Gifting A Voice To Myself
Long before I had even considered the possibility of a blog, I chronicled my thoughts in a less public format. Chasing ideas through run-on sentences, blurred by tears.
I’ve never had a silver tongue. My wordsmithing has always been possible through written text rather than oral re-tellings. With the written word, my mind could wander to wherever it wanted to be. I could gift myself the time to tell the story how I wanted to not how others, impatient to hear the end and make sense of everything, wanted to hear it.
So, when my brain could no longer handle the stress of suppressed feelings, words would bubble through the surface taking my place until the pressure lessened and my laptop overheated.
Since this blog's inception, I’ve no longer felt this incessant urge to spill myself messily onto blank pages, but I also don’t want to forget the person who needed the space to do so. For if she didn’t exist, I wouldn’t be here telling you now.
This week we’re going to time travel, starting from when I began forming this habit in 2018 till a little before this blog began. So, let me step aside for a change and gift a voice to someone who is long overdue a place in the sunlight.
Sometime Circa 2018
Emotions suck.
I understand why they’re necessary for human existence but sometimes I wish I could just cut my heart out of my chest and leave it at Goodwill. I mean someone will get better use out of it there, maybe. I mean that’s what Goodwill’s for, right? I don’t know.
It’s such a weird concept to have something that cripples you in an instant but can also lift you off your feet in a heartbeat. I don’t understand.
I mean really what are emotions good for? Truly. Tell me, please. I really want to know.
Sure they help you, I don’t know, get through life but sometimes these same feelings stop you from doing the same. I know I’ve been that person sitting in my bed eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s more than once, and I mean not for the stereotypical reasons of a broken heart but I still understand the feeling.
I guess maybe it’s because I’ve never reached that threshold of being so in love with something that it just crushes you and brings you to your knees.
Then again, the thought of being with another human being for the rest of your life is terrifying. I mean you have to rely on them to remember the important stuff like anniversaries or birthday’s or that you like Ben & Jerry’s over gelato which isn’t true actually because all ice cream deserves to be loved. And then they have to know that too, that all ice cream deserves to be loved but then what if they don’t like ice cream? That’s a huge problem and it’s something that I would definitely file under irreconcilable differences.
I mean really who doesn’t love ice cream? It’s definitely no it for lactose intolerant individuals, which I am one of those, but I still love ice cream. So what I’m really saying is, is that lactose intolerance does not allow you to dislike ice cream. It’s just not allowed. It’s in the rules you should’ve read which I don’t know why you didn’t notice but if you’re lactose intolerant and you don’t like ice cream you should stop reading this book right now.
I get that this is all pretty irrelevant, I mean I haven’t even had a boyfriend in my 18 years of life so I’m not sure how I expect to write a book about my lack of experience in love but you know what, I’m gonna take shot at it.
I guess I’m more curious as to how people maintain really deep relationships. That takes so much work and effort and my entire understanding of these relationships is wrapped up in unrealistic expectations set by social media and romance novels. But then I look around and see so many people in these high functioning relationships and I just can’t even get two words out of my mouth when I’m around a guy I like.
I mean I can but the words that come out are not the good words. It’s usually 30 awkward words that they might find endearing but who am I to tell, I am the worst at reading people when it comes to myself. I can’t even figure out if somebody’s hitting on me or if they’re just being friendly. Like seriously, tell me guys what’s going on with that. I mean are we playing a game or do you just know that I don’t understand?
Roses are red violets are blue I am addicted to romcoms and a helpless romantic to.
March 12, 2019
“It’s not even a nine-pointed star,” she said. Subtly implying that it doesn’t mean anything significant if it doesn’t hold significance to something she finds similarly important.
I will never forget that disapproving tone, because for me—a person who has lacked a forever home and a self-proclaimed nomad—had laid claim to something akin to a home. Holding on so tightly to something I did not have; inking my skin with reminders that though I have not lived in the same home for more than a handful of years or months, I still had this.
“Does it have any meaning?” Why yes, it means everything.
March 13, 2019
Writing has always been cathartic for me.
I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve found myself crying over my laptop, pouring my thoughts onto a page like a spilt cup of coffee. Very sad, very messy, and very confused as to how the coffee spilt in the first place.
When throwing words onto the page I tend to remove myself from the situation and erase it from conscious thought, or at least I try to. I like to play back moments over and over again hoping that maybe revising it will lead to a eureka moment. That maybe I’ll figure out why I said “you too” when the cashier at concessions told me to enjoy my movie.
Unfortunately, while I consciously hope, and wait, for this to happen, I know that revisiting a memory over and over again can lead to some interesting problems. For example, did you know that the more you revisit a memory the more faulty it becomes?
