A lot of my reasoning behind doing things is you live and you die and that’s it. You are here today but you won’t be eventually and the idea of living a half-assed life because you are more concerned about everybody else’s opinions of yourself than you are about your own is stupid. If you think about it long and hard you realise it’s stupid, but we do it anyway.
Sometimes I feel trapped in everybody else’s opinions of me. In the comments about my attitude, my clothing, what I share online, on my mental illness and self harm scars.
And the problem (for them more than me) is that I’ve never really cared much about anybody else’s opinion enough to change anything about myself. But as a result of being myself in a world where people think they have a right to tell you who you should and shouldn’t be and what you can and can’t do because everybody else is or isn’t doing it I often find myself having discussions with people older than me, authority figures. By discussions I mean I listen as they talk and talk about everything and I listen because it’s 2019 but I’m still expected to listen and change according to what everybody but myself wants (unless (and this happens 99.9% of the time) I argue back, raise my voice, point out their flaws, expect them to be different, you know, everything they’re doing). And the conclusion always comes to the same thing: I need to change____(fill in the blank)
And lately I’ve been thinking about how I know a lot about myself but I still feel lost. I know writing and music keep me sane. I know nothing about my life is ever really stable, but I’ll always have cold floors to walk on and bare feet.
Everyone’s expected to change for everybody else but themselves and I don’t get that. I don’t get why my mission in life is expected to be pleasing other people like I’m a piece of clay for people to mould into what they want me to be.
And a part of me I hate cares sometimes about other people’s opinions, granted not all of them are utter trash but shouldn’t I be changing for me and not because people don’t agree with who I am?
The other day, I was thinking about how when I was younger, I had a fairly big bed but I’d always take the smallest space right in the corner. Like somehow I already knew I’d be expected to be petite, and polite and smaller than I actually was. Like somehow I knew eventually I’d be programmed to think I was taking up too much space in this world. But then again, it could be nothing more than a result of me typing this at 2am.
I think it’s odd how me not caring leads to conversations about all the reasons I should care.
Sometimes I think people forget that I’m not them. That I’ll never be what anybody other than myself wants to be simply because that’s not me and I’m too stubborn to do anything about it.
I’ve been strangled, kicked out of houses, insulted for being myself but you know if I had to do it all again I wouldn’t change a single thing.
18 has always appealed to me, and not just because I feel like a 24 year old in a 14 year old’s body all the time. But because I think of 18 and I think yeah, maybe things won’t be perfect. Maybe I’ll have a crappy job and my depression will still send me plummeting to new lows but it also means freedom. Freedom in a lot more ways than I have now, and I think that’s enough for me.
I’ll continue to be me til then. I’ll play my music too loud, spend more time in my journals and in my head than around people, drink my weight in Pepsi, talk feminism and mental health more often than I talk about the weather.
The idea of being anybody other than myself scares me a lot more than the consequences of doing so.
Hell, I’m lost enough being myself what would I be doing to myself if I actually cared about being a modified version of myself?
I’m just sick of being expected to be everybody else instead of myself. If I ever have kids I’d want to support them regardless of what page 21 of that magazine said, or the ideas we’ve introduced and allowed ourselves to carry on supporting like how boys shouldn’t cry, or I need to look and act a certain way because otherwise I’ll never find someone and all that other bullshit.
Gosh I could never be the kind of parent who makes their kid feel anything less than incredible for being themselves.
You want to paint the walls a colour bordering purple and navy blue with glow in the dark stars because you spend your nights staring at the sky thinking about everything and feeling more like yourself than you ever have? Let’s do it. You’re gay, lesbian, transgender, asexual, bisexual, aromantic, aro-ace, intersex, questioning, transsexual, pansexual or straight? I love you and not despite your identity, but because it’s you and I love you and nothing should change that if you actually mean it. If my son wants to grow his hair down to his ankles and my daughter feels better in jeans a shirt than she ever will in a dress or skirt then who the hell am I to tell someone who they are?
Especially as nobody, fully has any clue about the answer to that.
You spend your whole life questioning who you are? And by the time you’re on your deathbed you still only know fragments of the answer. Stop telling everybody who they can and can’t be, it’s like being an identity thief and punishing the victim for the crime.
You spend your whole life searching for fragments of who you are, and you think you can rob other people of their’s because you worry more about being judged than you do about making people hate themselves.
It’s been a while since I’ve rambled like this…