#9318

I feel like I don’t really know how else to process this or if it is even relevant to me but after our talk at camp, I have this strong feeling that maybe I feel so dysphoric about sex because I’m nonbinary? I have no problem with the idea of sex and I completely understand why it is so healthy for relationships and I want that connection at some point. As soon as I even think about body parts that are gender specific, though, I start to panic. I don’t know if that is just that I’m self-conscious. I don’t know if it’s just that my mom tried shoving gender roles on me from a young age because I wasn’t girly enough. I don’t know if it’s just that I’ve never been comfortable enough with the people I have dated to consider it. I don’t know if this is how everyone feels or what normal even means. I don’t know if I’m just more of a prude than other people. What I do know is that everything that defined me more as a “woman”, i.e. having boobs, having my period (and why I hid it), having long hair and having a “girly” name, have always made me feel more uncomfortable in myself than anything else. It always felt like I was living someone else’s life and that I didn’t belong in my body. I always wondered why I have wanted to change my name so badly and why I felt like I didn’t really belong in the family and I’m still really not sure what any of it means. I tried to look up “nonbinary symptoms” and “what feelings made you know you were nonbinary”. I still haven’t come to much conclusion as to what this all means but I guess I’ll just keep tipping my toes into that idea until I figure things out more. 

Wanderlust. It’s such a silly word and honestly, who even knows if it’s a real word or just something created while being caught up in a moment. Everyone says I’m young and that it’s normal to feel a need to see the world but it doesn’t feel that way. It’s this feeling of being seized, a rope around my heart pulling harder and harder the longer I sit still. It’s as though this rope is slowly squeezing my heart, collapsing my lungs, closing my eyes until I finally throw myself forward and allow that feeling to consume me. Some days I wish I could sit still, just stop, just process, but that feeling only grows with time and I don’t think I’ll ever lose the taste of yearning. I don’t think I’ll ever lose the taste of experiencing new cultures and environments and houses and moments. Just driving towards the unknown causes so much anxiety but I also never feel more free as I gasp for air and am choked my this unleashing of exploration.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the concept of staying versus leaving. When is too much and when is too little and how can we measure or determine that based on the situation. I understand the concept of holding on for as long as possible because it’s so hard to lose people and to change our habits because of losing people. What I’ve never understood is preferring leaving over staying. I know it’s probably easier in some sense or another and I’m well aware that everything is temporary. At the same time, it begs the question of how much you truly mean to the people that are so willing to do so versus fighting for those relationships/friendships/etc. I guess that’s what hurts the most. I’m willing to compromise my morals. I’m willing to hurt and to rationalize the insane to hold onto someone but you were so eager to just be over me and I don’t know how to be okay with that but I’m trying to be.