Untitled Story

...you find yourself here again, teeth unconsciously clenched; tear membrane evaporating from your never-blinking eyes; cracked phone pressed painfully into your pressure-whitened fingerpads. [['What's happening?']] [['Not again...']]

Goddamned indeed. This insipid device certainly does not seem to know the love of god, from the looks of things. Its screen is a silken spiderweb of fine cracks, casting strange greens and pinks onto your retinas if you hold it at just the right angle, no matter what color it is trying so valiantly to project. [[You can hardly bear to look at it|'What's happening?']].

What's happening is you fucked up, somehow. You're not entirely sure how, but from the scratch in your throat and the sting in your fingers, you're pretty sure it has something to do with the [[GODDAMN PHONE]] in your hands. [['The cursed, wretched thing.']] [['Poor phone...']]

But in fact, yes again. You're a funny little creature, aren't you? Drawn into ever deeper holes even while you climb ever skywards. Maybe you enjoy the cheap thrills of the fall, like spelunking without an anchor rope. Or maybe this is a kind of [[autocannibalism -- Ouroboros eating its own tail]]. It doesn't matter. You are here again, you are you again. What are you going to do about it? [['I'm going to do things differently this time.']] [['Fuck all, condescending voice of ambiguous origin. Fuck. All.']]

What are you referring to, the phone or the [[face reflected in it]]? The phone is a tool -- it's all a matter of how you use it. Its curses are not its own. [['Well how do I use it then?']]

Pitiable, isn't it. But then, it isn't alive. You are. And you are hurting. [['Why am I hurting?']] [['How do I make it stop?']]

You talk to it. You stare into it. You laugh with it. But that's all in the abstract. For now, you can start by [[checking what you were doing with it in the first place|check your phone]].

That's that, then, isn't it? Barely even a clue of what's happening and you've given up on changing. But that's okay, really. You don't get to choose whether you will change or not -- the world will do the changing for you. No matter how hard you dig in your heels, you can only kick up sand, and once more... [[...you find yourself here again]]

Well that sounds like a good start. But what did you do to get here? Maybe you should [[check your phone]].

It's a face you know well. It's your face. What expression is it wearing right now? Or did you forget to put one on? It's okay. You'll find no judgment from me. Who am I to judge, I've [[no face at all|'The cursed, wretched thing.']].

<center><img src="https://media.abilitymagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/29124504/1200px-Ouroboros-Abake.svg.jpg"></center> Behold: Ouroboros. The great transnational symbol for the cycle of life, death, and rebirth; for the transmigration of souls -- and a great big snake eating itself alive. You recall a time in freshman year of college when you took too much acid right before a date -- rookie move if ever there's been one -- and found yourself wholly incapable of understanding the world outside of your own thoughts. They circled and consumed each other so visciously that there was no room for real, spoken language; no room for people. You thought to yourself then, "I am the snake eating its own tail." You thought to yourself then, [['Not again...']] (image sourced from: https://abilitymagazine.com/ouroboros-an-anxious-persons-guide/)

Good job. And I mean it. It isn't easy looking directly at the things that scare us. But now you've looked, and she's still here. Or her name is anyway -- it wouldn't be the first time that's the only thing that was. But now we can play again, [[you]], [[me]], and [[her|her 2]]. Did you forget she was there, on the other side of the phone? We've done this dance a thousand times before, buckaroo -- you ought to at least remember the players. [[But your memory isn't what it used to be.]]

That's a big question. For starters, you haven't blinked in ages. You should blink more. For another, you're holding that phone rather tight. Maybe relax. Perhaps most importantly, though, your relationship is probably ending. [[Think fast]]!

That's the beauty of it: [[you don't]]. Trying to make it stop only makes you do things you regret later. You can only let the hurt happen. Now [[check your goddamn phone|check your phone]]. Or, if you want, you can try to [[make it stop anyway]].

Did you blink? I hope so, because dry eyes are about the only thing you can fix right now. But I'm going to need you to [[check your phone]] anyway.

You recall years, decades of hurt -- most of it self-inflicted. Kind words turned to barbs in your hands, and so you threw them back at the people who gave them to you. They always wondered why you ran away. You wonder now if they ever realized it was fear. Fear of others, fear of yourself -- it was all the same in the end. Always asking yourself, [['How do I make it stop?']]

Well here's to trying. Do me a favor and say out loud, [['Do you still love me?']]

... ... Tough luck, buddy. That's radio silence. You look down at your phone, half remembering you were talking to [[her]] after all this time navel gazing. The thing is, you should have known that now wasn't the right time to ask that question. Don't kick someone while they're down, not her, not yourself, not anybody. And you're both down now, bud. But you wanted to make the hurt stop. Now all you can do is [[wait]] or [[keep trying]].

She is a thousand things at once to you. A whirling dervish of wonder and wanton want -- want for things you thought alien to your sensibilities; want for future, and warmth, and hurt. What is a relationship except a commitment to hurt each other lovingly; unknowingly; warmly? But I digress. She is the technicolor joy of a thousand TV evenings, comforting as they are forgettable. She is the burn marks in your film-reel memory -- the warm glow of self-immolation, and the pheonix-fire of self-realization. She is beer bottles and honeybees; she is word games and puzzle pieces; she is rooftops and cold skin; she is on the phone right now. And she is so quiet; [[so far away|'Do you still love me?']].

... ... "I think so," she says. But she sounds sad. Tired. You shouldn't have asked. You should've known you shouldn't have asked. But you did. And guess what? [[...you find yourself here again]]

Why wise up when you can double down, right? So you push, and you push, and you push. 'I just want to feel like you're putting in an effort'; 'I need to feel like this matters to you, like you want this'; 'Why is it so hard right now? Why is it so painful?'; 'Have I upset you? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...'; 'I wish things were easier -- I wish I was easier'; [['Should we break up?']]

