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.

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.

On How To Practice Selfcare (Things I Didn't Learn In The Bubble, episode two)

Or, "find little things that make you feel human and cling to them".

The last post I did got me thinking about things. This always happens, and 90% of the time I don't go anywhere with that because... well, as you can all see, my attention span sucks. But I've been stuck on things that probably should've been in that post, and one of the most important ones is selfcare. Bby!me really did not know what selfcare was. For those of you who aren't active in certain online communities... my understanding of it is that selfcare is little things one needs to do to keep fighting. The important word there is little. It's not supposed to be big or dramatic, and finding good methods is a very individual process, but for people coming out of bad situations, it can be everything. So, because apparently I'm into list posts this month, here are a few of my selfcare essentials:

• Bath bombs. Srsly. They're amazing. Probably the priciest thing I'll suggest here - on average, about seven dollars for a single-use thing the size of a baseball - but so, so worth using once a month or so. You can get them on Etsy or elsewhere online in almost every scent imaginable (though I still have yet to find somewhere that has a black orchid one, sigh) and they also make your skin wonderfully squishy for a day or two afterwards and it is amazing.
• Raspberry tea. Or tea in general, because there's something about that process that's inherently calming, but I've read in various places that raspberry is like a natural reset button for uteruses soooo. It works, I swear. (Especially with lots of milk and sugar, but maybe that's just me.)
• Lavender and peppermint scented anything. Maybe not together, I dunno if I've found that combination in anything, but both of those are calming and wonderful. Also I think I read somewhere that the scent of peppermint helps make headaches go away, so that's awesome too.
• A TV show you identify with. This is where I veer a little away from your normal self-care posts because... well, this is a thing for me. I process my life through fictional characters, and that can be really helpful. Some advice - don't go looking too hard, stuff will find you and not the other way around. Or ask a few people you trust if there are any characters you remind them of and go from there. That can be fun. (Of course, depending on your people, they could well tell you things you already know. Which... is not something I'm entirely over and not something I am allowed to post about for another three weeks because Reasons.)
• A TV show you totally don't identify with. Because sometimes the point of selfcare is to distract from your problems, and I am convinced that is why trashy teen dramas were originally created, and that is all I am going to say on the matter.
• A pet who likes attention. In my case, my cat. You look at her for more than two seconds and she'll roll over and give you this "pet me. NOW." look and nobody can resist it. Believe me, I've tried. It's impossible. Affectionate unconditional furry creatures make life so much better.

Song of the day - "Forget", Marina and The Diamonds.

On Talking To The Void

Or, "writing letters to someone I know nothing about is a useful coping mech".

I know my Person is out there. They have to be. I was talking to my dear friend Olivia about this about a week ago and she said that she's thought about it a lot too and figures that some people are just meant to be with someone, period. (Olivia, for the record, has been with her boyfriend for nine months and they're pretty sure they're each other's Person and other than the fact that I randomly decided to refer to him as Penguin, I'm pretty sure he's the best thing that's ever happened to her.) It's reassuring, that certainty. At least I have something, y'know?

One of the weirder things I've read on various lists of things for Good Christian Girls to do while they wait for their Prince Charming (those of y'all who've seen such lists know I'm not exaggerating) is to write letters to one's future Person. When I was a little bug who did not believe in love (why that changed is another post), I thought that was the most ridiculous idea ever. Yes, even worse than hope chests, and don't get me started on that. (Thus says the girl who's never dated anyone and yet has her wedding dress already. I have such fun inconsistencies.) Now that I'm older and in the stage of desperately waiting for my blossoming to happen... it's actually awesome.

I'm doing a lot of things for my future Person, which is hilarious considering I don't exactly expect them to show up anytime soon. I'm working on the Beekeeper Quilt nightmare, which remains nowhere near done but I'm trying and maybe it'll be done in four years (I am realistic). I have a nice collection of clearance-rack lingerie, which I admittedly do wear on days I need a confidence boost but honestly no one's going to see it on me for a darn long time. And then there's the journal. The Journal. Ohhhhdear.

I'm not sure why I actually started that project. The journal itself was an impulse purchase of the "things that come home with me when I get stuck on a long Walmart trip with my mother" variety. (Normally that category is occupied by eyeshadow and hairbands and holiday novelties.) I've attempted journaling for myself at so many points starting when I was a tiny and... honestly, I suck at it. I get bored. I generally drop particular journals after something bad happens, and then a little while later I get it into my head that I actually want to do this again and acquire a new one and the cycle repeats. I know I do this. And maybe part of me thought this would happen with The Journal. Part of me wonders if it will, at some point, when my current delusions of preparing for my ascendance are dashed by one more terrible broken heart. But a stronger part of me is pretty sure it won't, because this project isn't for me.

