Today I had this sudden urge to write, and I honestly don’t remember the last time that happened. I’ve been quiet for weeks, almost frozen inside myself, and then out of nowhere everything came rushing up at once. And the strange part is that nothing big triggered it. It wasn’t some dramatic moment or emotional explosion. It was just me finally noticing how fast people changed the moment I started using my wheelchair full-time in Second Life.
It all happened so quickly that I’m still trying to make sense of it. One day I was the same person I’ve always been — someone people talked to, someone people wanted around — and then almost overnight it felt like I wasn’t even in the room anymore. Not because I acted differently. Not because I became difficult or distant. I just stopped walking. That’s it. I stopped walking, and suddenly people didn’t seem to know how to look at me, talk to me, or connect with me. And it makes me wonder what that says about the people I used to trust.
A few weeks ago, I decided to become pregnant in Second Life, and I still am, but even that feels different this time. I used to enjoy it — the closeness, the interaction, the warmth it added to my days — but now it all feels flat. I’m still me, nothing about me changed, but the moment I stayed in my wheelchair full-time, it was like nobody wanted to reach for me anymore. The joy I used to feel around pregnancy just disappeared, and I ended up turning it into nothing more than an outfit. Because why should I bother when nobody even notices? And no, I’m not depressed. I’m just feeling the loneliness settle into places where excitement used to live.
The moment that stayed with me the most was with one of my long-time partners — five or six years now — and we were together in the bedroom, and I could feel how far away he was. Not his body, but him. His presence. His care. He felt cold and mechanical, like he just wanted to get through the motions so he could say he showed up. And I realized I didn’t have the energy to pretend everything was fine, so I logged off. Because if someone who knows me that well can’t even show basic closeness anymore, then what am I holding onto?
And then there were the new potential partners — people who seemed promising at first, but every single one of them turned into something I didn’t expect. Some were drowning so deeply in their own depression that they couldn’t see anyone but themselves. Others were too busy pretending to be someone else — talking in the third person, changing their personality every other day — and the whole thing just became tiring. I did meet one person who seemed normal at first, even attractive in that easy Second Life way. And then the next day he showed up in my house wearing a leather vest and a mullet, looking exactly like the singer Günther — “Touch Me” vibes and all — and I remember sitting in front of him thinking, what in the actual hell am I looking at? And we were twelve hours apart in time zone, so that was never going to work. So I took my cursor to him, right-clicked, hit block, and kicked him out of my house without saying a single word.
I keep trying to understand why people act like this, but deep down I already know. If I suddenly stood up and walked again, all these people would come crawling back like nothing ever happened. And that’s what hurts the most. Because it shows me how shallow Second Life really is sometimes. If you don’t fit the image people want, they act like you shouldn’t be there at all. All I did was stop walking, and somehow that tiny thing made people treat me like I was a problem.
But in a strange way, I’m also grateful. I thank myself, and the universe, and whatever else guides me through these moments, because now I see things as they are. I see how many people in Second Life avoid honesty because they’re scared of real emotion. They hide, they pretend, they build versions of themselves they think are safe. And in a way, I’m glad I see it now. It reminds me that I don’t need any of these people to feel worthy.
But that doesn’t make the loneliness disappear. It just makes it clearer.
As I’m writing this, I’m actually laughing a little, because all of this — every reaction, every disappearance, every cold shoulder — all happened because of one tiny change. I stopped walking. That’s it. And it flipped everything upside down. And what makes it even more ridiculous is that I’m not asking for anything complicated. When people talk to me or interact with me, I’m not asking for long paragraphs or dramatic scenes. I just want acknowledgment. A little awareness that I’m in a wheelchair. A detail. A nuance. Something small that tells me they see me. It shouldn’t be that hard.
And to the people who have known me for years, it shouldn’t even be something I have to explain. They know I don’t see Second Life as roleplay. This is real for me — just lived in another form. Real connection. Real interaction. Real presence. And because there aren’t animations for lifting someone or helping them move, writing is the only way to show it. And even then, I’m not asking for much. Just acknowledgment. Just awareness. But somehow that’s too much for most people.
So until someone comes along who actually wants me as I am, in whatever form I take, I’ll be on my own. And I’m okay with that. But being okay doesn’t stop the emptiness that comes when I log in and nothing happens. I get tired. I get fed up. I log into Second Life, sit there for hours — sometimes six, sometimes twelve, sometimes eighteen — and nothing changes. The world keeps moving around me like I’m invisible. And I start to wonder why I’m wasting my time waiting for something that doesn’t happen.
But one thing I know for sure: I will never close my Second Life account. I started here when I was twenty. I’m thirty-six now. Sixteen years of my life are tied into this place. Closing my account would feel like cutting out a part of myself. So no, I won’t disappear. But maybe I won’t be here every day either.
I talked about this months ago, and it hurts that the feeling has come back. When I first got my wheelchair in Second Life, I felt excited — like I was finally aligned with the truth of who I am. But the loneliness that came afterward was something I didn’t expect. And now everything feels quiet in a way I don’t like. I have sixteen friends on my list, and most of them don’t talk unless I talk first. That’s why I cleaned my list once already. And honestly, it’s getting ridiculous again — the silence, the distance, the feeling of being forgotten. There’s one friend I wish I could keep close, but even he feels far away. And the woman I call a friend — she doesn’t talk unless I reach out first.
So for now, it’s just me. And maybe one day I’ll wipe my whole friends list clean again, because at this point, it doesn’t matter. If people don’t care enough to be here, then why am I carrying them with me?
Because in all honesty, I’m just carrying around people’s names.
/Tessa
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