense. So it was like the dream was continuing the evolution I've experienced through life, or outlining it in some way. The next thing I knew, she was a guy, a British guy talking about being gay, and I wondered that I ever thought she was a girl. So was my dream telling me something? I woke feeling strangely calm.”
He didn’t respond to this when I shared it. I wonder what he thought. Like I said, maybe the intensity of how I felt was too much. I didn’t make it a secret online. Anywhere. I liked being able to share how I felt with others. To tell the world that I loved this British snep. I was open and happy about things. I didn’t have to hide how I felt. It meant a lot.
He’s hidden now. Hiding. A bit at a time he’s come out of this, at least allowing me to see into his Twitter again. That’s something, right? I have to hold hope. I have to believe. He told me once he loved and trusted me wholly. I love and trust him wholly, too. I won’t let go. I won’t give up. I don’t know how to. If I can hold out for 16 years with someone who barely gave me any reason to believe, then I wonder how long I can hold on now.
I suppose that I am loyal. That goes further than what most might think makes sense. Perhaps it’s more a perspective on relationships. I consider RP with another an intimate thing. Almost like it’s real. I’ve never slept with anyone. I’ve had chances, but it always felt wrong. Circumstances made things uncomfortable. It’s always been my belief that you should love someone to be intimate in such a way, and there should be commitment and trust between you. This could have to do with my demisexuality, a term I only heard about a few years ago. I don’t even flirt with someone unless I feel especially close to them.
Perhaps, I wonder, I was letting go of my love of all those years when I met a snep. Perhaps, it was the right moment. Or perhaps I recognized something like a connection that can’t be put into words or explained, and I naturally fell into such. Was it flirting? I think it was interplay. Romantic wishfulness. We both wanted something and sensed the other wanted it, too. Whatever the case, meeting him made me question my relationship that was not even defined as a relationship. When love, commitment, and dedication toward goals are one-sided, it’s easier to let go. I don’t know that it had ever really been a relationship. I saw something in a young snep I’d never seen in anyone before. And suddenly, everything I knew about love was upturned. My world changed.
Maybe he was what I needed in order to awaken. My cheetah friend helped me to reorient my thoughts, finding reality. The little snep I met showed me what love was meant to be. I was free. I don’t understand how it happened.
I’d spent years dealing with never hearing “I love you,” being told I didn’t come first, didn’t matter more than others, shouldn’t expect to be the most important thing in someone’s life, and never being able to tell anyone we were together. I dealt with dashed hopes, disappointment, and promises that never came true. There was betrayal, lies, and gaslighting. I don’t think he realized or meant for the last one there, but it happened. I asked what we were, and he never could define us. He said he couldn’t think of a word for what we were. So not mates or boyfriends. Best friends, but more. I wonder if best friends with benefits, virtual as they might’ve been, would fit. I still don’t understand. Such restrictions on even definitions kept him from admitting anything. It took the pressure off. He didn’t have to meet any expectations if he created ambiguity in the simplest of things. Or, he could claim expectations were unfair and shouldn’t exist in what we had. Whatever we had. A few times he told me, “You are loved,” but that’s not the same. He always chose his words carefully. Then half of the time he maintained plausible deniability. He did everything possible to keep from truly committing to anything. Years passed like this. So much time.
I think, maybe, we were only ever really mates in my head. I created the fantasy. He fed into it, but he never truly embraced or shared the dream. It took meeting someone with whom I instantly clicked to show me this. I fought so hard not to give in to those feelings. I felt like I had to create walls and maintain boundaries. Yet, I failed. Being in his presence alone was enough to make me weak. Wistful. Dreaming new dreams. He truly believed in love. He wanted my love. And I wanted to give it.
The moment I met this snep, I began to realize. I began to see the false reality I’d constructed, been led to believe, to follow to no real destination. I could waste my life dreaming, or I could embrace reality. It just so happened that reality had someone waiting for me. Waiting for me to realize what we could be.
So maybe from the moment we started to talk, I sensed something. I didn’t know what to do with it, but it was there. The false reality I’d been living in began to fade, its luster lost until I saw it for what it was. A facsimile. I had to finish letting go of what had been an imagined relationship so I could have a true one. Hell, maybe my denial of emotional reciprocation was all a fantasy. I could look back and see how well I succeeded at holding back. I don’t think I’d find the resistance I thought I was making. Upon reflection, I might realize I gave in little by little from the beginning. When two souls meet and instantly know … it’s kismet? I certainly couldn’t hold on to the embers of a make belief relationship in face of this.
I’m only sorry I held back for as long as I did. I found every reason possible. I didn’t think things were plausible. Distance, age, and other life circumstances separated us. Then, what is the saying, “all you need is love”? I think that might be true.
You are the light of my life, kitten. I didn’t know what it felt like to have someone like you in my life before. Now, I can’t go back. It’s like gaining sight for the first time. The thought of losing that, with knowledge of what love feels like, is unthinkable.
I wanted to spend Christmas with him, to maybe have him come spend it with me. I wasn’t sure how I was going to make it work. It was possible though. Everything is possible. That’s what I want to believe. If you want it badly enough, it should be, right?
He was like a miracle that came into my life. Someone pure and good, beautiful of heart and spirit, couldn't be real. But he was. I love him more than I can ever convey. So I wait. Like the prodigal son, I'll welcome him back if he returns. He always did call me a dadcat. *Sighs and curls up, staring at his upturned paw where a tuft of fur rests.*
Click to view*************
(The last line there won’t make sense if you haven’t read the story I wrote about sneps. Ask me, and I might share. It’s mostly romance, but it includes NSFW content as well. So fair warning.)
Addendum:
I have an expanded version of the events from 2021 that I trimmed down before posting here. If anyone is interested in reading, I can share. It's just a lot more detailed than what I ended up with, and this is already so long. So I made some edits for brevity's sake.