Or, "this is me leaving behind everything I know to embrace the better unknown".
None of this is my fault.
It's not my fault that everyone I grew up with has turned out elitist and bubble-minded. It's not my fault that I woke up and they didn't. It's not my fault that none of them ever even tried to reach out to me, because even though I was everything they were, I was never good enough. It's not my fault I'll never be good enough for them.
Who can blame me for wanting to run?
I need to breathe. I need to find people who see me, not the lone single chick, not the dangerous anomaly, me. I need to go somewhere where people actually put their yowling tinies in the childrens' programs and there isn't an unspoken competition of who has the most kids (I wish this wasn't a thing but welcome to the Vortex). I need to go somewhere where I will never hear the phrase "unassisted homebirth", let alone vivid details of that horror. I need to go somewhere where, if someone finds out I'm depressive or fluid, there's a half-decent chance they won't freak out.
I need to meet people who have blood in their veins instead of poison.
I need to spread my wings and become more than a shell of a girl.
I need to go somewhere where the Young Marrieds aren't all PDA couples. I need to go somewhere where the twentysomething population isn't all Young Marrieds. I need to go somewhere where said Young Married ladytypes respect that I'm in a different place than they are and don't openly pity me for it or give extremely questionable advice on how to find my Person.
I need to meet people who don't have superiority complexes the size of frickin' Australia.
I need to meet people who I can openly talk with about what I'm reading and watching without trying to sidestep the darker elements. I need to meet people who have, if not a good understanding of mental illness, at least believe it exists. I need to meet people who, if I choose to let them see my scars, will not view me any differently for them.
This is not mere want anymore. This is what I have to do to survive.
I want to live a long life. Admittedly, that's unlikely because genetic predisposition towards cancer on the side we do know about and God only know what's in the other half of my bloodline (but that's a different post), but I want to. I want to be happy someday. And that's never going to happen if I stay where I was.
About a year ago, when these thoughts began to form, I was determined to bloom where I was planted. I'm realizing now that I can't do that anymore. Bad soil is bad soil no matter how much fertilizer one tries to add to it (I don't garden so forgive me if that's a bad metaphor but it sounds pretty even if it isn't true). If I stay in the Vortex much longer, I will lash out. I will become truly dangerous. I will become things I am not meant to be. So it's time. I'm being the better person here (not like it's much of a challenge). I'm walking away, and this time, this time I'm not looking back.
A bit more than a year ago, I was talking to someone online and they suggested that I really needed to get out of where I was. I told them I didn't have enough things worth running from. Their response: "What if you had something worth running to?". I'm hoping to find that something soon.
It's hard, doing this. The Vortex (which I will explain in vivid detail once this plan works out and I have found something better) is all I know. I don't know what a non-toxic religious environment feels like. There are so many uncertainties in this project, and more than that... I'm cutting off the majority of the people I know by doing it. Because by leaving the Vortex, This Time I Mean It, I'm leaving behind a whole flock of people who know not what they have done, who will never know because if their eyes haven't opened by now... well, I'm pretty sure God doesn't waste miracles on situations like that. And yet this is what I need to do for me.
2015 is going to be my year of dramatic necessary self-care. And I'm starting by cutting out everything I don't need, starting with the place and the group that has caused... maybe not the majority of my issues in general, but at least my terrible self-image and my burning fear that I will never be good enough. I deserve better than that. I've always deserved better. It's time for me to do something about that.
And for all of you reading this who are in that category of people I am leaving behind (and you know who you are) - don't act like you're surprised. I was never going to be the perfect bubble-minded girl you wanted me to be. But I'm real, and being real is so much better. I'm not judging any of you, really. If you want to continue to make your own bad life choices... we're human, we have free will, that's your problem not mine. I'm done trying to make any of you wake up. This is our ending.
Song of the day - "Sanctified", The Veronicas.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Saturday, November 22, 2014
On Creating Futures
Or, "I am building a life that future!me is going to love (and I might've had my weirdest//most brilliant idea ever)".
