A Ramble About Me

 To sit down and purposefully write for this feels wrong, weird even. I don’t write with an audience in mind, to be honest. I just write. I write out my feelings and when inspiration strikes. To find things to blog about feels disingenuous… So why not write about that?

Writing purposefully feels weird after a while. It’s most likely because when I started writing I had a lot of big emotions to get out. I often wonder if that’s why I find it hard to write sometimes.

To be blunt, my dad passed away around a month after I turned 9. That’s a lot to deal with. It started me into being really introspective, before this point I was loud, rambunctious, and forthright. A kid obviously. I remember liking a boy nearly twice my age and making him hold my hand and my sister scolding me for kissing his hand. I loved hard. A force of nature.

I terrorized the people I had crushes on. I imagine it was 2-3rd grade when I stopped. I don’t remember much about that time. I remember things from kindergarten and first grade. I got in trouble for holding hands with a boy in first grade. 

After that though… I don’t know. I remember being in 4th or 5th grade (it blends together because I had the same teacher both years) and being in tears because I didn’t want to cough in a quiet room. People would look at me. I didn’t want that.

I wonder if I clung to that crush because it was all the normal I had left at the time. A reminder of before my dad passed. Sorry, Matt.

It didn’t help that I was tall. I was regularly the tallest or nearly tallest in the class. Then I got glasses and acne in 5th grade. Puberty hit me hard. And bless my mom for trying to get it cleared up. I feel like it was probably expensive. If anyone has ever been on Accutane/isotretinoin… you know the hell that that is. Maybe I’ll dedicate a post to that experience one day.

I was relentlessly teased for who I liked. Constantly, it felt like my life revolved around who I was into rather than who I was. Though that didn’t really get better, I wore too much black and was deemed a witch after all. I remember in 8th grade my best friend wasn’t there and we had to partner up in science. 

Obviously, I was put with the weird kid, but when I sat down by this kid he literally scooted his chair with force a few feet away from me. It drew everyone’s attention, bless that teacher. I was one of her favorites. She sent that kid to the office and I paired with some people who pitied me. I always did get along with adults better.

It’s worth mentioning all my siblings are 15-20 years older than me. My father and mother were both married before getting together and had two kids each in those previous marriages. I am the only child of my mother and father together.

By the time I got older, and by that I mean by the time I was four or five, they were adults. One of my siblings, the sister that scolded me for kissing that boy's hand, was pregnant at the same time as my mother. 

It was funny in school, people didn’t believe we were aunt and niece. They thought we were cousins. Eventually, we settled on telling people we were sisters. It was essentially like having a little sister, we were most definitely like sisters.

This has already gotten long. I can’t say I did this purposefully, it’s easy to fall into talking about it. I’m not taking it back or regretting it though, because it was authentic. If you made it this far, congratulations.

All this to say:

I have had a lot of big emotions. I’m not really sure who I am past all of that, but finally, I’m in my mid-twenties and I think I’m getting past it. Hurt is different for everyone. It does come in waves. Sure one day, old hurts might hit me, and I’ve got more recent stuff to get through but… it feels like the big stuff I’ve been hung up on most of my life is becoming smaller. It’s scary to learn how to exist outside of the hurt that fueled me. I’m trying to be more well-rounded in thinking. Not just for me but for my writing too.

I don’t know. Life keeps going I guess.