Monday, June 8, 2015
Saturday, June 6, 2015
The Perks Of Fluid Identity
I've been learning a lot about myself this year.
This is funny because, as some of y'all know, last year was a major dev year for me. And, in my innocence, I thought that meant 2015 was going to be the results of said dev. Um... no. At least not yet. We still have half the year to go, and I have randomly turned into a very hopeful person, but... even I'm not betting on that right now. This year is another dev year, and that's okay. I think.
One of the big things I'm learning is that I'm a very fluid person... and that's okay.
I'm not sure what I mean by that yet. I'm not sure I'll ever fully know (another important thing I'm learning right now is how to accept uncertainty, which is fricking hard for my current wiring). But it's definitely a thing, and it's a thing I'm trying to use for survival.
I guess I've done this for a while. A few months back, my friend Miranda pointed out that I pick outfits and makeup like I'm putting on a mask, and as much as it killed me to admit it at the time... she had a point. I prepare my look based on who I need to be for a given situation and/or who I want other people to see me as. Sometimes, this means zero makeup (mascara doesn't count unless it's the super-super-volumising kind, and lip balm is a requirement for being human) and a t-shirt and knit skirt and flip-flops. Sometimes, this means red lipstick and eyeliner and a very fitted dress and... okay, generally flip-flops with that too, but I'd be wearing heels if my ankle wasn't screwed up. I don't have a default personal style because I'm so driven by mood and situation, and I've been that way for a while.
Recently, my fluidity expanded to names. I have never liked my legal name. Part of that stemmed from the fact that I share it with someone who was utterly terrible when we were young kids (she's become a much better person in the ten years since I stopped having to interact with her on the regular, but she successfully convinced everyone we knew when we were eight that my family was moving to West Virginia - based on an overheard convo, for the record, she wasn't malicious so much as misguided - and that was an interesting childhood trauma). There's more to it than that, but I dunno what the rest of it is. Point being... actually changing my name is not gonna happen because paperwork and fees and whatnot, but I'm not Alyssa most of the time. I'm really not. And maybe I'm a couple of different people, again dependent on the situation, and I'm learning who those personas are.
One of them, I think I have down. I've been going to a new church for the last two months and it's basically everything I hoped for, and I've started telling people my name is Nora there. That's who I want to be there. It's a pretty name for a pretty young woman in hiding, tragic past and hopeful heart and all. Eventually I'll probably have to explain that to a few people there - I'm exploring opportunities in ministry, so I'll definitely have to mention the disconnect at some point. But for now, that's who I am in that space, and being someone slightly different feels really really good.
I don't think that's the only part of it, though. Sectioning my personality into different identities is... probably a symptom of something, honestly, but it makes me feel better. I'm very conscious of what I'm doing, and I'm doing what I need to do for me. It's a weird coping mech, but it's the current state of things.
I've never been sure who I am at any given moment, but I'm trying to see the beauty in that. I'm trying to survive. I'm gonna be okay.
Song of the day - "Stardust", Lifehouse.
This is funny because, as some of y'all know, last year was a major dev year for me. And, in my innocence, I thought that meant 2015 was going to be the results of said dev. Um... no. At least not yet. We still have half the year to go, and I have randomly turned into a very hopeful person, but... even I'm not betting on that right now. This year is another dev year, and that's okay. I think.
One of the big things I'm learning is that I'm a very fluid person... and that's okay.
I'm not sure what I mean by that yet. I'm not sure I'll ever fully know (another important thing I'm learning right now is how to accept uncertainty, which is fricking hard for my current wiring). But it's definitely a thing, and it's a thing I'm trying to use for survival.
I guess I've done this for a while. A few months back, my friend Miranda pointed out that I pick outfits and makeup like I'm putting on a mask, and as much as it killed me to admit it at the time... she had a point. I prepare my look based on who I need to be for a given situation and/or who I want other people to see me as. Sometimes, this means zero makeup (mascara doesn't count unless it's the super-super-volumising kind, and lip balm is a requirement for being human) and a t-shirt and knit skirt and flip-flops. Sometimes, this means red lipstick and eyeliner and a very fitted dress and... okay, generally flip-flops with that too, but I'd be wearing heels if my ankle wasn't screwed up. I don't have a default personal style because I'm so driven by mood and situation, and I've been that way for a while.
