there she goes - jschlatt

unraveling threads

the next few days passed in a blur of anticipation and anxiety. i couldn't shake the feeling that my world was on the verge of shifting, especially with schlatt lingering in the background of my thoughts. my podcast episode about vulnerability had gone live, and while i hoped it resonated with listeners, a part of me felt exposed, laid bare like the roots of a tree torn from the earth.

as i walked through the city, the streets buzzing with life, i couldn't help but reflect on the moments that led me here. my journey hadn't always been smooth; i had navigated through shadows that threatened to swallow me whole. addiction was a monster that had clawed at my family, leaving scars that lingered long after the chaos had settled. sharing that on my podcast felt liberating, but it also stirred up old wounds.

i stopped at a small park, taking a moment to breathe in the crisp air, allowing myself to be present. children played on swings, their laughter a sweet melody that reminded me of simpler times. before addiction had taken over my life, my dad had always made sure to take me to the park, spinning me around until we both collapsed in laughter. those memories felt like grains of sand slipping through my fingers—fleeting yet precious.

but the reality was far more complicated. the remnants of my past weighed heavily on my heart. the addiction had shifted the dynamics of my family, transforming love into frustration and resentment. i was often caught in the middle, trying to support my loved ones while grappling with my own emotions. those experiences had shaped me, making me resilient yet wary of intimacy.

as i sat on a bench, i pulled out my phone to check messages, half-hoping to see something from schlatt. instead, there was only silence. part of me understood—he had his own battles to fight. the man was an enigma, a mix of humor and anger that made it difficult to read him. sometimes, his jokes cut deeper than any knife, and i wondered if he even realized it.i closed my eyes, letting the sounds of the park envelop me. thoughts of schlatt swirled in my mind—his laughter, his snarky comments, and that moment when he stood too close behind me while i took my shot. my heart raced at the memory, a mix of confusion and excitement bubbling within me. he had this way of infuriating me, yet i craved his attention.

i knew i needed to confront this head-on. the next podcast episode was an opportunity to explore not just my vulnerabilities but the idea of connections in general—how past experiences shaped us and how fear often held us back from forming deeper relationships. i wanted to talk about how hard it was to let someone in when you had been hurt before. that evening, as i sat down to write, the words flowed like a river, spilling my heart onto the page. i delved into my struggles with trust, how past relationships had left me scarred, and how my fear of vulnerability often kept me at a distance. with every word, i could feel the tension between schlatt and me grow—our stories intertwined in ways i hadn't fully recognized until now.

"it's so easy to build walls around ourselves," i spoke into the microphone, feeling the warmth of the recording studio envelop me. "but what happens when we meet someone who challenges us to lower those walls? what happens when we start to care, but our pasts loom over us like dark clouds?"

i paused, reflecting on schlatt's complexity. he often projected a tough exterior, but there were moments—glimmers—when i could see beneath that facade. like when he had stood so close behind me, or how he sometimes let his guard down in conversation. it was as if he was wrestling with his own demons, just like i was.