PDD or Hypoxyphilia 3

It’s hard to admit that you’re still in love. That the void lingers.

“No.” I cough. I don’t know if I’m lying. We’ve all thought of the other side besides a few sloppy kisses. Just that I don’t say anything about my hands wandering in another’s bloke’s trousers and how it had all escalated, so I just keep myself to myself, the own closet of thought censoring my own desires that they become so bleak like brushing one’s teeth every day in the mirror, trying to make myself believe that it’s something bleak, something I shouldn’t be excited about and try to keep writing more when everyone is asleep in the kitchen, lights on and coffee no longer spilt on the stove. 

I was happy. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t, I was flirting with the devil fate was giving me. I couldn’t help but be attracted to him and I was happy, I was damned happy every fucking time we’d get back together, I’d love it, I’d be obsessed with it, I didn’t care how high he was, how rough the sex was, how hard he’d laugh, how soundlessly he slept, I’d wonder how much would our forever be stretched onto like an elastic band. 

I was desperately in love, the loop around my neck seeming light and death far too faint on the horizon all of a sudden, only darkening whenever the end of him would be closer. 

The idea was bizarre to come out to my parents, not even while eating, while watching the news, while watching the goddamn weather forecast, before I even touched anyone else. When just the thought trailed and even if I wasn’t close I wanted to believe in the illusion that my parents were my friends, that I could just fling this upon them. I crossed my arms, feeling a bit uncomfortable, but excited, of course, there was nothing wrong it was always good ol’ me. But it wasn’t. By the end of it, I wasn’t even shaking, all I knew is that I had left some records under my bed and stories, which crossed my mind with boys under my mattress and no longer under my pillow.

It trailed for years, it trailed for fucking years, him showing up all in make up and he would make me believe, because I fucking love him. 

My parents weren’t my friends and I was confused that some even who shared the apartment with me, who also trailed from room to room still kept in touch with parents, some gay, some trans, but some seemed to actually be friends and I would just try to understand why did I have envy when I didn’t want to be close to anyone who had slapped me just because I had told them what’s in my mind. 

I think I’ve hated you all along.

I still felt intimidated by his appearance, his pouncing which I seemed to lack and he had just clicked his tongue, continued smoking, looking at the chess board and it wasn’t that he was thinking how to win, he was choosing one of the many options since I seemed to only have two pieces left while he owned the board, he only thought that I’d have something up my sleeve, when I didn’t, I just hid my fear, all pieces intact.

Over the years my depression has gone bonkers, all over the place and shows up reminding me of my age and how apparently I had given my love already to be left alone, with no partner and my own bitterness as Kate would flee with women at all times, leaving me alone with Archie. 

“Would you be interested?” Brian smirks, recalling last night as I just hug myself, feeling far too swollen with thought. 

Love doesn’t disappear and I love him, that’s what drags me along the floor, Brian laughing, all years passing on the wrinkles on his face, as he drags me. 

Fear pins me against the wall. The idea seems far too tempting. And I can see myself locked in a cinema with him, as he watches whatever tacky movie is on, never to show homosexuality, as he ends up throwing popcorn and maybe by the end of the date, some wrong question would be asked and he would kiss me, just to silence his own fearful demons. 

Masturbation feels incomplete, reminding me of my void, my years catching up on my whole essence, Brian being the only missing void. 

The class and the emptiness brings its presence to our smoking area and I politely excuse myself, about to turn as I look at him, grinning mischievously, most likely thinking he’s dragging a straight bloke to the dark side, as I sigh and nod, dipping my hands into the lake, not because of the lake, but for the feeling of water. 

We’re all different that’s the thing. Brian yanked his mother’s make up while I even feel obscure in it when I had to put it on for drama even if I had enjoyed acting in school, I’d still wiggle in my seat as all the weird faces would be drawn on my plain one. 

And the more you walk around life, you see that women who happen to be entitled to make up as men are scared to claim it or try to shyly, just end up ruining it, it’s always the same lipstick and the running after the brands and raised voice with two hundred dollar pride that the mascara bought was the most expensive, without looking the colours go to waste.

