I think some of us are pushed to become the real version of ourselves. It’s like one day you snap and realize that if you’re ever going to be happy it’s going to have to be because you gave up on making everyone else comfortable. I know for me, I was more well liked when I wasn’t so outspoken (or verbal at all). I was compliant and easy to mold into whatever version of me suited your best interest. That time has come and gone, and here we are today. I can’t shut up.
I want this to be my most insanely real blog post, because I noticed that even in my attempts to be completely open, I leave the “realest shit” about myself out in still trying (am I crazy???) to “fit in” or belong somewhere in this world.
- I may or may not be on the Autism Spectrum. I’ve never been to a doctor to discuss this, but people seem to think I’m somehow really unique. And I am. I find myself struggling with day to day things more so than most adults my age. I feel lost in a world where everyone else seems to have picked up their “Adult Assignment” cards and ran with whatever they were assigned. I can sit and stare into space literally all day long, if left uninterrupted. People say “get a job” and I can think of a million other things I’d rather do (including run away), because I have worked and I’ve quit every job I ever had. I also aggravated most of my employers before doing so. I’m apparently not easy to be around. It probably doesn’t help that I find twirling around in circles and bossing the boss around, like totally fine. Is it my fault I was born to lead? I’m just plain frustrated at myself at this point in time, so just … be nice. You think you’re wondering what the hell is going on over here? Imagine how I feel. I almost envy how well others are doing in adulthood. None of that shit is easy for me. All those small tasks you do every single day? That is the struggle for me.
- I dropped out of high school because I didn’t like the way a teacher talked to me when I stopped following along in class one day. He yelled at me in front of everyone. My mind drifts. It … just … drifts. I guess they call that daydreaming, which is cute when you’re five. I also had trouble staying on task when the teacher seemed genuinely uninterested in his students as people and I wasn’t allowed to read ahead. As I left though, I gave the man the reading of his life. His jaw dropped. He asked me how I knew that which I knew (it was very damaging information, ugh!). I just replied, “I’m not so stupid now, am I?” Will this be a theme in my life?
- I hope to own a bakery one day that donates some of the proceeds to my Bella Life Non-profit, which benefits the poor. The homeless sure, but also sends students to school. And so much more. I want to give poverty a kick in the ass by sending the poorest folk on luxury travels and to buy shiny new things. I believe in the idea that to be given something beautiful is to be given the gift of the realization that you are worth it. My niece received a necklace, one that she’d never have been able to have as a child without a lot of money, and it made me think of myself as a child. And how beautiful things just weren’t a reality for a little girl like me. It’s a very disconnecting feeling to be left out of the luxuries of life. To watch your peers wear the best clothes and shoes, To see them travel and learn languages. They never knew the pain of not being able to own that book (it’s just a book!) you loved more than anyone else ever could love.
- I sing. My brother makes beats. He’s a natural. I expect big things out of him, actually. I really do. At the moment though he’s tied up in his own” journey”. The music making has been put to a halt. I spent last year sharing ideas with another GSE musician, and writing lyrics for music that may never be made after all. Honestly, I’m heartbroken. I should probably have more faith, but hope becomes a scary thing after a while. The realities that are born of poverty aren’t always very pretty ones. Out of respect for him I’ll skip the full confession. Anything can happen, right?
- As I spiral out of my spiritual enlightenment phase and come landing back to cold hard reality, I’m left with the lies I used to feed myself, scattered about the floor. And it’s different to really see yourself. It’s not so much scary as maybe disheartening. You want so badly to be a version of yourself you can gloat about. I am not who I pretended to be, but if that’s the version of me you loved, she’s still there in your mind. You can keep pretending too, until one day the mirror stops and says, “I’m not going to lie for you anymore.” All that is left of me is blood and guts. Jesus thinks this is fine. I asked him. He’s handed me a brochure to Heaven. He’s made a list of shit he wants to do when I get there. It’s kind of cute.
- They say life is what you make of it. They say you should never wish it had been any different, because it made you who you are. I seethe, because a child should never be held beneath the water, or raped, and then be told they should be thankful for the experiences that have given them lifelong post traumatic stress and suicidal ideation. I mean, how ignorant can you be? A little boy who starves every day or never knows the reality of having a dream or a wish come true, shouldn’t be told to smile and be a good sport while he watches his richer “brothers” have more than they need. Fuck that and fuck you if you support that bullshit.
- I’m not sure I’ve ever really loved a man. I have obviously really believed that I have, but energetically it would be impossible from where I once stood, to love another when I couldn’t even love myself. I feel like I’m in need of a physical healing experience. That there is nothing to take the place of actually being exposed to real development via another person’s love, you know? We can become so strong in ourselves, but we came here for connection. Nothing feeds a soul like real love. Not even self love.
- I once stood in front of a bathroom mirror, having just attempted suicide. I told myself I would write about that experience one day. And I have, in my blog post titled “suicide attempt”. What I didn’t know then is that taking a life isn’t ever going to be as powerful as “taking back a life.”
I hope when you read my writing you understand the importance of my words. But more than that I hope you understand how beautiful one life can be if it is here to be. Thank you for reading. I was pretty happy with my blog stats. You didn’t have to read, but you did. So, Gracias.
Namaste, A Survivor