Recently, my fluidity expanded to names. I have never liked my legal name. Part of that stemmed from the fact that I share it with someone who was utterly terrible when we were young kids (she's become a much better person in the ten years since I stopped having to interact with her on the regular, but she successfully convinced everyone we knew when we were eight that my family was moving to West Virginia - based on an overheard convo, for the record, she wasn't malicious so much as misguided - and that was an interesting childhood trauma). There's more to it than that, but I dunno what the rest of it is. Point being... actually changing my name is not gonna happen because paperwork and fees and whatnot, but I'm not Alyssa most of the time. I'm really not. And maybe I'm a couple of different people, again dependent on the situation, and I'm learning who those personas are.
One of them, I think I have down. I've been going to a new church for the last two months and it's basically everything I hoped for, and I've started telling people my name is Nora there. That's who I want to be there. It's a pretty name for a pretty young woman in hiding, tragic past and hopeful heart and all. Eventually I'll probably have to explain that to a few people there - I'm exploring opportunities in ministry, so I'll definitely have to mention the disconnect at some point. But for now, that's who I am in that space, and being someone slightly different feels really really good.
I don't think that's the only part of it, though. Sectioning my personality into different identities is... probably a symptom of something, honestly, but it makes me feel better. I'm very conscious of what I'm doing, and I'm doing what I need to do for me. It's a weird coping mech, but it's the current state of things.
I've never been sure who I am at any given moment, but I'm trying to see the beauty in that. I'm trying to survive. I'm gonna be okay.
Song of the day - "Stardust", Lifehouse.
Saturday, May 30, 2015
Impulsive Summer 2.0
So I went away for a little bit. This tends to happen in the aftermath of a heartbreak, which I will blame for my absentee-ism even though two months getting over a useless crush sounds pathetic (it took more like two weeks, but whatev). That situation went down, and then once the dust settled... I had posts I wanted to do, but motivation wasn't there. I've spent the last few weeks embracing my frustrations with mixed results, and while writing here was definitely something I knew I needed to do, I couldn't find the right push.
Then I started noticing some parallels, and that I needed to act on.
First, a little background. The titular Impulsive Summer is an event that occurred four years ago, the summer I graduated from high school. It gets its name because... well, my family made a lot of snap decisions over about a month. That, in turn, happened because we were waiting for my paternal grandfather to die. There really is no other way to put it. He'd had a rabbit's nest of medical issues for years, and the downward spiral had finally happened. It was just a matter of holding our breath, waiting for the phone call that would drag us up to northern Wisconsin for a week, and doing things on instinct while we could.
I distinctly remember that we weren't sure my grad party would even happen (it did, even though Grandpa was dead by then, because there was a week between the death and the funeral because of logistical stuff that 17-year-old me did not quite catch). We all acted in the moment during that grayspace. I was spared from the awkwardness of shamelessly eyeing my object of affections at a mutual acquaintance's grad party (while our parents talked three feet away because my dad had previously worked with object-of-affection's mom's bestie from high school or something - Cinci is a fishbowl, I swear) because we wanted to see a movie the weekend it came out because otherwise we wouldn't have seen it. I'm not entirely sure there are words for what that summer was, but there was definitely never a dull moment.
(I will not talk about my grandfather's funeral other than the fact that it was a really weird time to learn how my dad proposed to my mom and the fact that Coldplay's "Viva La Vida" is probably the most inappropriate funeral song ever. My dad and I nearly put it in the slideshow anyways, but we decided at the last minute that while my grandma is a tiny woman, she's still scary as hell and it wasn't worth the risk. Harry Connick Jr.'s version of "Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead" was also not quite worth the risk. Nor was Queen's "Another One Bites The Dust". My uncles nearly got a mix CD that Christmas of songs we were not allowed to use in the slideshow. They would've thought it was funny!)
Fast-forward to this summer. Once again, we have a family member in questionable health (probably not on the verge of death but ya never do know). And once again, that air of the impulsive surrounds me. Anything is possible this year.