I like preparing for things. Blame it on whatever undiagnosed variant of social anxiety disorder I have, if you want, or on the fact that as much as I hate damage control, that's a role I seem to spend most of my life playing. Whatever the cause, my life is equal parts preparation and praying I have enough fridge brilliance to get through the stuff I can't brace for. I plan when I'm leaving the house as early as possible (if I know exactly when I'm going to interact with unfamiliar people a week in advance, great), and usually the only "unplanned" outings I do are runs to the post office when I sell something online. I buy the dresses I wear for weddings before I know if I'll even be invited to some of them. And then... well, then there's the stuff I'm doing for future!me.
It started innocently enough. Around a year and a half ago, I wandered across the fabulous horror that is the Beekeeper's Quilt (if you're not inclined to click the link, it's a knitting pattern). Since I make socks for all my engaged and pregnant acquaintances, and since I'm 21 and grew up in homeschooler-land and therefore know a lot of people in one of those two categories at any given time, I generate quite a bit of leftover sock yarn. Making two hexipuffs out of each remnant before I send it off to someone in the Ravelry RAK group I try to participate in just makes sense. But then I got another one of my fabulous ideas. The beekeeper quilt, assuming I ever finish the darn thing (I need to make approximately 400 puffs and at this point I've done maybe 60?), would be a perfect wedding present for my future Person. So... there's now a time component. Not a hugely pertinent one, seeing as I am currently sans anyone I have any romantic interest in and I'd like to spend a decent amount of time getting to know someone before walking down the aisle and (possibly) changing my surname, but an existent one. It's motivation!! I suck at motivation!! What's not to love, right?
Well, then the future planning got weirder a few months ago when I impulse-bought a wedding dress.
Okay, maybe "impulse-bought" is the wrong word. There's this thrift store twenty minutes from my house that I go to on a regular basis - all the proceeds support local women's shelters, the ladies who work there adore me, and you never know what you're gonna find there. Around the beginning of summer, I saw The Dress. Some of the people I know who've gotten married recently say you just know when you find the perfect dress. (The rest have gotten married in their mothers' gowns - heavily altered, of course - which has never been an option for me because my mom is five inches shorter than me and was a size 4 when she got married. I haven't been a size 4 since I was about fourteen, and between the twin gifts of hipbones and C-cup boobs, I will never be that small again.) Obviously, of course, all of those people were looking for a wedding dress. I... wasn't. But there it was anyways, beaded bodice and high neckline and empire waistline and flowing skirt, taunting me. I could tell, just from eyeballing it (the thrift store had the sense to put the nice wedding dresses several feet off the ground), that it just had to be a size 10 (my usual, assuming the piece in question hasn't shrunk into oblivion, which formal gowns generally don't). I fell in love.
For weeks, I shamelessly eyed the thing, until one day I finally had the nerve to ask how much it was. My brain was all "it has to be around $60, yeah?". Wrong. Dress was actually $90, which meant that after tax (thank you Indiana for 7% sales tax when the two other states within sane driving distance are 6%), it was almost a hundred even. I did not care. I needed this dress. I tried it on in the shop, explaining beforehand to the nice old lady that I wasn't even seeing anyone and was more interested in having it as something to keep on hand for when my time comes. She understood pretty well, didn't even give me the "how is a nice girl like you single?" routine like a lot of people would've. It fit perfectly. I had to buy it. Y'know, just in case.
The dress lingered untouched in the closet of our spare bedroom for a few more weeks, until my mother accidentally found it. This was one of the hazards of putting it in that closet, but it had more space to hang properly there, and hell, there isn't space in my closet for something of that scale. I knew she'd find it eventually, and I wasn't quite sure how to explain the situation. Thankfully, I didn't have to. She gave me a small routine about her friend who's altered everyone's wedding dresses this past year (lesson of that afternoon - someone better submit that woman for sainthood because she's eighty-something and way too nice to have gone through some of that stuff), and then she decided to get it dry-cleaned and put in a proper bag for me. For my mother, who used to worry more than made any logical sense about my seeming lack of interest in guys (this thankfully stopped once my sister's type was defined as "breathing"), this was a huge step. And that was it. One huge expense out of the way for my future wedding. And again, I thought that was it as far as longterm planning. And again, it wasn't.
The reason I'm doing this post is because today I found another thing that I am meant to do, another thing that solves some of my problems. I'm going to build a house. More specifically, an Earthship. I advise caution on that website - whomever wrote most of the material is definitely on something - but the concept crossed my Tumblr dash this afternoon and I poked around and... well, before I could poke around too much, I had to wander off to work. Just as well. While at work, trying to figure out how an elephant had managed to demolish half of the pharmacy section (and not the part that usually looks bad either), I had one of my feelings.