This project is for someone I know basically nothing about. I mean, my Person is most likely male (sexual fluidity nightmare being what it is, unless something major shifts, that's the way those attractions actually go) and most likely older than me. They're hopefully quite a bit different than me and hopefully not the sort of person who spends too much of their spare time wondering about their future Person, because one of us does need to be functional, and if they do have the same cute-but-not-actually-helpful coping mech that's getting me through the uncertainty of waiting, I kinda doubt they're envisioning anything like me. (I'm no one's ideal, I know this, and that is not a desperate plea for petty compliments.) I know that they're loyal and good - they have to be, I won't tolerate anything less - and... that's about it. The stuff that I'll notice first, the stuff I'll fall in love with, I'll discover when it happens. And I'm trying to be okay with that, but I really hate uncertainty. I like knowing things. The fact that the defining relationship of my life is currently a complete unknown is... not good for me.

And maybe that's why The Journal helps, because it's giving me an outlet for my wonderings. I'm writing little love letters to someone who won't see them for years, but I'm also revealing little pieces of myself, things I may not remember to tell them but that still matter. It feeds the uncertainty, yes, but it makes the dark unknown feel welcoming. I am embracing it before I know what it is. I am falling in love with someone I haven't met yet. I am doing what needs to be done for me and, at the same time, doing what needs to be done for them.

I have no delusions of everything suddenly being okay when I find my Person. Most of y'all reading this have met my parents; believe me, that idea got shot in the foot before it had a chance. But I do know that it's going to be magnificent. And when the time comes, I will have a whole lot of stories waiting to tell them.

Song of the day - "When You Sleep", Mary Lambert.

On What I Want To Do In 2015

Or, "I know two week can still change a lot but screw this, I have FEELINGS".

Last week I did my masterpost of how 2014 was... maybe not great for me, but more good than bad and a lot of steps forward. And here, for the first time ever, I'm doing another post I said I'd do - my list of goals and projects for 2015. I hate to use the term "New Year's Resolutions" because the moment you apply that term is the moment the universe starts doing everything in its power to make sure you don't get stuff done, but... this is definitely in that vein. It's a mix of things that I need to get off my tail and work for and things that, although my behavior will help, are not mine to control. And, hopefully, I'll be able to look back at this in a year and see how far I've come.

• I want to continue disconnecting from people I don't need. I know way too many people who are condescending, have superiority complexes, and generally have no sense of how to be a decent human (before you ask, this isn't aimed at anyone specific, but if you know me and you're feeling guilt right here, it's a sign). I need to not know those people anymore. They're not worth my time. I'm clearly not worth theirs. Time for me to cut my losses and move forward.

• I want to continue finding media that helps me in unexpected ways. I have a way clearer sense of what I'm into and how to actually use TV as a coping mech (assuming I don't get sucked into fandom babysitting again, srsly, I know one of my main ones runs young but I had to explain promo bait to way too many people last week!!). The goal now is to maintain a healthy disconnect, use things for my purposes, and... not get pulled into any more online drama than I have to. (And maybe at some point write a "Things Done In Genre TV" essay that I can link the adorable fourteen-year-olds to because I am not doing that again.)

• I want to continue exploring the concept of parallel girls and, hopefully, latch onto one who's older than me and functional. That'd be a start, yeah? And maybe if said latching also involves relationship troubles as a base? There are a lot of new things coming out in 2015. Totally plausible.

• I want to get writing stuff done. The way my systems work, I'm not sure if finishing one of the books is a totally realistic plan, but a girl can hope. (It'll probably be Scarlett. I need to get that done so I can write about her here, because one of the formative influences in my life is a fictional character I created and it's pretty darn awesome.) And new short pieces. A lot of them. That'd be a nice step.

• I want to continue structuring my life so I can work around my issues. I am dealing with them, but it's a process and I need in-between mechs. The usual stuff doesn't work for my depressive episodes anymore and I need to find a way through that. Dunno what yet, but that's part of the fun.

• I want to continue writing songs and exploring that creative process more.

• I want to find somewhere I belong. Step one is to find a church that doesn't make me want to end myself. Step two... I'll figure out what that is when I get to it.

• I want to meet people who are actually good for me. I dunno how to actually do that but I'm sure it can be done.

• I want to check off firsts. And yes, that means exactly what you think it means. (Not that I'd rush into anything, but y'know, if the situation were to occur...)

• I want to get to a point where I don't have to remind myself every damn day that I am strong and brave and I can get through things.

• I want to continue becoming someone worth being.

Song of the day - "Yellow Flicker Beat", Lorde.

On Being Alone & Hating It

Or, "it's the middle of December and hormones are kicking my tail and is it REALLY too much to just want someone to kiss me??".

