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judas

@mightysuns

he/him
this too shall pass

i fell to my knees watching the stars

i am crying and the stars cry with me

i wonder if a child will find shards of meteorites tomorrow morning

i realize the ocean is enormous

you are so full of life

the world has been bellowing at me

i have always taken the shouting as a curse

i have never allowed my self to be loud

the world stands ahead of me now

booming and crashing and exploding

you are so full of life!

the cement of my stoop and all the hands that laid it dig into my knees

the stones are millions of years old

thousands of people have crossed this land before

thousands more will

you were never alone

i was there too

come on, let’s get coffee in the morning.

call me when you get this.

been sitting on this for a while. keep being told to go to church to find real community when i move. go there for mental health support access, child care, job support, volunteer work. that’s what the church is for—community.

i’ve spent so long feeling outside the community of church. my prayers were never loud enough. my love never heavy enough. my burden never great enough. my sin too wrong.

you know where i found my community? positive living centres. addiction centres. homeless shelters. queer health centres. downtown late at night between a cigarette and a borrowed pair of gloves. market square where we barter and trade goods and favours.

“live like jesus intended” i am sitting and having coffee with a sex worker and a man who sings at the side of the road. i am giving where i have nothing because someone else has nothing too. a drag queen walks me home and teaches me about sexual assault support in the area. the man who collects my roommates empties offers to help us move because as it turns out he works for a moving company. i make a wood carved figure for my friends new baby.

i don’t believe in God anymore—maybe i do, but i do not forgive Him. i do not go to sit in a chapel on sundays. i do find myself with my church all the time though.

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Grief is so fucking wild. It sinks into your muscles, forces itself to be felt. It steals your appetite, floods your brain with cortisol. It makes you so, so tired.

If someone you know is grieving, telling them "just let me know what I can do" means nothing. They can't. They don't know. And the small things are too embarrassing to ask for.

  • Bring them a cheese platter. Pre-Cut fruit. Peanut butter pretzels. Protein shakes (like slimfast) Food that requires no prep and does not create dishes.
  • Do the dishes. Take out the trash. Sweep the floor. Vacuum the carpet. They won't ask you to do this, but it will help.
  • A bottle of acetaminophen honestly might help more than flowers. Grief really can cause muscle aches.

i can’t bring him back but i can load the dishwasher.

read that in the tags and i think ive been crying for several minutes.

i can’t bring him back.

but i can load the dishwasher.

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Love is the one thing that we’re capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space.’

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grief is so crazy like what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. does she know i loved her. i miss her so much. i catch myself doing things she used to do. i wish i could call her. i miss her so much. i do a crossword puzzle. i cry while washing the dishes. does she know i loved her? my heart feels like a hummingbird. i miss her so much. what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. what if i forget.

I want so badly to remember everything about her. If I could remember how she sounded when she hummed, or how her clothes smelled, I could stitch together pieces of her in my mind and keep her close.

i worry sometimes that my memory of him is wrong, like i’ve put it out of order. i wonder if he loved me like his kid in the way that i loved him like a father. i can remember the bar rag he always had in his pocket. but is that enough to keep his memory alive?

grieving someone who ended their own life is so complicated and painful and everyone has something to say on the matter. ESPECIALLY if you express anger toward the person you lost.

but here’s the truth: it does not fucking matter. be angry. be angry all you want because it’s YOUR grief, it’s YOUR feelings.

yes, your loved one was suffering. yes, they deserved help, love, and support. yes, it is terrible that they felt that their only choice was suicide.

that being said: they made a choice that causes countless people to hurt. you get to be angry because of the pain you were caused. you get to be angry in your grief.

it is not a zero sum game: their pain doesn’t cancel out yours. your pain doesn’t cancel out theirs.

your anger does not mean that their choice wasn’t real and theirs to make in response to their pain.

just as their pain doesn’t mean that you are not allowed to be angry at the hole they left in your life.

sincerely, someone who is tired of defending their grief to the public world. he was my uncle—i get to feel however the fuck i want.

losing someone is such a complicated thing. yes i love you, yes you are gone. now what…?

i love you and you are not here for me to love.

i love you and it cannot reach you.

i love you and it cannot heal this wound.

i love you and i am kneeling on the sidewalk because someone sounded like you and i couldn’t tell you i love you enough.

i love you and i am angry at you for leaving me.

i love you and i am so full of gratitude.

i love you and i am so terribly sad.

walkable cities also means sittable cities send tweet

some people are responding to this like its a joke and im going to assume u are the type of people to say "its only a 3 minute walk" when i tell them the nearest bench is too far away

also anyone who thinks "3 minutes isnt THAT bad" you will be old one day. and you will wish the bench was closer

walkable cities also means cities with free accessible public bathrooms whilst we're at it

I’M NOT LIKE MY FAMILY!!!!!! (i’ve escaped the endless cycle of loneliness and abuse and substance abuse that trickles into a lack of passion and empathy, leading to the jaded habits of my predecessors!!!)

i’m not like my family. (i’m a black sheep everywhere, even to the unconditional love that i was owed. i sit alone at the dining room table. i miss the warmth of the den.)

something so gentle about playing stupid jokes with him and messing with his ridiculously long hair heals the girl i was before the man i am now. doesn’t make me feel like a former girl. doesn’t make me feel like a plastic boy. makes me feel like the kid i was was always the right one

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