May 13, 2026

Not There Yet – 1 – Love’s Limits

I have written out the story of how Charlie and I met so many times that I could probably lay them over each other and have them be near identical. It’s one of my favorites. Which is why I tell it so much. It sounds trite but sometimes it just feels fated. Like it was meant to happen. I’m sure most people do that to romantic stories, or we wouldn’t have a term coined when “romanticizing” them.

Charlie coming into my life was an accident. He messaged me, thinking I was someone else, and because I was young and dumb I pretended to be that friend until the joke lost it’s power. Then when I told him who I really was I saved his username into my AOL buddy list and would subsequently talk to him every time he came online.

It’s funny to think of the context of his first ever words to me, “Yeah, Diego and I are still together.” In my mind I use the same cadence in an imaginary conversation he may have had with someone else about me. “Yeah, Josh and I are still together.” The truth of the matter is I did not make our “romantic accident” easy to maintain.

The last time I did a project of this magnitude (writing weekly about my life to a collection of songs) I wound up having an epiphany that finally put all of my trauma into perspective and I was able to finally move on. Too bad it took me 18 years to step past it. That’s the biggest issue with me. I tend to procrastinate everything, especially when it comes to emotional healing. Because of that, I wound up ruining what could have been a perfect relationship.

That probably isn’t the best way to put it. It almost sounds like it wasn’t wonderful and it was. Despite all of the broken and rough bits. In reality, that was our entire time together. It existed when it shouldn’t have, and stayed there even with all of the terrible things that happened.

So, how did I ruin it? Why was it so bad? Me, of course. Not dealing with my emotional trauma in a healthy way I ended up cheating on my husband more times than I can count. We broke up twice, but never for very long or even at all. We would continue to talk and work through our problems and with grace, that I did not deserve, he would forgive me and take me back. Why? I still have no idea. I didn’t deserve it. There were three big events where he caught me cheating in ways that led to some of the worst moments of my life. And when I was caught, I was honest. I had already lied so much in the effort, that to continue doing so, when the facts were very clear, was ridiculous to me. Sometimes I think that’s why most people keep me around, because I’m honest and earnest.

My cynical side says it was because ‘he couldn’t do any better’ (he had really bad self esteem) but that still, in some fucked up way, praises myself. As if I’m some kind of fucking prize. When I say that, that’s not my intention. What I mean is that I was a mildly attractive person with a kind heart, and the gay world is filled with cruel assholes who will not hesitate in messaging you on some silly app to say “Your ugly. Kill yourself.” Which is something my husband literally had messaged to him. (The typo kept to maintain authenticity.)

So, why did he stay with me? I’m going to go with that he loved me. That man showed it to me every day and because I was so broken, with such a shitty self image, I was unwilling to accept that fact. I told myself every lie that I didn’t deserve it, so I tried to break it. I tested it’s boundaries every time, and what I found is that love is breakable but easily repaired. It’s magnetic. At the same time, it isn’t. The magnetism comes from our persistence and unwillingness to give up. When I look back at all of his examples, that is how love is meant to look: unyielding, unrelenting, persistent. It’s communication and honesty. Grace! Of which we had copious amounts of because of my constant state of pushing the limits.

In the end our marriage morphed into something completely new and totally our own. To most of society it isn’t what it’s supposed to be: a man and a woman. Hell we couldn’t even bother with monogamy. Our relationship flourished the most when we stopped confining ourselves into the boundaries of typical stereotypes. Genuinely. Our final test was when we dropped our taught perspective of monogamy and embraced polyamory.

May 5, 2026

A Plan and a Promise

It is genuinely concerning how I let no-named “influencers” influence the choices in my life. The other day I saw a prominent TikToker called “knitting cult lady” (who herself has escaped a cult and written a book about it) talk about how someone can process trauma by writing it out. She expanded by quoting scientific studies, of which she doesn’t give proof of, to back up a claim that if one were to just put their trauma in a matter-of-fact manner, with no emphasis on processing the emotions, that our brains will do it for us without investing the work. Of course I took her words as gold and scientifically sound, even though she could just be talking out of her ass.

Regardless of the truth, it did feed my own desire to write again. It occurred to me a few days ago that I have had zero interest or want to put my thoughts into words. I pondered for a moment wondering if it was just me “moving on” of that want or desire, or if it was due to the fact that my anti-depressants aren’t working. Part of me is leaning into the second theory (I cannot stop consuming sugary food, which is a big tell).

I know that I have not processed my family’s passings. I like to pretend that I have, but whenever I think I’m doing well it gets turned on it’s head. The tears come and I seek out some “substance” to dull the unspoken/unrecognized agony.

With that, I have decided to embark on a year long journey, similar to the one I did with “The Soundtrack of My Life.” Except this time, there will be no music and it will all be documenting my life with my late husband. (God it feels weird saying that.) Each week I will type out a new entry in our story. With the point to keep it brief. There is no sense getting caught up in the prose or narrative thread.