The older I get, the more I realize that being single sucks. This might not actually be age so much as the fact that I live with a sixteen-year-old who has the body of a supermodel and knows it and is on Victim #4, but still. Even without the walking reminder of what I'm not, the fact still remains that this is the bad time of year for women like me. From now until Valentine's Day - two full months of suck - we hopelessly single twentysomethings are in hell, and this year it stings more than ever.

I guess it's one thing if you're consciously choosing not to date anyone - I have a friend who's in that category, and given her tendency to date idiots, I'm fine with her staying there for a while. And it's another thing if you're on the asexual spectrum - again, I have friends there, and this is the time of year when I get jealous of them because at least they have reasons for their status. I... don't. I am reasonably attractive and I have a decent personality and comparatively low standards. And yet... nothing.

I guess part of the problem is that I have no real ways of meeting people. Online dating did not work out for me (I am one of those rare mostly-straight girls who's immune to even the weird people, let alone anyone decent). What few friends I have do not have cute older brothers or extended family members for me to pounce on. Considering that I'm currently drifting, church isn't a concrete option, and part of the reason I left the Vortex is because there was no chance I would ever meet someone there who might even see me with kindness, let alone romantic love. What few hobbies I have do not require human interaction. I really don't leave my house except for work (no chance in hell) and little errands (to places almost exclusively frequented and worked by middle-aged women). At this point, if a decent-looking functional unattached twentysomething guy turns up in my life, I'm almost sure they will be my Person because it'd be that much of a shock if it happened!!

This gets even more sucky if you consider that I thought I'd be married by now. I really did, and if I remember correctly, so did a lot of other people. I was very against the idea in high school (mostly because little baby me hated everything), and openly stating that I was never going to get married was a nice way to tick off various Bubble types. Their most common response? Just. Wait. As far as everyone was concerned, I would be the first girl of my era to get married simply because of how unlikely it was. And, on some level, I believed them. If I were to get married at 19, it would be the perfect way to stick it to so many people.

Obviously, that did not happen.

Three girls of my era got married within the last year. One of the two who remain single is drowning alive in grad school, and the other is too busy with work and her own quiet rebellion to even think about getting fluttery for someone. I... do not have such an excuse for my status.

I could be good for someone. I'm affectionate. Guys like that, right? I haven't Done Things - my idealistic goal of at least getting kissed by the time I turned 21 has obviously not happened - but I want to. I can be domestic -- I want to be, dunno if I'd be any good at it but I learn things quickly. I'm pretty enough (not compared to some people, but I've accepted my body as it is and there's more good than bad there). And, most importantly, I'm realistic.

I'm not asking for a fairytale. That sort of thing doesn't happen to women like me, and I've accepted it. I just want someone who sees me as I am, flaws and beauty entwined, and still wants to be with me. I don't want to be idealized. I just want to be held, told I matter, and kissed a lot. And if a life develops out of that... great. But I'm not asking for much here. I know being with someone won't fix me. I don't think I need to be fixed. I just need to be loved and wanted. And oh, yeah, physical stuff would be really nice too. I'm a hormonal disaster and, because my physical and emotional wirings are so interconnected, DIY'ing it doesn't solve a damn thing.

Please, future Person, come find me. I am a risk worth taking.

Song of the day - "This Love", Taylor Swift (yes, still, I have clearly not cried enough over this song today).

On What I Did In 2014

Or, "someday I will look back and this will be one of the good years".

I know it's a little early to be doing a year-end reflection post. 2014 doesn't technically end for another two and a half weeks, and it's entirely plausible that something could happen in that time that will change everything. Key word there, though, is "plausible". I've been through enough this year, and if by some chance I have to retcon half of this... so be it. That doesn't change that this year has been important for me. I've done a lot of things, I've made trackable progress, and I can solidly say that I am a much better person now than I was this time a year ago. 2014 was the year I started doing things for me and finding symbolism in little things, and it is important. So, without further adieu, here's what I did this year:

• I got my second-ever "proper" job and, almost a year later, I still like working there. Not that it's an ideal situation, but it's something that fits what I need and that I can make work for me. If I need to go hide in the bathroom for a little while because I'm episoding or because I feel physically sick, I can do that and no one gives a damn (I'm pretty sure no one even notices but I could be wrong). I'm around enough people for my depression to feed off, but genuine instances of human stupidity are comparatively rare. I'm pretty sure I'm going to stick around there for a while.

• I shaved my head on New Year's Eve because I make bad life choices when it's late at night and I'm bored (another example: roughly half of the fanfic I've written this year) and it was one of the most freeing things I've ever done. I put my hair into a good ponytail today for the first time since then, which I guess confirms that my hair grows fast. I got rid of it as a symbol of this being my rebirth year, and I'm growing it long now because I can. I want to be able to do pretty braids and updos, and I'm absolutely going to as soon as I have the material for 'em.

• I learned to shamelessly like things without overthinking them. I don't always need to have big reasons for my preferred media choices, especially music. I can like things just because they're fun or because they're good writing inspo. I can sing along to the trashier side of Lana Del Rey's repertoire and not feel bad about myself. It's pretty awesome.

