11. buoys
2/14/25
Hey Chadderbox,
It’s 12:18 a.m. on your birthday. You would’ve been 36. Happy birthday, Chadderbox.
I’ve pre-ordered the balloons I’m planning on launching after work, which makes me feel old. I’ve got the process down by now. Doesn’t make it easier.
I’m sorry I haven’t written in a year. I’ve thought of you often. There are still times one of your songs will come on shuffle at a particular time when I would’ve called you if you were here. It’s never lost on me.
I wanted to drop this for you - it’s a list of my 100 most played songs from last year.
It’s been a year of yearning, crying, wishing I was better than I’ve been. I think the playlist does a good job of reflecting that.
I think I’ll always struggle to feel worthy in different capacities, but my least favorite side effect is when it makes me freeze. I quit making waves. I guess I imagine I’m more tolerable that way.
I stopped creating for a long time. Stopped writing, stopped making. I don’t know why I’m so fucking hard on myself. I’m trying to get better.
But I’ve gotten into the habit of knocking myself down over and over for the most ridiculous little things. I knew it was a bad habit, but I thought I was the only one suffering the consequences, so it didn’t really matter. I didn’t realize it was bleeding into how I treated others who have been trying to help me up.
Outside of my family and my closest friends, I have an extremely hard time believing someone could really want what’s best for me. I think it’s due to some trauma from some genuinely bad men I’ve dated in the past, which is valid. But I’ve let it become a pattern with every new prospect I have.
They could be doing almost everything right and be completely genuine in their actions, but something in me would pick it apart because there’s no way they truly loved me, there’s no way they truly wanted what’s best for me.
Over and over, my skeptical brain won again and again. What’s the catch? Doesn’t matter if there was one, I’d find one. Pick it apart the way I’d pick myself apart over and over. Hardened to the harshness because I made myself so.
And when they did do something wrong, because perfection is nonexistent, I’d latch onto it like a buoy. See, I was right. See? And now I’m going to save myself. Leave me be.
Fucking exhausting. It’s not what I wanted. It’s not what I want.
I used to be so anxious in relationships, but I’ve become avoidant as hell. I sabotage any chance of me having what I really want. I try to play it hard, act like I don’t have more than a couple needs, but I’m skeptical they’re not being genuine? Hello??
One of the best things my therapist (shoutout to my therapist, she’s a literal angel to me) taught me last year was this: we teach people how to treat us.
That helped me act accordingly in a lot of different relationships I was having a hard time navigating. A lifesaver of a phrase, truly.
But now I realize I was teaching myself that it was ok to be so hard on me. It’s not. I don’t want to be hard anymore. I can be when necessary, but I don’t want it to be my default. I’m so tired. I’ve got to learn how to be gentle with me.
I didn’t know what I was going to write about when I sat down at my computer, and this realization has been hazily forming over the last few weeks, so you’re gonna have to bear with me as I figure out how to achieve this gentle mode. I know it’s in me, I just need to find it again and learn how to let it exist.
I’ll let you know how it goes. Thanks for letting me talk it through with you. Like always. Happy birthday, Chadderbox. I miss you so much. Love you like a brother.
-BreSoftware