The more we think about something the more we change it, either to suit our own needs or to forget some less than pleasant memories of things we’ve said or done. I know this, and yet I find myself to be a repeat offender.
I can’t help wanting to fix something I can’t change. I think back to those moments more than I care to admit, which makes me the worst character witness in the world.
Saying that though, who really is? It’s a very human quality to want to change things we can’t fix and so I’m sure I’m not in this sinking boat alone.
I write hoping I’ll be able to get the thoughts out of my head before they coil around me like a self-deprecating boa constrictor.
“Thank you anyways, young Jedi”
June 26, 2019
Yellow Days
Foggy windows and parking garage roofs
Sunsets and sweet kisses
Rough hands and gentle tugs
A synchronized dance from one side of the cab to the other
A night I don’t want to remember
but one I can’t seem to forget
September 2, 2019
I’ve never talked about how much J not talking to me hurt. I mean I have talked about it in a general sense, but I played it off like I usually do. Hiding behind the mask of nonchalance. Because what I pretend doesn’t hurt won’t hurt, right? Well apparently my methods of keeping myself contained aren’t working because I’m spilling over the edges of a cup that was already too full.
I don’t want to worry mom, and so I say nothing. Because what can she do from 3000 miles away?
I don’t want to talk to S about it because she already has enough on her plate, and I don’t want to add to it. Which, I know isn’t fair. She can decide whether or not she can handle it.
I guess what it really comes down to is I’m just scared. I’m terrified that people are going to leave me if I break, which I know is stupid. As I’ve been told over the past couple of years.
It’s stupid to catastrophize, but I can’t help it.
Looping back around to J. I told him that I was afraid of just what happened, and it happened and I can’t take that back. I want my friend back but I’m probably never going to see him again. If we’re looking at who was hurt more I guess it would be pretty even. I mean I gave it a fair shot, but I just couldn’t go through with it. Which is why I’m so confused about R. I like R. I really, really like R. But I don’t want to lose a person like that again.
I guess watching Jane the Virgin hasn’t been a great thing because I relate to the main character too much. Her separation with Michael hit me hard, because I can’t even imagine cutting that line between someone who means that much to me. But at the same time I want someone to be there for me. To share successes and losses; to help me up; to help them up. I want all of that but I don’t know if I deserve it. I’m not sure deserve is the right word but it’s somewhere around there.
I mean J liked me, but I connected more with J in the way a friend would. I’ve always gone after what’s easy. I went after K rather than B because I knew I could get K. I went after J because I knew I couldn’t have B. B and B are pretty similar now that I think about it. Even in those cases though. I always felt like there was something missing. K only dated me to get over H, at least I’m pretty sure thats why. And J was just looking for the perfect wife, and I think he thought I fit that role.
I’ve never gone after someone who I’ve genuinely liked. Someone that hits all of the levels of attraction, and I’m terrified of rejection. Terrified that he’s gonna look at me like someone thats not worthy (again not the right word). Matters of the heart are much more complicated than reading romance novels or watching rom-coms. I hate feelings. They suck for sure.
I don’t know why I’m typing this out. Maybe its to find some clarity, and I think I found a little. I don’t know what to do though. Do I go after what I want or do I kick back and focus on school? I’ve done everything in my life in the way I think it needs to go but each additional academic achievement feels like another rock on top of my tombstone. I want to connect with someone in a way that I haven’t connected with anything before, but I don’t know if I can.
Sometime Circa 2020
How do you disentangle these stories that are seemingly unrelated unconnected but are inextricably so?
My younger self very clearly hated emotions and in some ways, I still do. Being at the mercy of another person, someone you’ve willingly given power over your heart to is still not a prospect I readily embrace. I already hurt my own feelings enough as it is to allow someone else to do it for me. That’s just self-disrespect in my eyes.
The balance between the heart and the head is something I’ve yet to master but I’m beginning to find balance. Unfortunately, my 18-year-old self was not so up to the challenge. I battled the dark thoughts in my head with a ferocity that fought the demons but sometimes brought more.
Meanwhile, my heart was trying to gallop through fields of flowers, not realizing that galloping through fields is a luxury only provided to the characters in my books. Where everything followed the plotline and ended and began how it was meant to. My own naivete shocks me sometimes but, then again, I’m still seeking those fields.
I’ve grown a lot in the past three years, thankfully, but I still see where the stubborn naivete remains. I’ll get through it in time but until then, here is where my thoughts shall live. Unabashedly unfiltered, making room for a person who thought she didn’t deserve any.
Hopefully, she finds peace.