That is what happened the last time I tried to do something similar.

I previously tried writing last November, but I got so caught up in details and got bored of my own voice that I stopped the effort. Maybe I just wasn’t ready.

Since the second year anniversary has come and gone, it should be enough time for me to write it all out, keep it strictly to the details and not wax poetic.

The “Soundtrack” project actually helped me process some lingering trauma I never even realized was there, until I wrote it out. Which is why when this woman came across my video feed it was like I was talking to myself through a separate entity. It brought the focus back to the project and what it would mean. And after all of that nonsense, I just enjoy writing. It is clear to me that I have gotten rusty, because even now I am struggling to get that motor running. I need to get it going again. With it I can use it as an escape from this hellscape, however momentary it might be.

March 16, 2026

Always in Motion the Future Is

This is the first time I’ve ever put a title at the very start. Usually I will write out whatever it is that sits at the back of my mind and go from there. However this is a quote that is, one, very nerdy; but two, very true.

Before Charlie passed away he asked me if I was going to marry Josh when he was gone. At the time I was so hesitant to tell him yes. Instead I opted for some vague and uncertain, but always pointing to yes. I didn’t want him to think that our marriage wasn’t the one that meant everything to me or that he was replaceable. “Well, this husband is gone. Time to plug in a new one.”

My response was, Probably, why do you ask?

He responded first with that the cat was curled up next to him, which he loved. And genuine proof of his ADHD.

Then he said, just curious. I want you to be happy. If he can do that, I support it.

I should have responded with, “he does.” but instead we went off on a tangent about the cat. He made a comment about taking her with him. Which he didn’t do, but he did take both of the pups with him, shortly after his passing. They couldn’t live without him either, I guess.

In 10 days we are going to get married. We already bought our rings, which we couldn’t afford, but you want them to be monumental. I bought a ring that will sit on top of Charlie’s. Josh is always supportive of my love/life with him and what we had… I don’t know how I got so lucky twice. Genuinely.

At times I feel so utterly, unbelievably lucky, and others I feel so cursed. It’s the nature of life I suppose and what you choose to focus on. I’d rather look at how the horrible things in my life have literally led to the best parts.

My plan for our eventual nuptials was to have a proposal on his half birthday, May 2, and then get married some time in the fall or whenever after. I joked and thought that getting married on November 3rd, between our two birthdays, would have been kind of fun. But that also would have been entirely too close to Charlie’s and my anniversary, November 1st. (He wanted to get married on a day he would be able to remember.)

However, even with the plan, life has a different way of working out as the last five years would absolutely attest. So we are pushing it up.

On March 26th there will officially be two Joshua Hensleys in the world.

February 27, 2026

Listen and Read Along

I’m in one of those moods where I want to write something sweeping and profound. Yet I lack even the simplest of ideas. If I could muster one up I’m sure it wouldn’t be what I want it to be. What I know it could be. Instead I lay here in bed listening to my “mellow out” playlist (posted above) replaying old memories in my head, hoping a spark ignites.

Instead all I’ve done is dwell on what was. What could have been.

It’s funny how we lose ourselves as we get older. We let outside forces mold and shape us into some mutated version we could never have imagined in our wildest fantasies. It’s never obvious of course. We don’t see it happening. On the outside we appear somewhat the same, but deep in our hearts and minds is the weak, near death version that once had so many hopes for the future.

At one time I wanted to a be a writer. I wanted it to be my everyday; the thing that would put my name on the lips and in the thoughts of strangers. Why I thought that any of that mattered at the time has since been lost to the years. So what if Jill from Ohio knows my name? It would mean nothing. I’d still be here laying in bed thinking of the past and regretting all I did or didn’t do.

Maybe I should lower my standards? Sometimes it’s the smallest things that bring about bigger things because it was part of a chorus of other tiny events. Together it makes something beautiful.

Instead of my singular fame and notoriety, I’d much prefer to inspire those around me. Something that they too could add to the collective.

Whether they know me or not. I think I have succeeded if I evoke something from someone that they can look at, or ponder over, that gives them purpose. That gives them pride.

But I’ll never achieve that. I’m just a tiny pixel on a giant screen.

It makes me think how my husband was so content in the end. The impression I got was that he was not bothered with the fact that he never made any huge impact in the world at large. In my own life he did. He brought out the best parts of me.

The other day I went off on an ADHD tangent regarding the Chinese zodiac. This is the first year I have ever heard of an element tied to the sign. With that it inspired to know my own element. After a quick search I discovered that I am a wood ox. The least stubborn of the 5 elemental oxen. Mine is all about growth and rebirth.

I also learned that my husband was a fire snake and my bf is an earth snake.

It’s funny. My husband burned me down to let myself regrow with Josh. Weird. Also bizarre that I just so happened to partner with my perfect match. A snake. Both times.