I had moved out and I had some money upon me and I wandered in, looking at the bright pots and sheepishly tried some on my hands, liking a dark green and wondering why do I only end up seeing mascara. The though lingered on and by the end of it the whole flat stocked up on different things, all of us looking different in the beginning until the boys just dropped to eyeliner and the girls to mascara, discarding all the coloured pots I myself would rarely use by the end of it, seeing myself not worthy of wearing such bright,

but even if I would wear bright, the world was still bleak as I’d do the same eyeliner, scared to stick out already even if my face would give out my sexuality. 

Over the years depression seemed to nourish both of us, giving us a sense of not being lonely at all because the sadness made so much noise. At moments like those I’d wonder how many more screams would it take for me to chuck myself out of a window, never finding the appeal to open the flesh, because the screaming is so loud and bleak with wording and it’s so there that you don’t even bother, depression holding you also back from the jump.

It’s pretty loud.

“You seemed pretty interested back there, yesterday.” I feel like this is a twisted game where he got confidence solely because I had been somewhere where I can’t place the sticker of home because he was awfully shy even if his outfits would speak otherwise and people would ask of his gender and it being drama wasn’t raised as often as it would elsewhere but there was something captivating about him, as if he was stuck between two genders and his own eyes reflected the confusion everyone else had, while I knew I stood solid in mine. “I always wondered if you’re gay, you don’t seem any questioning, any... in between. You seem certain only of what?”

I push him away so much that I ask myself if I was even dating him, all evidence discarded to the teeth that even the mirror blinks. I don’t even know myself as I would wash my hands, ignoring the silence with my own depression makes it’s dull hanging humming noise. 

The more I looked at him the more I felt as if he had neither understood himself, as he would honestly believe in whatever he was saying even if it was the entire opposite of what  he mentioned the day earlier, he already seemed like a contrast which I wasn’t willing to admit and he had been trying to bring me out and he seemed fucked up enough to be attractive.

Even if he had committed the murder, it is my hands which are stained, because I can’t bear to ever wash the blood off.
The idea of healing something broken is appealing because I can’t do it myself, so at least I can see how I could’ve done it, only just like oneself is broken so is the other and you just cut your wrists on the shards while dancing at some fake gathering of mushrooms.

I can’t really say of myself, so instead I just present silence as an answer and a shrug, hoping that it would be far more satisfactory for me. 

But it is love which shatters one’s soul and exposes it in solvable for the other person shards, to consume and then just like fate

Life isn’t in your hands anymore.

It had been after the first time we had slept, because one thinks of all the last and lost loves after masturbation, it’s an odd sense of unresolved love, because if sex and love go hand in hand with sexual people, that’s all that’s left. It’s always regret and Brian had laughed, stating that we should rent somewhere off, where further away, maybe somewhere in the woods where we couldn’t be ourselves, as if he had predicted something and he had kept staring at me, his light eyes wide open and the bed was as strained as we were, laying a small space between us and I just leaned closer, pulling him, much much closer.

2nd of May it had been and memories still drag back to autumn, because it is always the beginning to blame.

-

Frankly I felt awful that I nearly had PDD ready and I wanted to post something more Brian/Jamie for frankly, Brian's birthday. I still feel bad, but frankly we've all lived through all of Placebo's career and the undertones, how he had written about one person. I'll just be a bit daft here for once. I'll try.

I think I have to state that I honestly love Brian regardless of what I think he had done, because he still went through me through very very dark times and he was there for me, that's why Jamie and Brian are kind of that OTP which hits home, because both of their music influenced me so deeply (even if you can argue that Placebo is a Scarfo rip-off and even then, y'know, it's still) and I love them both dearly.