There are a few other similarities. Movies, for instance. Summer 2011 was defined for me by X-Men: First Class - a movie I did not expect to love featuring a relationship that mirrored my doomed (but at the time vibrant and hopeful) first love. Summer 2015 could still go a lot of ways there, but so far the only "summer movie" I've seen (and the only one I plan to see) is Mad Max: Fury Road - a record-breaker for practical effects, a two-hour car chase, and a film that resonated with me on an unexpected personal level. (I'd say there'll be a post about that later, but again, motivation is a weird beast.) Beyond the emotional resonance both films have for me, they also feature two of the same actors in similar supporting roles - Nicholas Hoult as an adorable puppy in full-body makeup (I have accepted that this is a Situation for me) and Zoe Kravitz side-eyeing everything that moves in the background. Weird, weird similarities.
There's other stuff, I'm sure, but it's late and I can't think of it right now. What matters is... well, Impulsive Summer 2.0 is apparently happening. Where it'll go, we just don't know.
Song of the day - "Bulletproof Heart", My Chemical Romance.
Then I started noticing some parallels, and that I needed to act on.
First, a little background. The titular Impulsive Summer is an event that occurred four years ago, the summer I graduated from high school. It gets its name because... well, my family made a lot of snap decisions over about a month. That, in turn, happened because we were waiting for my paternal grandfather to die. There really is no other way to put it. He'd had a rabbit's nest of medical issues for years, and the downward spiral had finally happened. It was just a matter of holding our breath, waiting for the phone call that would drag us up to northern Wisconsin for a week, and doing things on instinct while we could.
I distinctly remember that we weren't sure my grad party would even happen (it did, even though Grandpa was dead by then, because there was a week between the death and the funeral because of logistical stuff that 17-year-old me did not quite catch). We all acted in the moment during that grayspace. I was spared from the awkwardness of shamelessly eyeing my object of affections at a mutual acquaintance's grad party (while our parents talked three feet away because my dad had previously worked with object-of-affection's mom's bestie from high school or something - Cinci is a fishbowl, I swear) because we wanted to see a movie the weekend it came out because otherwise we wouldn't have seen it. I'm not entirely sure there are words for what that summer was, but there was definitely never a dull moment.
(I will not talk about my grandfather's funeral other than the fact that it was a really weird time to learn how my dad proposed to my mom and the fact that Coldplay's "Viva La Vida" is probably the most inappropriate funeral song ever. My dad and I nearly put it in the slideshow anyways, but we decided at the last minute that while my grandma is a tiny woman, she's still scary as hell and it wasn't worth the risk. Harry Connick Jr.'s version of "Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead" was also not quite worth the risk. Nor was Queen's "Another One Bites The Dust". My uncles nearly got a mix CD that Christmas of songs we were not allowed to use in the slideshow. They would've thought it was funny!)
Fast-forward to this summer. Once again, we have a family member in questionable health (probably not on the verge of death but ya never do know). And once again, that air of the impulsive surrounds me. Anything is possible this year.
There are a few other similarities. Movies, for instance. Summer 2011 was defined for me by X-Men: First Class - a movie I did not expect to love featuring a relationship that mirrored my doomed (but at the time vibrant and hopeful) first love. Summer 2015 could still go a lot of ways there, but so far the only "summer movie" I've seen (and the only one I plan to see) is Mad Max: Fury Road - a record-breaker for practical effects, a two-hour car chase, and a film that resonated with me on an unexpected personal level. (I'd say there'll be a post about that later, but again, motivation is a weird beast.) Beyond the emotional resonance both films have for me, they also feature two of the same actors in similar supporting roles - Nicholas Hoult as an adorable puppy in full-body makeup (I have accepted that this is a Situation for me) and Zoe Kravitz side-eyeing everything that moves in the background. Weird, weird similarities.
There's other stuff, I'm sure, but it's late and I can't think of it right now. What matters is... well, Impulsive Summer 2.0 is apparently happening. Where it'll go, we just don't know.
Song of the day - "Bulletproof Heart", My Chemical Romance.