For reference, I have had feelings exactly twice before in my life. The first one happened when I was 13, in church of all places. Nowadays when my brain wanders while I'm at the church I'm trying to get out of, it either focuses on questionably appropriate fic ideas or trying to figure out why one of the other women around my age thought a particular outfit or hairdo was a good idea (former-homeschooled ladytypes are fashion disasters by nature, and I say this as someone who is definitely in that category). Well, needless to say, 13-year-old me was a lot more innocent. I don't know what I was thinking about on that spring morning, but all of a sudden I had a very strong feeling that I was supposed to be a writer. Not that I'd really considered other career options before that, but it was definitely an experience of the Divine. (Incidentally, this was before things got crazy at that church, but... that's another post. Or, probably, a series of them, to be written once I get out For Real This Time I Fricking Mean It.)
The second one, I can't remember exactly when it happened thanks to the fact that I have the short-term memory of a fricking gerbil, but I'm pretty sure it was about a year ago (or maybe closer to two - point being, it remains a fairly recent development). I was doing self-eval, as I tend to do when I'm bored and/or fighting back the urge to tell someone I dislike exactly where they can stick it, and the subjects of my depression and my untouched-ness crossed my mind (as per usual - self-eval is either on those subjects or on fandom stuff, and I'm pretty sure I was very between primary fandoms when this happened). And out of the blue, for the first time, I knew there was a light at the end of my battle. And more importantly, I knew something about my future Person. I will find them once the worst of my darkness has past. I don't know anything more than that, of course - I'm pretty sure I have crossed that part of my life, but maybe it's supposed to be once I've learned to control the bad days? - but I know that. When the worst is over, when I am as whole as I will ever be as my own entity, I will find them. (Or, more likely, they will find me... but again, that's another post.)
Anyways... feelings. I had my third real one today, and it's about this possible house project. I want to create something for the family I eventually want to have, and this particular model/method is perfect. It's sustainable (something I'm generally fascinated by), it's cost-effective to build (at least after the plans and land to build it on are acquired), and it seems idiot-proof (always a good plus when it comes to DIY things). And I know in my core that this is something I'm supposed to do. There's just the small problem of... well, money. I want to do this on my own (obviously) and in cash (because srsly, trying to get a loan would be against the spirit of the beast and borderline-impossible for someone whose "proper" employment is averaging 20 hours a week at 15¢ above minimum wage aaaaand doesn't have a credit history). I have no idea how that's gonna happen, but it will. I'm determined. I've done enough poking around to be sure of the plausibilities. If I can figure out the financial side, this is happening. It's just weird enough to work, and that's how all of my best ideas start out.
And hey, if I get lucky and find my Person before I'm done with these things I want to have ready for them... they can help. They're in for a lifetime of chasing after my fridge-brilliance WTFery; they might as well start as soon as they can, right?
Song of the day - "Jackie and Wilson", Hozier.
I like preparing for things. Blame it on whatever undiagnosed variant of social anxiety disorder I have, if you want, or on the fact that as much as I hate damage control, that's a role I seem to spend most of my life playing. Whatever the cause, my life is equal parts preparation and praying I have enough fridge brilliance to get through the stuff I can't brace for. I plan when I'm leaving the house as early as possible (if I know exactly when I'm going to interact with unfamiliar people a week in advance, great), and usually the only "unplanned" outings I do are runs to the post office when I sell something online. I buy the dresses I wear for weddings before I know if I'll even be invited to some of them. And then... well, then there's the stuff I'm doing for future!me.
It started innocently enough. Around a year and a half ago, I wandered across the fabulous horror that is the Beekeeper's Quilt (if you're not inclined to click the link, it's a knitting pattern). Since I make socks for all my engaged and pregnant acquaintances, and since I'm 21 and grew up in homeschooler-land and therefore know a lot of people in one of those two categories at any given time, I generate quite a bit of leftover sock yarn. Making two hexipuffs out of each remnant before I send it off to someone in the Ravelry RAK group I try to participate in just makes sense. But then I got another one of my fabulous ideas. The beekeeper quilt, assuming I ever finish the darn thing (I need to make approximately 400 puffs and at this point I've done maybe 60?), would be a perfect wedding present for my future Person. So... there's now a time component. Not a hugely pertinent one, seeing as I am currently sans anyone I have any romantic interest in and I'd like to spend a decent amount of time getting to know someone before walking down the aisle and (possibly) changing my surname, but an existent one. It's motivation!! I suck at motivation!! What's not to love, right?
