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How could I not hate myself for the blindness that led me to believe she might ever have loved me as I am?.

Surely, I must despise myself as I do her. In the end, we both betrayed me.

Beth always hated the idea of this blog. She didn’t want me posting as much so I didn’t.

All this time I tried so hard to make her happy. I stopped interacting with people I like because it made her uncomfortable, I stopped talking as much because it made her uncomfortable, I stopped behaving like myself because it made her uncomfortable.

I hate her and I hate myself.

Tied together, but never the same.

A love that tortures.

Thought you’d be interested in this, stea. You think Keats was talking about Polaris? Can’t say I’m well versed on the subject. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44468/bright-star-would-i-were-stedfast-as-thou-art

— Nigel

Fomalhaut was the first star that came to mind. People call it the lonely one, and that feels closer to what Keats was describing—‘not in lone splendour hung aloft the night’—watching in silence like some sleepless, distant observer. Polaris is constant, sure, but Fomalhaut is solitary. It sits far apart from the other bright stars in the sky. Easy to notice. Easy to feel something about.

It makes sense to me, logistically too. Fomalhaut is visible from Earth without much effort. But more than that, it carries the weight of solitude, of being out there and unmistakably alone.

I don’t think he wanted to be the star. I think he recognized something of himself in it. When we admire things people, stars, it’s often because they mirror something we’re missing or trying to understand. Maybe he wasn’t longing for distance, but for connection. To feel less alone by seeing that loneliness reflected back.

And even if they’re separated by lifetimes of space, the star and the observer exist in that moment together. No one else might understand that connection, perhaps not even the two of them, but it’s there nonetheless.

Were not the bliss too often crost

By that unhappy vile distrust,That gnawing doubt, and anxious fear, that dangerous malady,

That terrible tormenting rage, that madness, jealousy.

It is love that tortures you, isn’t it?

You don’t speak of it but I know and so do you.

I did not like that.

I have memorized every possible answer. I have practiced in the mirror. I know the words. But my hands still shake when I think about it.

I don’t understand why. If I know what I need to say, why is my heart racing? Why does my throat close? Why does my body not listen to logic?.

I thought of taking Beth to the planetarium sometime, but I’m not sure if she’d like it

If you met an alien, what would you tell and/or ask them?

Okay. First off: how do you breathe? Do you breathe? What kind of atmosphere are you used to? Is oxygen poisonous to you? Do you metabolize something else entirely? And your gravity, how strong is it? Do you walk upright? Do you even need to walk? What’s your skeletal structure like? Do you even have bones?

What’s your biology based on? Is there a version of DNA where you’re from? Or is it something entirely foreign to us? What’s your body temperature? Do you even need to regulate it? Do you get cold?

Do you perceive time linearly? Do you dream? Have you categorized your stars yet? What are your units of measurement? Do you know what we are? Have you been watching us the way we’ve imagined you?

And I think… after all that..I’d probably just say:

I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. Not you specifically, maybe. But the possibility of you. And now I have about a million more questions.

I don’t feel that way with you though.

I never have so far.

I have learned that people say they want me to be myself, but they rarely ever mean it.

They mean: be myself, but in a way that makes sense to them. Be myself, but not so much that they have to rethink anything. Be myself, but not in a way that makes them wonder if they even know me at all. In a way that won’t embarrass them. And now I’m the one hesitating, trying to figure out what I’m apparently not giving—something I wasn’t even aware was missing.

And I have to wonder if I’m the one getting it wrong.

Hello, Adam!! People are putting emojis below their asks to signify a sort of sign-of, like a signature :))

I like that concept. I could make tags for each emoji from an anonymous user , I saw other people do that.

I have Dr Lecter as my psychiatrist too!

Honestly I think I might ask for a referral to another psychiatrist. He speaks in prose, and I just cannot decode all his metaphors.

He's generally nice though.

I think I understand how you feel. Dr. Lecter does speak in a way that can be difficult to interpret. I ask him to clarify when I don’t understand, but he doesn’t always give a direct answer. He is very intelligent though. If the way he speaks makes things harder for you, then asking for a referral makes sense. The most important thing is having a psychiatrist who helps you the way you need.

Personally, Dr. Lecter and I understand things differently. He isn’t always direct, and I prefer clarity, but he doesn’t mind when I ask him to explain. He listens carefully and helps me notice patterns in my thoughts I hadn’t seen before. Even if I don’t always understand his metaphors, he makes me think in new ways, which is helpful.

Good luck with your therapy!

I don’t know what feelings it would stir in Will. I have never met him.

But if someone saw a younger version of themselves, would they recognize it as themselves..or as someone else entirely?

It's very weird, having a patient with the same face as my Will.