Things change and yet don’t change around here with surprising consistency. I wrote my last post here over a year ago; I cannot promise that the upcoming gap will be any less extreme. I’m still trying to figure out what this space is for…. or if, it is what I think it should be, what my usual blog-haunt Many Worlds From Many Minds is or will be.
When I think about it and am honest with myself, I have a bit of an aversion to being “myself” so directly… online or off. A lot of people have nicknames, use pen names, or aliases online. I do, and yet I don’t. I thought of trying to establish a serious online persona so that my private life could be truly private. But in the end, it seemed unnatural to be reaching out to the world electronically by saying “hey, look at me, read what I wrote” while hiding behind the screen and a stock image.
Unnatural for me… I am not judging the choices others have made in regards to their online lives. It’s a pretty crazy world out here, and we all deal the way we need to deal.
So… What brought me over here? I guess the same could be said for me posting over at Many Worlds… I only started that up recently as well. Then again, I started that up because that’s where I post all my ROW80 check-ins; I had a “reason” for blogging again there. So, why am I here…
Actually, I just came to share an article I read on The Rumpus.net… an article I just can’t get out of my head. I was there, in this author’s place during the college years. I suspect more young women are than they would like to admit.
Was I in that place? Oh, not the same place… of my “bad choices” one I ran from during the ‘afterglow’; with another, the college paraded me during proceedings as a tool to get him banned when I didn’t could barely understand what had actually happened from what I’d been told had happened; another wasn’t too shy to make sure I knew how much I ‘owed’ him for the fact his roommate was my boyfriend and he had to deal with me ‘teasing and frustrating’ him by our cuddling, and if my boyfriend wasn’t going to take what was being offered (never mind that it hadn’t been offered), then he would… and if I didn’t he’d make sure the RA knew I’d been drinking in his room.
Oh… and I only did a bit of the bulimia and anorexia thing. My way of coping turned away from the “I need to be prettier to be accepted, and I’ll be prettier if I can lose weight‘ to the “fuck you all, I’m going to be so damned fat and ugly I won’t have to deal with any of you“.
Only… it didn’t work that way. It never does.
Things change. We change, heal, grow… new experiences, new faces,… I keep rediscovering myself, even those “stitches” as Roe McDermott notes in her piece sometimes seem to be all I’m made of. Now, instead of trying to define myself by someone else’s interest in me, I try to just be me.
Whoever that is….