Getting older // getting my life together is weird.
I don’t write as much as I used to. I haven’t felt the need to dissect my personal life on here like I did a couple years ago, when that was a huge area of deprogramming for me. (There’s still some deprogramming going on in my heart, but I feel like that should be a separate post.) (And on that note, I need to go through and list every post I’ve threatened and then actually DO THEM because wow do I like to write down ideas and forget them.) I don’t write about current events because my perspective isn’t interesting, and I don’t write about other details of my life because… I don’t know, anymore.
2018 was, perhaps, the year I got boring. And the year I realized I was more than I ever dreamed I would be.
For the first time, I don’t feel defined by my backstory. There are people in my life who have NO idea about some of the things that I used to use as armor, and I’m okay with that. I’m not Trauma Girl anymore.
I’m becoming more guarded. More human.
Summer 2017, I lost someone who used to be a very close friend because… the inciting incident was something I don’t feel comfortable discussing, and still an open wound, but the cause was ultimately that our stories didn’t match anymore. That person wanted to stay defined by their scars. I was starting to have hope that I’d learn to cover mine. Apparently that wasn’t okay.
I haven’t let anyone new in since that happened.
I started blogging at some point in 2015 (I think) and at that point was really fascinated by some of the other people I found who were writing about coming of age and surviving homeschool culture and becoming a person. As I’ve gotten older, I feel like I’ve lost that narrative. Like I didn’t do it right, didn’t fuck up loudly enough. It’s the same way I feel during those “not bi enough” moments, but even more of a rejection. These women (for the most part – I can’t remember ever seeing someone who was raised male in that background write about it), who I saw as role models, started drowning in their anger. It became all they were.
I’m realizing I’m not like that. I’m no poster child for anything. I’m nothing special, and that’s okay.
I think a lot about why I love someone in particular, and a lot of my fixation on that person is because they constantly affirm my humanity, both the good and the bad. And for me, that’s powerful. That’s what I want.
I want to live. That’s a key theme in a lot of the stuff I watch, the moment where a particular character realizes they have something worth living for. I’m not sure what that thing is for me yet, but I don’t think it’s the anger I’ve been dealing with for the past few years. I don’t think it’s the bitterness towards a world that never knew what to do with me and people I don’t know anymore. I don’t think it’s negative, whatever it is.
There’s a lot going on. There’s always a lot going on. I won’t list stuff ’cause the list changes so quickly, but there are projects and hopes and so much and I am not at all overwhelmed. I have to ask myself constantly if it’s a manic episode or if it’s real, and the answer I come to most of the time is it is completely real. All of this.
The bad things aren’t gone. I still have scars that aren’t fading as pretty as I wish they would, and my brain is still hostile sometimes. But the volume is lower, and for the first consistent time in my life I really do think I’m turning out okay.
Back when I started blogging, forever ago, I used to include a song that felt mood-appropriate at the end of every post. I’m gonna start doing that again on posts that aren’t just music, because I can and it seems very me. So, to that end:
“Better Place” – Rachel Platten
Not directly topic-relevant, but a lot of this determination is because of another human being… but that’s another post I’m saving for mid-May. And that one, at least, I know is gonna happen as planned.