• I made friends with a lot of awesome people online and started cutting ties with a lot of awful people in the face-to-face world. It's a slow process and one that's definitely continuing into 2015, but I'm finally drawing my lines and not allowing space in my life for toxic people, no matter how good their intentions may be. I don't need to be around people who make me feel worthless or deficient because of things that are beyond my control. I'm a better person than that, and I'm starting to act like it.

• I fluttered for someone and, once again, got my little heart broken. But this time, it's all too easy to see why it was a bad idea. We could've been good friends, were for a little while, but the other person let their stubbornness win and that's their problem, not mine. They're still unfairly pretty (and highly unlikely to read this so I regret nothing), but thank you, darling, for confirming why I don't trust pretty people. They'll only ever hurt me, and this one was no exception. Bright side, I handled this heartbreak really well and didn't have any major episodes because of it. I don't think I even really cried over them. I'm getting better at reconciling my hopeless-romantic inclinations with what actually happens to me.

• I quit taking antidepressants and decided I like myself a lot better when I'm not on them. I was medicated for nearly three years and that was good for me, but I get less headaches now and I'm more passionate. I fully approve of anyone who does choose to be on meds, but at this point in my life, that's not what I need. I have enough coping mechs right now. Not sure how long it'll last, but I'm trying.

• I watched a lot of TV, prolly too much in hindsight, but three shows impacted me in important ways. One helped me make sense of my relationship with my mother, one shaped my sense of what community ought to be, and one inspired me to start letting go of my past and become something better. The effects of the last one in particular are also likely to be a theme in 2015, and I'm probably going to write another post on the parallel-girl thing there in about a week (once my brain processes the midseason finale).

• As mentioned above, I developed the concept of parallel girls - fictional ladies I identify with way more than I should. The two I currently have each came from one of the shows mentioned above, and it's been a pretty awesome coping mech. If my parallel girls could get through their challenges - and both of 'em had those in spades - then I can get through mine.

• I went to six weddings and had crying breakdowns at five of them. Weddings just screw with my emotional state, and I imagine it'll be a lot worse in the future when people I actually care about start getting married. As it was... I can't help being jealous, especially of the two girls who got married this year who are younger than me, but I did behave myself. I looked cute at all of them, although the only people who noticed were middle-aged women (seriously, whomever said weddings are great for single people can burn in hell because that does not work). I didn't pick fights with anyone (came really close at one but I do not take any responsibility for that person's issues). I was fine.

• I got one story published this year, which I know isn't great but hey, it's my second earned credit and I need those. Funny thing is how that one originated... out of all the stuff I've written, it figures that the piece that originated with a friend and I having a convo about what we thought really happened after a particular TV show ended is the one that found a home this year. The world is weird like that.

• I listened to a lot of music -- like, that's almost an understatement, 2014 was a good year for stuff I like. If I had to pick one song to define this year, Brooke Fraser's "Je Suis Pret" would be it. Deciding that I adore her music despite how I first heard of her was a good life choice. Other contenders are Sia's "Chandelier" (I love that Sia is a Major Thing now 'cause I've been listening to her for years and she's fascinating and 1000 Forms Of Fear is fascinating and you should go listen to it if you haven't) and Mary Lambert's "Heart On My Sleeve" (Mary Lambert is a gift to humanity and I am jealous of how darn cute she is). And not to mention a bunch of stuff that doesn't necessarily fit where I am but is still really, really good.

• I did a lot of self-eval, mainly on why certain fictional things appeal to me, and learned a lot about myself and how my brain works and how I handle things. I function in patterns, and that's not a bad thing.

• I embraced my vulnerabilities and my flaws and began learning how to function around them. I cry too much, I have no verbal filter (and even less of one when my fingers are on the keyboard), I'm a hopeless romantic and an idealist at times despite my natural pessimism, I have nonexistent tolerance for human stupidity, and none of that is inherently bad. The problem is whether or not I put up enough effort to use those things to my benefit, and that's one of the things I need to work on in 2015.

• I started reclaiming my voice. Compared to the other girls of my era, my musical abilities suck, and for a long time I let that stop me. Not anymore. I've been writing songs and finding a lot of strength in that, in my quiet defiance. I can't sing irritating church music, because it's written for women with borderline-canine vocal ranges, but I can do my stuff. I can do things that mean something to me. Now, what I'm gonna do with that remains to be seen, but... I'll figure something out.

Overall, there was more good than bad this year. I made progress. I am brave and I am becoming a better person and here's to 2015 being more of the same. (In a few days, I'll try to do a goals post, but... we'll see. Fingers crossed I don't eff that up?)

Song of the day - "This Love", Taylor Swift.

On Walking Away

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.

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.

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.