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Black Heart

The dream began on what felt like a summer evening around 8:30pm. The sun had set, but the sky still glowed faintly, partially obscured by scattered clouds. I stood on a wide sidewalk, its surface made of large, flat, round stones embedded in concrete. The world around me bustled with activity – cars passing by, shoppers moving along, and people I knew scattered at various distances. Thomas was closest, just a metre away. Jelaina stood three metres off, Darren six or seven, Ryan five, Patrick within arm’s reach, and Brandon nearby, holding a drink. Farther away, my parents sat at a restaurant patio with others. The spacing felt deliberate, each figure occupying their place in this surreal tableau.

In my hands, I held a pickaxe, a strange hybrid between a T-ruler and a sledgehammer, with a flexible handle. As I gripped it and swung it overhead, I briefly saw myself from behind, through my shirt. My muscles rippled with intensity, uniting in a concentrated effort to bring the pickaxe down. It reminded me of a scene from Ghost in the Shell, where Motoko strained to rip the hatch off a tank mech. The apex of the swing was a fleeting pause before I brought the pickaxe down with all my strength.

The impact was thunderous. The pickaxe struck the ground, and a shockwave rippled across the landscape. The noise and force caused those closest to me to clutch their ears, falling to their knees or collapsing entirely. Thomas, determined, stood tall at first, but even he began to falter. Again and again, I swung the pickaxe, each strike punctuated by a roar that bellowed from deep within me: “BLACK HEART!” By the second strike, Thomas wavered. By the third, he and the others succumbed, and even the buildings quaked, shedding dust and debris. With each successive blow, windows cracked and shattered.

When I awoke, the anger and resentment that consumed me in the dream had dissipated, replaced by calm introspection. About half an hour later, I shared the dream with Amber. I told her how, at 45, I felt directionless and burdened by a lifetime of accumulated skills and experiences that seemed destined to wither. I lamented the lack of meaningful projects, particularly in sex-related work, and the absence of collaborators willing to venture into such a stigmatized space.

Amber listened briefly before excusing herself to the bathroom, her fear unmistakable. It was a trauma response – a quiet retreat born from fear that my rant might spark a fight. Alas, I digress. Misinterpretation often breeds the chaos that fuels conflict. While retreating might stem from fear, it was the perceived indifference to meaningful, unguarded communication that left me feeling unworthy of her presence. It’s not entirely her fault of course. In the broader context, I can see that, but she is my wife, my partner – the person I turn to for connection and resolution. I don’t need a passive sounding board. That’s something I’ve never sought or needed from anyone, because I am my own sounding board.

Months ago, I told Amber she was free from any obligation to join me in ventures she found uncomfortable, including social media modelling or erotica. My frustration wasn’t aimed at her – it stemmed from my own unfulfilled desires and unrelenting drive. Yet, I couldn’t help but wish she could overcome her reservations and join me, not just for the creative and financial potential but for the honour of building something meaningful together.

It’s not just about sex work. It’s about carving out the life I want and grappling with the reality that I lack true support. Friends offer encouragement in name but not in action. Most are unwilling to challenge societal norms and the judgment they bring. Even those who love me keep their distance when it comes to my aspirations. I’ve stood by them through their struggles, yet here I am, alone in mine.

At 45, I feel forced to contort myself to fit the comfort zones of a society I neither respect nor wish to emulate. My heart aches for partnership, for someone to rise and fall alongside me in this unconventional journey. But the loneliness is crushing.

In short, I want to live a life that feels true to who I am, no matter the effort or time it takes. Yet, the path feels barren, devoid of the shared commitment that could make it bear fruit.

Now, those currently in my life seem unwilling or unable to engage with me fully. Amber, for instance, struggles with past miscommunications and avoids facing me entirely. I don’t blame her for this, but it breaks my heart every day. I can’t even have meaningful conversations with her without her retreating. In the past, such behaviour felt like an insult. Now, it’s met with a quiet, resigned sigh.

A central theme of the dream, I believe, is the deep sense of being unheard by those who should matter most to me. While people around me may hear my words, few truly listen. I’ve always strived to validate others, showing genuine interest in their thoughts and actions, yet that same care and attentiveness are seldom reciprocated.

The few who truly listened like Erica and Pepper, are no longer part of my life. Erica, though not exceptionally intellectual, was thoughtful, and I cherished her for that. Pepper, with her intelligence and insight, understood me in a way few others could, and I adored her for it. At one point, long ago, Laura was also one of those people – curious and striving to be open-minded despite the rigid confines of her upbringing. Amber, too, was more open in the beginning, but over time, trauma and distance have shattered the spiritual and ethereal bridge that once connected us. While she still talks to me, those conversations are selective, and I, by nature, am not a selective person.

Perhaps this treatment is a form of punishment from the heavens, a consequence of who I have been and continue to be – even when I strive to be better, I still failed. Even so, I dream of a time when I am genuinely heard, acknowledged, and truly supported.

So yes, this dream was about more than just feeling worthless at 45. It reflected my yearning to be understood, to be seen and heard for who I truly am. I need people who genuinely support me, and not those who offer empty words, actions that don’t align, or no real consideration of my needs. Of course, the dream likely represents many things, including unresolved thoughts about Laura, but that’s for another time.

At its core, I don’t want to live unseen and undone. I want a life worth living, especially as I battle daily with high-functioning depression. This morning, for instance, I couldn’t sleep due to anxiety, and the thought of suicide surfaced – not in a dramatic, emotional way, but as a cold, detached consideration. That’s what’s truly frightening about it: the absence of feeling.

In the past, I managed these thoughts by staying busy. Now, my work is sporadic, leaving me vulnerable to the emptiness.

I am 45. Where can I find people who will truly support my vision? People who not only believe in what I want to do but are willing to do it alongside me?

 

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Disclaimer

The concepts of Leemanism are minimally filtered and don't reflect the people I value or associate with. Those who accept me, embrace our common ground and tolerate our differences. How people perceive me doesn't mean the people I mention here are the same as me. It's possible they're similar, different, or both. Full compatibility between people is rare, as is full support, even when people claim it.

Society expects self-respect to follow its rules, but real self-respect is about doing what pleases you while refusing to tolerate disrespect. When others disrespect you, you cut them out. Don’t let society convince you that self-respect should be based on its moral standards. It’s your right to live as you desire, not as society dictates. Too many people lose their individuality to fit in, pretending to be unique while secretly seeking acceptance. If you're someone who tries to fit in while claiming to be ‘weird,’ you're delusional. People talk about being weird, but when challenged, they retreat into conformity, avoiding accountability.

That’s boring.

Still, I get that some people have to conform to survive, as society and the law often punish those who don't fit in. Even if your ideals are right, society will likely deem you wrong, and even your friends may side with society over you.

We are few. Stay safe. (•̀ᵥᵥ•́)