Journal Entry – 2/21/26

Journal Entry – 2/21/26

When people stop talking to me, when the messages thin out and the silence stretches, something inside me starts pacing.

It doesn’t whisper.
It doesn’t reason.
It paces.

The quiet feels louder than noise. It fills in the blanks with stories I didn’t consciously write.

You were too much.
You misread it.
They’re pulling away.
It’s happening again.

And I know, logically, that people are tired. That they have jobs and pain and responsibilities and bandwidth limits. I know the world doesn’t orbit my need for connection.

But my nervous system doesn’t care about logic.

There was a time when someone was almost always there. Brandon. Consistent. Present. Available. My brain learned that rhythm. Learned that steady pulse. And now when the rhythm changes, it feels like a dropped heartbeat.

One minute it’s warm. Engaged. Electric.
The next minute it’s cold. Quiet. Closed.

The swing is what hurts. Not the distance itself.
The contrast.

I don’t think I ask for too much. I don’t believe I am too much. I just want communication. A bridge instead of a cliff. A sentence instead of a void.

When someone ices me out, my mind starts building explanations in the dark. And the dark is creative in all the wrong ways.

Maybe this isn’t about being too much.
Maybe it’s about being wired for consistency.
Maybe it’s about old abandonment echoes waking up when silence feels familiar.

The truth is, I don’t need constant attention.
I need clarity.
I need steadiness.
I need to know where I stand so my mind doesn’t invent danger.

Silence without context feels like rejection.
Communication feels like oxygen.

And I am learning that my reaction isn’t weakness. It’s history.