Thursday, April 2, 2015
On Being Forged In Fire
Or, "sometimes the best friendships are the ones you never knew you needed".
I know I post a lot of negative stuff on this blog. I guess that's mostly because I'm still at a point where a lot of negative stuff is happening to me, and writing my way through it helps. (There's a post I want to do right now about jealousy, and another about the first heartbreak of 2015, but now is not the time.) Right now, however, I'm still thinking about something really good that happened to me last week - and, by extension, a friendship that's gotten me through the last three years.
This is my friend Olivia. She's one of the most amazing people I've ever known, and last Saturday I finally got to see her. One of the recurring themes of the six-ish hours we spent hanging out was "took us long enough" - she lives three hours away from me, and it took us nearly three years of being friends to finally meet up. Despite the fact that we have batted the idea around ever since the distance thing was established. We are stubborn kittens and it is adorable.
Funny thing is, when I first started talking to Olivia at some point during summer 2012, I was kinda using her. At the time, we had a few mutual friends who'd recently broken up after a fairly serious relationship, and I was curious as to why. One of said people had zero contact with the outside world that summer, and the other one... in hindsight, was not a good person, but at the time, was just bad at disclosing details. So, because I am unstoppable when I'm curious and because as far as I could tell the relationship in question had been utterly bulletproof, I started reaching out to anyone who might know what had happened. Olivia was connected enough to be a viable resource, except that she... wasn't. She knew even less than I did, actually, although she was equally worried about the little dingbats. (And in hindsight, who wouldn't have been??)
But then something happened. We got to talking a bit more, and... turned out our backgrounds were pretty darn similar. Misplaced 19-year-old girls who'd grown up in super-religious communities and weren't sure what we were and wanted love and acceptance more than anything. Add in the unique experience of having grown up in small-town Indiana, and... WELL. A friendship was born.
Over the years that followed, we've been through stuff. Liv had what she generally refers to as the Valentine's Day From Hell, which I do not remember despite the fact that I know I attempted to be helpful at some point during the fallout, and realized that what she wanted to do wasn't what she'd originally thought. I continued to have depressive spirals, also realized that my plans were not working, and valiantly tried to walk away from just about everything. Through this, we've been a support system for each other. Honestly, at this point, we've stood by each other through too much to ever walk away.
So, finally meeting her in person. I guess part of me was worried that she wouldn't be as awesome in the physical world as she is online. If anything, she's more awesome. She has an infectious smile, she's affectionate, and she makes the world a brighter place. In the space of five minutes, we went from talking about our bad experiences within organized religion to using her phone to look up military bases in Alaska for a teensy bit of background info for this writing thing we're working on. We talked childhood traumas (mine are slightly more epic than hers) and fandom calamities (no show that either of us has ever watched has gotten BETTER after the introduction of a sentient morally-dark-gray AI). We had an extended convo about how Parks & Rec perfectly captures small-town Indiana life but it really needed a good episode about deer season because seriously. It was the most natural, comfortable few hours I've had in a long time.
Point being, Liv is amazing and I'm a better person because of her consistent, solid, supportive presence in my life. Three years down, (hopefully) a lifetime to go.
Song of the day - "Long Live", Taylor Swift.
I know I post a lot of negative stuff on this blog. I guess that's mostly because I'm still at a point where a lot of negative stuff is happening to me, and writing my way through it helps. (There's a post I want to do right now about jealousy, and another about the first heartbreak of 2015, but now is not the time.) Right now, however, I'm still thinking about something really good that happened to me last week - and, by extension, a friendship that's gotten me through the last three years.
Funny thing is, when I first started talking to Olivia at some point during summer 2012, I was kinda using her. At the time, we had a few mutual friends who'd recently broken up after a fairly serious relationship, and I was curious as to why. One of said people had zero contact with the outside world that summer, and the other one... in hindsight, was not a good person, but at the time, was just bad at disclosing details. So, because I am unstoppable when I'm curious and because as far as I could tell the relationship in question had been utterly bulletproof, I started reaching out to anyone who might know what had happened. Olivia was connected enough to be a viable resource, except that she... wasn't. She knew even less than I did, actually, although she was equally worried about the little dingbats. (And in hindsight, who wouldn't have been??)
