About once I year I find myself going back through this blog, reading the really old stuff. This is the closest thing I've ever had to a journal, and I haven't published anything since February.
And, honestly, I'm scared I've lost it. The knack for it, whatever you want to call it. I can still write. I can use periods and commas and even a semicolon every now and then. But it just doesn't feel right anymore. I think my standards are too high; which is odd, considering like only three people still read this. (See that semicolon in action? I'm a pro!)
The weirdest thing is reading the old posts and then doing a double take on the date stamp. This blog is barely four years old. That's really not much. I mean, just read this description of myself right now:
It's 2:30AM. My boobs ache and I'm hungry. I need to buy new skinny jeans and I'm leaving for a film shoot tomorrow, so I won't see my girlfriend for a couple days, which sucks.
Four years ago, that would sound like science fiction. Back then, I was so terrified. None of this felt possible. But now I'm twenty - almost twenty one - and I don't have to ask one of my friends to pretend to buy the skinny jeans for herself and then hand them to me in the parking lot. In 2014, I was so anxious that I made my friend Hayley pretend to buy a mirror for herself because I needed one in my room. A mirror. I literally screwed it into the back of my closet door during a thunderstorm so no one would hear me.
The fears seem so irrational now. What was the Walmart cashier gonna do, glance at the mirror in my cart, somehow figure out I was trans and call me a fag while dialing my parents?
I was so ashamed to exist. Sometimes I still am.
Maybe I need to stop fighting the fact that my writing has changed. Maybe this is just how it is now. Rambly, but more grown up and less poetic. Maybe, that's what I am now.
I don't know,
I don't know,
I know
I'm afraid to post this. It's not good enough. I'm not sure if anything is, just like I'm not sure who this is for anymore. The header still says 'This isn't for you, I write to stay sane.' but a part of me always knew that was a lie to make myself feel better about how few comments I got in the beginning.
Now, though? Now I don't really get many comments, and that's fine I guess. But I'm still not sure who this is for.
Do you know?
–Solstice
I feel like I’ve lost the knack for poetry too. My words don’t feel right anymore, they don’t sound like I want them too. It’s just like how you said, “Rambly, but more grown up and less poetic.” Kinda makes me wish I didn’t have to grow up. But I’m glad that we get to, and that we get to see our dreams become realities even if our words become a fantasy. It’s a good trade off I guess. I’m happy for you and how far you’ve come.
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