Well, then the future planning got weirder a few months ago when I impulse-bought a wedding dress.
Okay, maybe "impulse-bought" is the wrong word. There's this thrift store twenty minutes from my house that I go to on a regular basis - all the proceeds support local women's shelters, the ladies who work there adore me, and you never know what you're gonna find there. Around the beginning of summer, I saw The Dress. Some of the people I know who've gotten married recently say you just know when you find the perfect dress. (The rest have gotten married in their mothers' gowns - heavily altered, of course - which has never been an option for me because my mom is five inches shorter than me and was a size 4 when she got married. I haven't been a size 4 since I was about fourteen, and between the twin gifts of hipbones and C-cup boobs, I will never be that small again.) Obviously, of course, all of those people were looking for a wedding dress. I... wasn't. But there it was anyways, beaded bodice and high neckline and empire waistline and flowing skirt, taunting me. I could tell, just from eyeballing it (the thrift store had the sense to put the nice wedding dresses several feet off the ground), that it just had to be a size 10 (my usual, assuming the piece in question hasn't shrunk into oblivion, which formal gowns generally don't). I fell in love.
For weeks, I shamelessly eyed the thing, until one day I finally had the nerve to ask how much it was. My brain was all "it has to be around $60, yeah?". Wrong. Dress was actually $90, which meant that after tax (thank you Indiana for 7% sales tax when the two other states within sane driving distance are 6%), it was almost a hundred even. I did not care. I needed this dress. I tried it on in the shop, explaining beforehand to the nice old lady that I wasn't even seeing anyone and was more interested in having it as something to keep on hand for when my time comes. She understood pretty well, didn't even give me the "how is a nice girl like you single?" routine like a lot of people would've. It fit perfectly. I had to buy it. Y'know, just in case.
The dress lingered untouched in the closet of our spare bedroom for a few more weeks, until my mother accidentally found it. This was one of the hazards of putting it in that closet, but it had more space to hang properly there, and hell, there isn't space in my closet for something of that scale. I knew she'd find it eventually, and I wasn't quite sure how to explain the situation. Thankfully, I didn't have to. She gave me a small routine about her friend who's altered everyone's wedding dresses this past year (lesson of that afternoon - someone better submit that woman for sainthood because she's eighty-something and way too nice to have gone through some of that stuff), and then she decided to get it dry-cleaned and put in a proper bag for me. For my mother, who used to worry more than made any logical sense about my seeming lack of interest in guys (this thankfully stopped once my sister's type was defined as "breathing"), this was a huge step. And that was it. One huge expense out of the way for my future wedding. And again, I thought that was it as far as longterm planning. And again, it wasn't.
The reason I'm doing this post is because today I found another thing that I am meant to do, another thing that solves some of my problems. I'm going to build a house. More specifically, an Earthship. I advise caution on that website - whomever wrote most of the material is definitely on something - but the concept crossed my Tumblr dash this afternoon and I poked around and... well, before I could poke around too much, I had to wander off to work. Just as well. While at work, trying to figure out how an elephant had managed to demolish half of the pharmacy section (and not the part that usually looks bad either), I had one of my feelings.
For reference, I have had feelings exactly twice before in my life. The first one happened when I was 13, in church of all places. Nowadays when my brain wanders while I'm at the church I'm trying to get out of, it either focuses on questionably appropriate fic ideas or trying to figure out why one of the other women around my age thought a particular outfit or hairdo was a good idea (former-homeschooled ladytypes are fashion disasters by nature, and I say this as someone who is definitely in that category). Well, needless to say, 13-year-old me was a lot more innocent. I don't know what I was thinking about on that spring morning, but all of a sudden I had a very strong feeling that I was supposed to be a writer. Not that I'd really considered other career options before that, but it was definitely an experience of the Divine. (Incidentally, this was before things got crazy at that church, but... that's another post. Or, probably, a series of them, to be written once I get out For Real This Time I Fricking Mean It.)
