Another feeling to figure out as I admire this once broken artwork(Completed)

   Journals are supposed to be updated at a fixed rate, right?" With this question in my head, I continue to type with the wish to keep all these thoughts in one place. This feeling of ripping open a bandage, which has covered up a wound so big that it’s almost going to consume me, is overwhelming. I have been in objectively more uneasy situations before, I am sure of it, but perhaps my priorities are more abnormal than I initially thought.

I scheduled an email that was meant to be sent on my birthday so that I could use that as leverage of some sort to bother them one last time if the friendship or just a very close acquaintanceship of some sort is no longer something that they desire. It has only been a day, and I am made to realize how easily the world of technology and social platforms has made people’s communication swift and unhindered by distance or attention. This discomfort in waiting... the same discomfort I tried to escape in my last relationship. Like all pain in life, I must build myself up until this hole in my soul seems small and may one day be just a small pit on a vast plain of who I am. However, if by some chance this hole grows with me, maybe then I can finally say I am atoning for the sin I have committed. While accepting that this is what I deserve, seeing a small change in their playlist that they made for me, I was overjoyed that they still possibly have a place in their life for me. I re-edited the scheduled email and sent it... did I say something wrong? I was there again, feeling pressure making it hard to breathe, not even sure I should grieve or wait patiently. A day later, I couldn’t hold myself back and sent a friend request on Discord, to which there was still no response... What should I do now? The air feels thick and lumpy; breathing in accelerates my heartbeat and squeezes my lungs, depriving me of oxygen and consciousness.

The air is thick, and my mind is clouded. I am woken to the sound of the individual I am caring for; her voice, which used to sound mysterious and comforting, is now unclear and fills me with doubts yet again. I have realized that I had added too many random people who enjoyed my presence as friends on VRChat. In one instance, I was harshly awakened by a deep voice I don’t recognize, asking if we know someone named Alex. It has been so long since I woke up with anger directed at someone, for how could I have acknowledged a person who would think it was acceptable to speak among a group of people lying dormant in silence, and even after my gesture toward them to stay silent, continues to voice their intention to leave us to our sleep with no word, guilt, or apologies. It got me so worked up I had to wake up completely and look up how to find out who this person was and whether or not I should cut all contact with them... Am I becoming more unforgiving because of agitations?

It has been three days since I last updated this letter, so there will be some updates on top of what I wrote. I had a pudding-flavored ice cream today, which tasted like a mixture of cantaloupe and cucumber if I hadn’t been told it was pudding-flavored. I got some time alone and thought to myself, what would we talk about? It is bittersweet now that I can imagine them telling me how they might like or dislike the taste as they begin to talk about other ice creams or snacks they find just as interesting, and we will jump from one topic to another until an ice cream talk expands to hours of laughter and sharing. Even if we both forget about the details in a few days, the good feeling will surely remain. And it didn’t help when I found the convenience store nearby sells a cartoon-cheese-shaped ice cream the next day, and how long we could talk about this next...

Today, on the first day of May, I found out that I could have started talking to them or reaching out to them on the 21st of April through our latest conversation. Why did I miss that? Why did I distinctly remember to talk to them on the 24th? As I went through my memory, I recalled that they told me they had things to do and were thinking to themselves when I could contact them; they were talking about the 19th, 21st, and 24th... Maybe my memory wasn’t at its best, but what I took with me was to contact them on the 24th for some reason... Are they disappointed that I didn’t contact them sooner? Or is it that I remembered it incorrectly? Do I really care this little about seeing them again? I thought to myself as I, for the first time in a long time, looked through their accounts... at least what I had of them. Seeing that they are probably going to live their life without me, my mind races through the thoughts and memories of what they have written to me. Then I recalled... the archive. It’s going to hurt, but if I am to live without them, I have to do this. The conversations they saved, the audio of myself speaking to them, so full of myself... The messages that seem like lies now, in contrast to what I have decided to do, and I was just glimpsing over them. I did a quick run-through and decided to read the letter they hoped to send me on their blog before they deleted it. How much I would have wished to be the one noticing the blog instead of them telling me to go through it... A few glimpses at those sent tears to my eyes, and I stopped. I have to schedule a time to go through them as focused as possible. Then I arrived at the letter; last time I checked, it was one of the letters I wrote while we were still in contact. I expected no changes... I was sure they had forgotten about me by now; I was sure they probably no longer scoured my footprints. If I knew that they still remembered me and read these letters that I wrote, would I have written them differently? I don’t know. I saw no record of the last one I wrote; maybe I saddened them again when I sent them an email about us talking on the 24th when they clearly noted the 21st. Maybe they decided to no longer contact me this time. No matter what the case is, I feel much at ease now. If there is any reason they are not replying or contacting me, it is probably because I did something wrong, not because they have grown to despise me during our time apart. I am saddened but relieved. Why? Will they still read these? I don’t know, perhaps...

As I begin to feel more human with the thought of them, I begin to be able to move forward, motivating myself to invest in my future. I found courage in my future, as the challange it may bring feels like nothing compared to the anguish I feel these days, and how the world works truly puzzles me sometimes. As soon as I found the courage to move forward, I was given a chance to make a career change. The path forward is shrouded in mystery and fear; however, I shall move forward... not because I am brave, but because I can’t stand still in this sinking hole of sadness. However, no matter what the reason is, I shall push forward, continuing to do the right thing for the wrong reasons.

(Something I forgot to mention: the ambient music I have been listening to now presents me with a shadow of you, and I am okay with that now. I can imagine how we could listen to it together as we continue our activities separately, something that I wished we could have done that I was too shy to tell you back then. I will continue to look upon you now, and the happiness you find and the posts of joy, brushing away the remnants of the part of you that you once shared with me. And I did recall how much you hated me leaving messages as if I was trying to self-pity or gain some sort of favor, so I am also in a bit of uneasiness as these letters seem to be of the same nature from another’s perspective. If they seem so, I am sorry, but I shall continue this, as this is the only way I can ever speak to you, even if you no longer wish or have decided to never read or hear from me again.)

From Mr. Moon who burned a marshmallow