I've been a Placebo fan for about… ten years soon, maybe even earlier. I dunno, around that. Hold on. Maybe even 12. I don't even recall properly. The first song I had heard was obviously Every Me and Every You, so if counting from them that would be 13 years. Either way, Brian had been with me through out my first relationship and Narcoleptic had always been my break-up song, even if my last break-up was done yelling Love Interruption, still, Narcoleptic is always there. I had shuffled them off for a while due to my first relationship breaking and Placebo was kind of that band which you both listened to, so it took me a while to get back and reclaim old attached songs, so yeah. Obviously. So yeah, Placebo's always been there with me. And recently with this whole "did they, didn't they… ooooh" I've been more into Placebo, because the backstory always enriches the work, so that's why I always write a lot.

I dunno, and Brian also had been a big figure for Callie when she was coming out, so he's pretty much a big dear person to us.

I also saw Brian live and unfortunately my relationship was a mess, so I was just a wreck when I saw them, I'm sad because it was the Meds tour, but I'll surely manage to see them again!

Either way, Brian is amazing. He's given visibility to many things and I love him dearly and well, I know this is a fucked up story, but either way, love, Happy Birthday!

It's odd because the second chapter was posted ages and ages ago when I was awfully furious at my ex and PDD enriched these dark post-break-up colours naturally, because I was furious and yeah, but I was speaking of it to a friend a few days ago, feelings never go away, if they were deep, actions and feelings vary, the difference is what you decided to do with those feelings, I just detached them because I knew that I had loved someone else, so yeah. So, we'll see where it goes with PDD. Fiction is fiction, I guess you can control both. It's odd not to speak of my previous relationships while writing the backstory to PDD. I was fucked up and miserable, so the line of "void lingers" was natural at the time and for the story.

So I had written a lot back then with chapter 2 and I just wrote a bit now so that I could post it. 

A lot of the assumptions obviously come from all evidence available and imagination. 

I think for everyone's sake I'll keep silent on some of the facts which are real and created, to add confusion really. Sometimes I think I had dug deep, but in reality it's just a few interviews which are quite accessible, just turn on your mind, really.

Make-up is quite an essential thing for me because without it, I feel dysphoric, which is something you don't usually hear. I feel dysphoric when I'm not doing bright make-up, I dunno, I've been awfully triggered by specifically females claiming different cissexist things, so I've been rather distant even if most of the closest people are female, I dunno, I just get sad when people feel entitled to yell something just because they happen to be female. We all have fucked up sides in queer history, but yelling isn't getting anyone better, but I yell as well, so I dunno. But I hate the whole "all genders are cool besides male" which really fucks me up. So anyway, I see make-up as a more masculine thing, like a theatre thing, maybe, I get inspired by the smallest of things like Nick Grimshaw's mascara or Jamie's eyeshadow, Brian's bright lips, Velvet Goldmine's make-up, I dunno, I always felt like female make-up was more around mascara and making the face some other way, mine was always about making it brighter, making winged eyeliner bigger (years before it struck popularity again), bright lips and bright eyes. And I had started doing make-up by just walking around Boots and buying bright colours on my own, when I was living alone. I had no "put on mascara and subtle make-up" I didn't want that, I didn't want to be female, I dunno, I just get dysphoric because there's this whole "girls, girls, girls" trend which I have no desire to take in, which I think is cool but when it becomes "girls>everyone else" it fucks me up, because I don't want my assigned gender. I want as further away as possible. Tumblr started being very harmful to me with all these assumptions and I understand that the world is at such turmoil that we're all yelling, but people ignorant is just making everything worse. 

A lot of things from Brian talk about many dates and had been mentioned by both, so yeah.

I'm sorry I've just been triggered very often and I frankly really despite the whole cissexist trend, so yeah. 

I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for your attention

And yeah, so writing a confused Jamie is more than hitting home, it's revealing myself and my own insecurities because for some goddamn reason it's not ok to be a trans man and gay again.

Quick addition after posting: of course this story has historical inaccuracy, like here it skips Berlin and Blyth Power, but quitting Callie, the historical inaccuracy is fitting because he always make it sound like a clean start, so there you go. I always find something new after I write.

If you enjoyed it, please tell me so below:)

<3

Jamie