... ... "I don't know," she says. And how should she? What the fuck are you doing? Why do you keep being like this? You just can't help yourself, can you, and... [[...you find yourself here again]]

You like to think of me as the devil on your shoulder, don't you? Whispering sweet everythings into your ear, a cacophony of a thousand thousand voices all yelling at you to do more, think harder, //be better//. But then, where is your angel? I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, buddy, but I'm all you've got. And I'm just trying to get you to [[see what I see|check your phone]].

So many sleepless nights will do that to you. The sleep apnea doesn't help either. The question remains, though, what do you remember? [['She hurt me.']] [['I hurt her.']] (if: (history:) contains "'She hurt me.'" or "'I hurt her.'" or "make it stop anyway") [ [['We hurt each other.'->'We hurt each other.']] ]

You, you. Unquenchable, you. I'd ask what you're doing here, but where else do you have to be? If the choice is here or //inside// -- why, that's no choice at all. You would weather a thousand storms before letting yourself get caught in the beartrap of your own skin. But what do you do when you are the storm? What do you do when you must [[face yourself|check your phone]]?

She did, didn't she? You feel so battered and bruised -- something must have hurt you. It might as well be her. But still, something doesn't feel quite right. You wouldn't feel like //this// if it were a simple matter of being hurt. You're [[afraid]]. Why? [['I'm afraid this isn't worth it.']] [['I'm afraid I'll convince one of us this isn't worth it.']]

You did, did you? You might be right. Or maybe you give yourself too much credit. That's what you're really [[afraid|afraid 2]] of, isn't it? That all this time worrying about hurting her is for naught -- because maybe you can't reach her in the first place. Maybe she isn't here at all. [['Where did she go?']]

That's what this feeling is. Like your spine has been replaced by a hot iron. Like your throat no longer belongs to you. You can feel every fold of your worn-out t-shirt. You can feel your tongue in your mouth. You can feel everything all at once, and it's [[too much|'She hurt me.']].

She went //inside//. Or maybe she just went away. You've been piling too much shit in front of her door, she's either stuck on the other side or she can't get in at all. So tell me. What did you do? [['Nothing.']] [['Everything.']]

Now that can't be true. You wouldn't be here if it were. Maybe you mean you haven't done enough, or you did nothing wrong. Either way, that's still not quite right. You've done plenty wrong -- you both have. But you also can't strive to do ever more and more. All things have limits, and when you push past yours, you push past hers as well. In other words, more isn't always better. In fact, "more" is frequently how... [[...you find yourself here again]]

I can't tell if you're congratulating or admonishing yourself. Either way, stop it. You should never let yourself feel like you're doing everything yourself, but neither should you feel guilty for trying. And you are trying. So is she. This is what trying looks like, neither one of you doing everything right, and neither one of you doing everything wrong. Maybe all you can do right now is [[try again|...you find yourself here again]].

Yes. You did. You've both pushed each other way past your stress tolerances. Day in and day out, you keep trying, and trying, and trying, and it feels like nothing changes. You dig yourself deeper; she pulls away -- it's all the same. Maybe all you can do now is admit it to each other. And for all the credit you don't give her, I think she's about to [[start]].

Maybe it isn't. Maybe it is. Either way, and no matter what you choose to do, you will have to learn to live with the uncertainty. You might give up on something that could have been great. You might choose to stay until it becomes terrible. Either way, you will live. So, will you [[try to stay]] in spite of the fear, or [[leave]] in spite of the hope?

And what if you do? [['I don't want things to end.']]

Then try to stay. It will be painful, but so long as you're both still trying, you're both on the same team. The joy can come again -- even though, from time to time... [[...you find yourself here again]]

Then leave. She will survive. So will you. You have given each other the tools to be better than you were before; to be stronger and more vulnerable than you were before. If this is an ending, it is also a beginning -- one that you crafted together, with love. For now, things will be different. But there may come a time when... [[...you find yourself here again]]

Maybe you will. Everyone is, sometimes. It wouldn't be the first time in this relationship one or the other of you has been wrong.

You also didn't want things to start. But what joy you have known because you let yourself be open to pain. What joys you may yet know, whatever path you let yourself be open to in the future. You can only speak your truth. If that truth convinces you, or her, that the end has come, then accept it. You can't control the outcome without sacrificing the joy of the journey. Whatever happens, there may come a time when... [[...you find yourself here again]]

"Hey. I'm sorry about yesterday." [['I'm sorry too. I really pushed you even once I realized I was only making things harder.']]

"I think I might just be getting a bit fatigued. Like I feel like our relationship has been taking a lot of emotional effort, and it has for a while. It's hard to stay engaged with the harder moments." [['That makes sense. I kinda know what you mean.']]

"Yeah. I'm just not sure what to do about it because the nature of the fatigue is that there are more hard moments. I think it's just making me shut down." [['Yeah, and I think seeing you shut down makes me panic more and push harder because I feel desperate to feel validated, but that only adds to the stress and pushes you further away.']]

"Yep. But I don't know how to stop shutting down." [['That's fair.']]

"So what do you want to do?" So... [[What do you want to do?]]

(set: $answer to (prompt: "What do you want to do?","")) [[I see...]]

Your answer: $answer I don't know if that's a good idea. I also don't know if it's a bad one. We've reached the end of what I know. All that's left now is to live, and hurt, and hope. Remember to blink more, and drink water. Remember to love others and have compassion for yourself. Remember that this is not the end. Remember that I love you. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel more alone. [[Restart]]

[(reload:)]