The second one, I can't remember exactly when it happened thanks to the fact that I have the short-term memory of a fricking gerbil, but I'm pretty sure it was about a year ago (or maybe closer to two - point being, it remains a fairly recent development). I was doing self-eval, as I tend to do when I'm bored and/or fighting back the urge to tell someone I dislike exactly where they can stick it, and the subjects of my depression and my untouched-ness crossed my mind (as per usual - self-eval is either on those subjects or on fandom stuff, and I'm pretty sure I was very between primary fandoms when this happened). And out of the blue, for the first time, I knew there was a light at the end of my battle. And more importantly, I knew something about my future Person. I will find them once the worst of my darkness has past. I don't know anything more than that, of course - I'm pretty sure I have crossed that part of my life, but maybe it's supposed to be once I've learned to control the bad days? - but I know that. When the worst is over, when I am as whole as I will ever be as my own entity, I will find them. (Or, more likely, they will find me... but again, that's another post.)
Anyways... feelings. I had my third real one today, and it's about this possible house project. I want to create something for the family I eventually want to have, and this particular model/method is perfect. It's sustainable (something I'm generally fascinated by), it's cost-effective to build (at least after the plans and land to build it on are acquired), and it seems idiot-proof (always a good plus when it comes to DIY things). And I know in my core that this is something I'm supposed to do. There's just the small problem of... well, money. I want to do this on my own (obviously) and in cash (because srsly, trying to get a loan would be against the spirit of the beast and borderline-impossible for someone whose "proper" employment is averaging 20 hours a week at 15¢ above minimum wage aaaaand doesn't have a credit history). I have no idea how that's gonna happen, but it will. I'm determined. I've done enough poking around to be sure of the plausibilities. If I can figure out the financial side, this is happening. It's just weird enough to work, and that's how all of my best ideas start out.
And hey, if I get lucky and find my Person before I'm done with these things I want to have ready for them... they can help. They're in for a lifetime of chasing after my fridge-brilliance WTFery; they might as well start as soon as they can, right?
Song of the day - "Jackie and Wilson", Hozier.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
On Winter Wonder-hell
Or, "I'm trying to keep a sense of wonder but I might be too jaded for my own good".
It snowed the night before last. Yes, I know, I did not set out to be one of those bloggers, but considering the number of failed posts I've tried to do in the last few weeks (there was a reflection on my Halloween costume and how strangely appropriate that ended up but dammit I am really trying post things that are not fandom-related here)... yeah. This, at least, I can presumably write without mentioning the parallel girls too much.
Snow is one of those things for me. I've lived in southeast Indiana (Cincinnati-adjacent) my whole life, and if there is one thing this area doesn't handle well, it's winter. I'd say weird weather in general, but snow's a unique beastie because though we definitely get it in decent quantities (if you live somewhere where they don't close stuff down until there's at least a foot of the white death, this is your cue to shut up), it always sends people into panic mode. You do not want to be in public right before a snow scare. Trust me on this. I work in a grocery store - thankfully, I'm in non-foods and people don't panic-buy shampoo, but this past weekend was eye-opening because I'd underestimated exactly how chaotic things get right before a snow scare. (Answer - mayhem. It's on par with Black Friday in a shopping-mall food court, which is another post I am probably never going to actually do.) People are weird. I guess because of my background, I'm fascinated by how normal people handle things (or in this case don't handle them), but my innocent eyes have been opened by this and I was just fine before that happened.
Of course, I was expecting it to not do anything. When I got home from work Sunday night, it was 36 degrees and trying to do something but failing at that. Aaaand then I woke up yesterday (Monday) morning and... somewhere in the vicinity of three inches of powdery white death. Joy.
Now, the reason I am not thrilled with this stuff is because people around here are generally bad drivers to begin with and adding in snow and ice makes it hella dangerous to leave one's own house. I'm not entirely sure what the requirements are for getting a license are in Indiana or Ohio, but some government equivalent of middle management needs to form a committee and reassess them. Thankfully, yesterday did not include me yelling profanities at questionably competent people on my way to work. I thought it would, but... no. Either the need was not there, said people finally had the sense to stay home, or both. I dunno. It was a nice surprise. Kinda doubt it'll happen again, but a girl can dream.