But then something happened. We got to talking a bit more, and... turned out our backgrounds were pretty darn similar. Misplaced 19-year-old girls who'd grown up in super-religious communities and weren't sure what we were and wanted love and acceptance more than anything. Add in the unique experience of having grown up in small-town Indiana, and... WELL. A friendship was born.
Over the years that followed, we've been through stuff. Liv had what she generally refers to as the Valentine's Day From Hell, which I do not remember despite the fact that I know I attempted to be helpful at some point during the fallout, and realized that what she wanted to do wasn't what she'd originally thought. I continued to have depressive spirals, also realized that my plans were not working, and valiantly tried to walk away from just about everything. Through this, we've been a support system for each other. Honestly, at this point, we've stood by each other through too much to ever walk away.
So, finally meeting her in person. I guess part of me was worried that she wouldn't be as awesome in the physical world as she is online. If anything, she's more awesome. She has an infectious smile, she's affectionate, and she makes the world a brighter place. In the space of five minutes, we went from talking about our bad experiences within organized religion to using her phone to look up military bases in Alaska for a teensy bit of background info for this writing thing we're working on. We talked childhood traumas (mine are slightly more epic than hers) and fandom calamities (no show that either of us has ever watched has gotten BETTER after the introduction of a sentient morally-dark-gray AI). We had an extended convo about how Parks & Rec perfectly captures small-town Indiana life but it really needed a good episode about deer season because seriously. It was the most natural, comfortable few hours I've had in a long time.
Point being, Liv is amazing and I'm a better person because of her consistent, solid, supportive presence in my life. Three years down, (hopefully) a lifetime to go.
Song of the day - "Long Live", Taylor Swift.
Saturday, March 14, 2015
On Being Brave
Or "people are finally seeing me as I am and I'm STILL freaking out."
Last night I had three conversations with three totally different people that all ultimately ended up being about the same thing - how brave I am. Technically there might've been a fourth one, but that got sidetracked by my tendency to inflict too much personal information on people I barely know (thankfully, the girl I was talking to seemed pretty cool with it - I mean, we'll see if she still wants to be anywhere near me next time our social schedules overlap, but she didn't exactly tell me to shut up and she reads as the sort of person who would and I adore her for it). Point being, as a recurrent theme, that one was weird - and totally not my doing, and freaking me out enough that I'm writing about it here twelve hours later. Yay.
The first convo was with a childhood friend and that's all I'm going to say about who she is 'cause despite being the person unintentionally responsible for about 80% of my self-image issues (no one would ever be as good as she was, no one ever said as much but everyone in my era knew darn well), I can't totally hate her. Believe me, I've tried. Lately, I ignore her when we're in the same place because "if I can't see them then they don't exist" is a TOTALLY sensible way of dealing with problem people (I do this at work sometimes, it's weird but it keeps me out of trouble so I guess it's working). But if the other person initiates something, I go with it. And she did. We were standing in the same general area and that woman is talkative. And somehow it came up that she had no idea where I currently work despite me having been there for over a year (I guess me not posting about it on FB - *ever* - might be somehow involved), and I offhand mentioned that while I've been having some minor people problems, it's nowhere near as bad as my last job. So, naturally, childhood friend pointed out that she could never do something like that and I'm so brave for lasting as long as I did.
For the record, the job in question was in a shopping-mall food court place and I lasted a year and a half before the combination of distance and one major human problem that I couldn't do anything about led to me quitting. I was not brave (unless one is really into the fact that I did not intentionally physically hurt myself during that time period).
Second convo happened a few hours later on Tumblr. For some reason, currently because of the main show I am no longer watching because the fandom took a nice trip into hell (someday I need to do a post on how to tactfully have a ship war because I've seen it done without any guilt-tripping before but the above situation is above and beyond), I seem to have attracted a flock of adorable teenage girls who are in the same situation I was in at around that age. Homeschooled, sheltered, and using online fandom interaction as an outlet. (For those of you who thought I was a terror in high school - believe me, if I hadn't discovered the glory of FFnet when I was fifteen and begun using TV shows as a way of getting through my actual life, it could've been sooo much worse.) Obviously, I am the first person to point out that I'm really not a good role model for anyone, EVER, but if the little bugs are convinced I am, that's on them and I'll try to be helpful where I can. I've had a few cool internet older sister figures, and it's only right that I keep the cycle going, yeah?
