Something Gentler

Ive been through a lot of shit, shit that i didnt deserve, but i have absolutely hurt people, and i absolutely have the capacity to hurt people again - whether thats by accident or on purpose.

And i realize, now, that admitting to that isnt condemning myself to being a Bad Person forever. People make mistakes. I am not a bad person because i did one bad thing - but id perhaps be a worse person if i were to pretend that the things i did were right, or even justified.

I did something shitty - thats not alright, and nobody is obligated to forgive me even once ive admitted fault and apologized. They are allowed to not want me in their life. Thats not a judgement on my overall value as a person. That is that persons judgement of me.

I dont think i realized, for a long time, that sometimes, admitting fault - without obsessing over it and what it means about your overall value - is the fastest way to grow. I have been the victim of horrible things in the past, but that doesnt mean that i am or will always be the victim. Thats cornering myself. Thats what will make me hurt more.

I did something bad, and i did what i could to make amends for it, and i have lived through the consequences, and i will learn.

I got a text from ----- after years of not talking to her. I remembered that, I remembered that I wasn’t really on good terms with her, but she told me she was in California and she wanted to visit and I said yes. We hung out, but that was kinda foggy.

We ended up going to +++++’s house. I don’t know why her house was in California all of a sudden, but it was, and it was even bigger than I remember it. There was a party, and I was sad that +++++ wasn’t there, but I knew I’d be seeing her soon.

Except she was there. I came upon her and got really upset.

Why didn’t you tell me you were here? I asked. I really missed you, I wanted to see you.

And she was mad at me, but wouldn’t tell me why. I followed her to her room, which was softer and airier than I remember it. She sat in her bed and I sat next to it and listened to her talk about our time growing up together. She was mad, or maybe sad, about something that had happened years ago. I don’t remember what it was.

And then I cuddled up to her and apologized. I explained myself without offering excuses, and she forgave me. I didn’t get defensive or angry. I just sank into her and was comforted, and it was all very sweet and very healthy.

I went back to my high school. It was sorta framed as a “one last visit” sort of deal. It was definitely inspired by my experience at Wellesley, the whole wanting to go back and say goodbye thing(which, consciously, I really don’t feel tempted to do anymore? Like, I know now it was a bad place for me and if even SKETCHING a location on campus brought back The Bad Feels less than four months ago I don’t think actually BEING on campus is even an option anymore)

But, like.... I was searching the classrooms for friends to say goodbye to. And I really, really didn’t want to say goodbye to any of them. Especially the ones I HAD been friends with in high school.

It’s funny, looking back, how much the people I called “friends” back then forced me to sit down and be quiet and not be me.

There was a lot of shame for being and talking weird. There was a LOT of shame for the way I dressed. There was so much shame for how much I weighed(even though I had been anorexic for YEARS at the time) I don’t think I could even count the ways now.

I remember wishing the entire goddamn time that Claire was there. I think back in high school I really did have a lot of resentment toward her about that - which wasn’t fair, obviously? But it was weird for those feelings to manifest now.

There are ppl who will absolutely take you at your worst, and only at your worst. They will sabotage any and all attempts you make to feel better under the guise of loving and supporting you. They’ll do this as long as they can because if you manage to make it back to your best, you’ll realize how shitty they’ve truly been to you and abandon them.

I was expecting a lot of things - and I did get a few of them. I was expecting not to want to talk to people. I was expecting a day of reflection, of quiet. I was expecting to be plagued by flashbacks to the day it happened, and to maybe re-live some of the emotions that led up to the decisive moment.

This did not turn out to be the kind of day I expected. Not at all.

I did have a quiet morning - I kept to myself, muted my social media, and took some time to take stock of myself. I took some time to mourn the previous version of myself.

And then I got out of the house, and I unmuted my phone, and I remembered that the world I see is a different one than the world she saw.

For one thing, I’ve begun to believe in kindness again.

For another, the tidal wave of love that surged over me the moment I opened myself back up made me remember how much I’ve gained in the past year. I’ve begun to believe people when they tell me I mean something to them. I’ve stopped second-guessing myself and I’ve started trusting.

It feels good. It feels good to be an optimist. Skepticism never suited me, anyway.

I lost everything about a year ago. And now I’m packing up what little I maintained from that time as well as what I’ve obtained since, and, well. It’s weird.

I was so much sadder than I realized at the time.

Like, when I attempted suicide, I didn’t think about dying. I just thought about finally, finally resting. Finally getting a break from the hell my brain was inflicting on me. I thought of it like going to sleep. Like I’d emerge someday in the distant future, renewed and repaired. Like this would knit me back together instead of what it ended up doing - inflicting yet more trauma on me, from the experience of spending all those hours in the ER and two entire days in a coma.

The one-year anniversary is coming up - April second.

This version of me is going to be one year old.

Am I better?

I mean, probably, right?

I don’t think much about wanting to sleep forever. I think a lot about the things I wanna do, about the things I am doing.

I’ve gained quite a bit of weight, and I don’t hate myself for it. I’m irritated by having to figure out my new sizes, but that seems par for the course.

I’ve started writing again, and this time not everything is this big metaphor for my trauma. I’ve been writing silly, frilly, fluffy things that make me happy.

I get out of the house more. I talk to people more. I care more. That has to count for something, right?

There’s like four hundred some of you buggers who I know personally or from my days as a reasonably popular Att/a/ck on t/I/tan or red vs blue fanfic writer or from Homestucks