Anywho, the reason this post is a thing is because while I was shoveling my driveway yesterday afternoon, it hit me that my parallel girls (I dunno if I've addressed that topic before but I'll get on it sooner or later) would love this. Far as I know, neither of 'em had ever experienced snow in their 'verses. They would have a sense of wonder. And then my mind wandered to various projects I'm writing, and the mental image of Scarlett Evans playing out in snow is amazing. (Scarlett, for the record, is the main character in a project I swear I'm gonna finish one of these days. That's another post I need to do, because she's been a brainpest for years and formative and... gah, rambling, bad me.) And it hit me that I really don't have that sense of wonder. I haven't in years. I'm jaded, not because of anything I did but the fact that I suck at coping mechanisms doesn't really help, y'know? I probably could've saved myself some of this pain, but too late now!! But maybe there's hope. Maybe I can get some of that goodness back. I'm a natural pessimist - if any of y'all think I ought to go full Pollyanna, please reassess your life and your belief system because that is not happening - but maybe it's still possible for me to wander closer to the middle of the grayscale. I could do that, yeah.
Song of the day - "Scream My Name", Tove Lo.
It snowed the night before last. Yes, I know, I did not set out to be one of those bloggers, but considering the number of failed posts I've tried to do in the last few weeks (there was a reflection on my Halloween costume and how strangely appropriate that ended up but dammit I am really trying post things that are not fandom-related here)... yeah. This, at least, I can presumably write without mentioning the parallel girls too much.
Snow is one of those things for me. I've lived in southeast Indiana (Cincinnati-adjacent) my whole life, and if there is one thing this area doesn't handle well, it's winter. I'd say weird weather in general, but snow's a unique beastie because though we definitely get it in decent quantities (if you live somewhere where they don't close stuff down until there's at least a foot of the white death, this is your cue to shut up), it always sends people into panic mode. You do not want to be in public right before a snow scare. Trust me on this. I work in a grocery store - thankfully, I'm in non-foods and people don't panic-buy shampoo, but this past weekend was eye-opening because I'd underestimated exactly how chaotic things get right before a snow scare. (Answer - mayhem. It's on par with Black Friday in a shopping-mall food court, which is another post I am probably never going to actually do.) People are weird. I guess because of my background, I'm fascinated by how normal people handle things (or in this case don't handle them), but my innocent eyes have been opened by this and I was just fine before that happened.
Of course, I was expecting it to not do anything. When I got home from work Sunday night, it was 36 degrees and trying to do something but failing at that. Aaaand then I woke up yesterday (Monday) morning and... somewhere in the vicinity of three inches of powdery white death. Joy.
Now, the reason I am not thrilled with this stuff is because people around here are generally bad drivers to begin with and adding in snow and ice makes it hella dangerous to leave one's own house. I'm not entirely sure what the requirements are for getting a license are in Indiana or Ohio, but some government equivalent of middle management needs to form a committee and reassess them. Thankfully, yesterday did not include me yelling profanities at questionably competent people on my way to work. I thought it would, but... no. Either the need was not there, said people finally had the sense to stay home, or both. I dunno. It was a nice surprise. Kinda doubt it'll happen again, but a girl can dream.
Anywho, the reason this post is a thing is because while I was shoveling my driveway yesterday afternoon, it hit me that my parallel girls (I dunno if I've addressed that topic before but I'll get on it sooner or later) would love this. Far as I know, neither of 'em had ever experienced snow in their 'verses. They would have a sense of wonder. And then my mind wandered to various projects I'm writing, and the mental image of Scarlett Evans playing out in snow is amazing. (Scarlett, for the record, is the main character in a project I swear I'm gonna finish one of these days. That's another post I need to do, because she's been a brainpest for years and formative and... gah, rambling, bad me.) And it hit me that I really don't have that sense of wonder. I haven't in years. I'm jaded, not because of anything I did but the fact that I suck at coping mechanisms doesn't really help, y'know? I probably could've saved myself some of this pain, but too late now!! But maybe there's hope. Maybe I can get some of that goodness back. I'm a natural pessimist - if any of y'all think I ought to go full Pollyanna, please reassess your life and your belief system because that is not happening - but maybe it's still possible for me to wander closer to the middle of the grayscale. I could do that, yeah.
Song of the day - "Scream My Name", Tove Lo.
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