Anyways, I was talking to one of those girls - convo started with something else, but it spiraled into talking about Former Main Fandom (let's call it that, it's the only show I've actually posted about on this blog if anyone's desperate enough to poke around in my archives) and more specifically, why a particular character is Really Interesting. (That's another post I need to do here. A revamped version of the EXISTENT post on that subject. And... something I'm never going to be over.) Short version, that particular fictional lady resonates with me because of similar backgrounds, and apparently I'm not the only one who sees that. Then the convo detoured a little bit into me talking about my background, and it basically ended with the girl I was talking to telling me that I am a SURVIVOR.
Well... duh. As far as I know, that's the only word in the English language that accurately describes who I am after all of my experiences. (A post I will definitely not write - the fine line between "victim" and "survivor" and how sometimes those can be used interchangeably.)
Then the third convo happened. By this point, it's a little past midnight and my brain is in some absolutely lovely places, and... again, Tumblr is a beautiful place. In need of distraction from OTHER things that happened last night (which will be explained shortly), I started messing around with tattoo design again. I now definitely know what my next one is going to look like and where on my body I'm getting it put. So I posted about that, because talking about anything other than my epic communication failure was absolutely necessary, and then one of my friends talked at me. Apparently she wasn't aware of my existent tattoo, which is weird because she was definitely around when that one happened, and she randomly told me that I was brave for actually going through with it.
Um... no. Being the nervous trainwreck that I am, I spent days looking at pain charts before that one happened, and y'all should know that the one thing all of them (and there are about six good ones I found on Pinterest) say is that lower thigh is about the least painful possible place. This is accurate. I did not feel anything, good bad or otherwise. That is not brave. That is slightly impulsive and reckless.
I guess the reason I'm being so hard on myself is because on a certain level, last night was a disaster. I went to a thing with the intention of talking to a beautiful boy, and... I didn't, because there were too many people and I don't know how to begin a convo with someone I know in passing (in that weird way everyone knows everyone because Cincinnati is a fishbowl) and don't have anything in common with. That's why I'm so curious, but it's not making things easier for me. I convinced myself that I was going to do something, and then I DIDN'T, and I'm so mad at myself for it. I know I shouldn't be - what will happen will happen, and at least I am definitely on radar now and that's progress for me - but I am. Because again, I'm not good enough, and again, I'm not strong enough, and again, I'm a bit disaster. Some things never change.
I'll get through it, though. Last night wasn't even an active setback so much as... a pause, I guess. My heart's still fluttering terribly, and we'll see where that leads if it leads anywhere at all. I'll be okay. I always am.
Song of the day - "Marchin' On", OneRepublic.
Last night I had three conversations with three totally different people that all ultimately ended up being about the same thing - how brave I am. Technically there might've been a fourth one, but that got sidetracked by my tendency to inflict too much personal information on people I barely know (thankfully, the girl I was talking to seemed pretty cool with it - I mean, we'll see if she still wants to be anywhere near me next time our social schedules overlap, but she didn't exactly tell me to shut up and she reads as the sort of person who would and I adore her for it). Point being, as a recurrent theme, that one was weird - and totally not my doing, and freaking me out enough that I'm writing about it here twelve hours later. Yay.
The first convo was with a childhood friend and that's all I'm going to say about who she is 'cause despite being the person unintentionally responsible for about 80% of my self-image issues (no one would ever be as good as she was, no one ever said as much but everyone in my era knew darn well), I can't totally hate her. Believe me, I've tried. Lately, I ignore her when we're in the same place because "if I can't see them then they don't exist" is a TOTALLY sensible way of dealing with problem people (I do this at work sometimes, it's weird but it keeps me out of trouble so I guess it's working). But if the other person initiates something, I go with it. And she did. We were standing in the same general area and that woman is talkative. And somehow it came up that she had no idea where I currently work despite me having been there for over a year (I guess me not posting about it on FB - *ever* - might be somehow involved), and I offhand mentioned that while I've been having some minor people problems, it's nowhere near as bad as my last job. So, naturally, childhood friend pointed out that she could never do something like that and I'm so brave for lasting as long as I did.
