And most of it is stuff that you couldn’t pay me to reprint here. But every once in a while I go back and I find something that still rings true; and I am amazed at myself.

This, from a decade ago, when I was 14 years old; I doubt I’d write anything like it now, but I’m surprised how well it still seems to fit.

***

I am smaller than I look
And older than my years
I am more careless than my sense of organization,
More carefree than my common sense
I am stupider than my intelligence
And far more understanding than my experience
I am more forgiving than my anger,
Sweeter than my cynicism
And more beautiful than I look
I am kinder than my impulses
I am more reserved than my actions
More resilient than my moods
And more silent than my noise
I am more world-weary than I have a right to be
And more red-head than brunette
I am stronger than my muscle
And weaker than my mind
I am more open than a parachute
And more extroverted than chili peppers or summer rain
I am sadder than a mourning dove
But
I am more joyful than anything

My face is leaking. I keep. Crying.

I’ve been crying for a week. I’ve been crying for a year. I am so. sick. of crying.

And worse than simply crying is knowing that everybody can see on your face that the evening has not gone the way you’d hoped. Worse than simply crying is choosing between staying to let them see you sad, or walking away from them to let them worry. Perhaps chase you. But none of them are the person who can hold you till you’re ok (indeed, there probably is no such person) and you do. not. want. to. talk. Worse than just crying is crying when people can see you, when you’re chopping the tomatoes, when you change the song three times in a row hoping it will help, but the happy songs just make you cry a little more.

I never worry about being lonely when there’s nobody around me. I read or I watch seasons’ worth of escapist shows or I write or I talk to distant people on the Internet, and if I cry – so what? I cry.

But building closer relationships with friends means spending more time with them means that they’re there, sometimes, when the crying comes on. And I just want to go away.

Oh, what a stupid evening. What a stupid, miserable, mess of a night. What an ill-thought out plan, and a girl standing on a bridge looking out over the water and trying not to let the anger and the sadness and the bitterness through. It won’t help anything. It won’t improve anything, and nobody has meant to do anything to hurt me. Even where there might be some thoughtlessness, there’s no maliciousness, and I’m too tired of it all to set people to rights.

I hurt, and I am tired of explanations. I am tired of communication. I am tired of figuring things out and worrying about other people, and I am shit at believing and remembering that they’re worrying about me. And even if they are, it’s just one more thing to bear in mind, and I’m through with it. I just want to be on my own. I don’t want there to be anybody who can let me down. I don’t want to let anyone down.

But wanting to be on my own, needing to be on my own, doesn’t mean that I can’t be lonely. It’s so easy to be lonely, in a crowd.

And I am sick to death of mood swings. I had trusted the happiness, but the deep dips of sadness are getting more frequent. I am afraid of not trusting my happiness. People catch me the morning after a bad night and ask me how I am, and I’m so good! I’m great! What are they even fretting about?! but then night rolls around, or the wrong song in the car in the afternoon, and it all comes pouring back, and I can’t tell what’s inside me.

But at least it’s my problem. Sure, sometimes there are other people around, and that can’t be avoided, but nobody is going crazy over me but me. And I can go crazy over myself, and rearrange the pieces as many times as I need till I’m ok again. And nobody can let me down. And nobody can fail to be there for me when I need it, or tell me that supporting me is just not something they can do. If I just take care of myself, I’ll be fine. No one can break me or hurt me or bruise me, and sooner or later, please, this sadness will all have poured out.

And maybe I’ll just stay alone then, too. And let nobody in to do me good or do me harm. And give myself no chance to sublimate my needs to someone else’s. And then, ok. Maybe then. Maybe. I’ll be fine, y’know? Just fine, and stable, and as happy as I know I can be (I know it. I have so much JOY in me; if only the world stopped getting in the way of it).

And nobody could hurt me, not ever again.

Being alone isn’t always fun, and I am not saying that I want to do it forever. But it is so much safer, so infinitely much safer, than the pain that other people can bring.

More changes came and swept me up, but the object now is to find a base level full of joy. Friends have come to live near me, family has taken a more central role in my life. I found work that seems impossibly marvelous, tending a flock of people too brilliant to always remember to tend to themselves.

I cook, I keep my home tidy, I strengthen my threshold with love.

After three years of looking, I finally bought the right pair of brown leather knee high boots. After 20 years of not being comfortable doing so, I wear them with skirts and dresses, and smile when they swish around my knees.

I water my plants. I feed those I love. I wander up and down the coast. I stay up late talking. I listen to jazz.

So the pieces are still falling into place, of course. And will keep falling, like snow, in three dimensions. But not writing here was a conspicuous lack, so I’m back, and I’m happy. I set this blog up a little more than a year ago, determined to be independent, to pay for my own hosting, to purchase my own domain. I was also determined to be pseudonymous, and keep this place completely unconnected from my legal identity.

Still determined to be independent. Even more so. For the first time in a long time I’m looking out for myself first and foremost, day in and day out, in each moment and, I hope, in all the years to come. I’m building my life with my own patterns, so someday, perhaps, if someone comes along that I want to fit into those patterns, I’ll know where the lines are, what I can give and what I cannot.

As far as being pseudonymous though; screw it. I want to be me, happily and completely, under whatever name I choose, with no worries and no doubts.

And one more thing; before I end this little note.

I am full of gratitude. So full it stops me in my tracks, walking home from the bakery, to stand and think how incredibly much I gained over the past year and more. To everyone who has come into my life, who has spoken to me and gotten to know me, and to everyone who was there all the years, and to those in between; I’m grateful. To everyone I’ve fought with and loved and learned from. To everyone I’ve missed and mourned. To everyone I’ve laughed with. To everyone who knew me as a child and a teen, but met me fresh and let go of expectations while I figure my (all grown up!) self out, I am so grateful.

This is just to say, thank you.