For the record, the job in question was in a shopping-mall food court place and I lasted a year and a half before the combination of distance and one major human problem that I couldn't do anything about led to me quitting. I was not brave (unless one is really into the fact that I did not intentionally physically hurt myself during that time period).
Second convo happened a few hours later on Tumblr. For some reason, currently because of the main show I am no longer watching because the fandom took a nice trip into hell (someday I need to do a post on how to tactfully have a ship war because I've seen it done without any guilt-tripping before but the above situation is above and beyond), I seem to have attracted a flock of adorable teenage girls who are in the same situation I was in at around that age. Homeschooled, sheltered, and using online fandom interaction as an outlet. (For those of you who thought I was a terror in high school - believe me, if I hadn't discovered the glory of FFnet when I was fifteen and begun using TV shows as a way of getting through my actual life, it could've been sooo much worse.) Obviously, I am the first person to point out that I'm really not a good role model for anyone, EVER, but if the little bugs are convinced I am, that's on them and I'll try to be helpful where I can. I've had a few cool internet older sister figures, and it's only right that I keep the cycle going, yeah?
Anyways, I was talking to one of those girls - convo started with something else, but it spiraled into talking about Former Main Fandom (let's call it that, it's the only show I've actually posted about on this blog if anyone's desperate enough to poke around in my archives) and more specifically, why a particular character is Really Interesting. (That's another post I need to do here. A revamped version of the EXISTENT post on that subject. And... something I'm never going to be over.) Short version, that particular fictional lady resonates with me because of similar backgrounds, and apparently I'm not the only one who sees that. Then the convo detoured a little bit into me talking about my background, and it basically ended with the girl I was talking to telling me that I am a SURVIVOR.
Well... duh. As far as I know, that's the only word in the English language that accurately describes who I am after all of my experiences. (A post I will definitely not write - the fine line between "victim" and "survivor" and how sometimes those can be used interchangeably.)
Then the third convo happened. By this point, it's a little past midnight and my brain is in some absolutely lovely places, and... again, Tumblr is a beautiful place. In need of distraction from OTHER things that happened last night (which will be explained shortly), I started messing around with tattoo design again. I now definitely know what my next one is going to look like and where on my body I'm getting it put. So I posted about that, because talking about anything other than my epic communication failure was absolutely necessary, and then one of my friends talked at me. Apparently she wasn't aware of my existent tattoo, which is weird because she was definitely around when that one happened, and she randomly told me that I was brave for actually going through with it.
Um... no. Being the nervous trainwreck that I am, I spent days looking at pain charts before that one happened, and y'all should know that the one thing all of them (and there are about six good ones I found on Pinterest) say is that lower thigh is about the least painful possible place. This is accurate. I did not feel anything, good bad or otherwise. That is not brave. That is slightly impulsive and reckless.
I guess the reason I'm being so hard on myself is because on a certain level, last night was a disaster. I went to a thing with the intention of talking to a beautiful boy, and... I didn't, because there were too many people and I don't know how to begin a convo with someone I know in passing (in that weird way everyone knows everyone because Cincinnati is a fishbowl) and don't have anything in common with. That's why I'm so curious, but it's not making things easier for me. I convinced myself that I was going to do something, and then I DIDN'T, and I'm so mad at myself for it. I know I shouldn't be - what will happen will happen, and at least I am definitely on radar now and that's progress for me - but I am. Because again, I'm not good enough, and again, I'm not strong enough, and again, I'm a bit disaster. Some things never change.
I'll get through it, though. Last night wasn't even an active setback so much as... a pause, I guess. My heart's still fluttering terribly, and we'll see where that leads if it leads anywhere at all. I'll be okay. I always am.
Song of the day - "Marchin' On", OneRepublic.
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