Dusk in the Sunshine State

One last glass of wine in Clearwater, and that was it. It was over. I'm done, I'm out.

I'm trying to decide what I'm feeling, and I think my body is fiercely defending itself against feeling anything at all, because I'm coming up empty. Not empty, but...mysteriously full.

Like, I was sitting on this couch in this house that became a home, and that's an absolute miracle. I don't think I've been able to properly express what a miracle this entire place has been, because there aren't words to do such a thing. A home. This is the closest to home that I think I've ever felt in my entire life.

...I feel like I should leave a pause, here. This is the closest to home that I think I've ever felt in my entire life. 

It isn't for lack of trying, or really, for lack of anything. Before, I mean. I wasn't missing anything, I've just never been...home.

A little over six months ago, I was laying in my old bed at my parents' house in Michigan, asleep. I had wanted to go up north to the cabin for a couple of wintry, frozen days to visit my aunt and uncle and regroup in the woods, but I knew I had something like a hundred dollars left in my bank account; one hundred dollars that I'd need to get to Florida, where I had jobs lined up. I knew I couldn't go anywhere. Even when I took a double dose of Xanax, I couldn't go anywhere. I couldn't get away. Nothing was taking me from where I was.

My mom snuck into my room and quietly slipped sixty dollars into my fingers. She didn't simply set the money on my bedside; she rolled it up and attached a note and wrapped the whole thing in a bow, an early Christmas gift. A trip, a full tank, the best gift anyone could give a person like me. My mom didn't have sixty dollars to give, but she gave it to me anyway.

She tried her best. She did everything she could. She told me that she knew that I wasn't feeling well, but that she hoped I'd still have a nice time at home; there was nothing that I in my overwhelming, stifling grief could ever give back. That fact broke me.

Things did not change as soon as I crossed the Mason Dixon. They did not change even as I was snuggled up close to my best friend on my way down. They did not change when I finally made it to Clearwater and my Jesse dog cried the happiest greetings, so joyful to see me again. They did not change when I landed a second job at a museum that I had desperately wanted, and loved. They almost changed when I started spending time with Maxwell again, but even then, they didn't.

New Year's Eve panicked me. I was scared, disinterested in seeing another sunrise, lamenting the fact that if I survived, I'd turn 25 this year and I'd have been nothing but a burned out shell of the woman I thought I'd be. But I did not try to hide it. Instead, I tried to get help, help that required taking time off from work and waiting for entirely too long; help that was, essentially, inaccessible to me. Help that never came.

I felt myself becoming the one who would slip through the cracks of the system. I accepted it. I didn't think that I had another choice. And like every other time, I took advantage of how easy it was to blame myself.

But then, something happened.

I began to become more financially stable. I worked every hour that I possibly could, and on my days off, I took some time for self-care. I strengthened the friendships that I had before, weaved new ones, and sank into my genome without needing or ever wanting to come up for air. I made travel itineraries. Instead of the dreaded suicide plans that my former therapist and I would discuss and try to productively counteract, I made a plan to stay alive.

It took time. It took an insane amount of grace, from everybody that surrounded me and from myself, learning to accept that grace as a gift that was for me. It took the crazy, previously unattainable idea that I belonged somewhere; a home where love permeated from wall to wall and everybody was accepted for exactly who they were. Because in houses that are homes, we are allowed to make mistakes and fall and cry and fail. There is space and grace for those things; we always wake up with a thousand new mercies in the morning and a brand new sunrise. And today, although I miss my Sunshine State and all of the memories it holds, it's time to move on to new spaces and graces.

I am not a finished product, but I'm still alive. I'm calling it a victory.

You're Not in a Cage

Oh, my. Do I ever have some energy to move.

And lately, I've been taking whatever minor toxins I have inside of me and vaporizing them into song, as I do. It has been marvelous. 

Makes it hard to leave, really.

Like, how much of a masochist do I have to be in order to stay, or leave? It's time. I know it's time. It's time, it's time, it's time. My level of "over it" is steadily increasing by the minute. My restlessness makes it difficult to hold a conversation or eye contact or keep myself grounded.

Grounded. The scariest thing.

I'm not sure if most people have foundations or roots; all I know is that I don't. And it doesn't always have to be a thing that makes me sad. In fact, it seldom does; having reached an unprecedented level of closeness while living here has actually weirded me out a little bit. It means that I'm unafraid to go exploring and adventuring and I have the opportunity to meet new people, try new things, learn. 

And there are many, many things to learn.

Reality is a lot like quantum physics, which is an interesting thing to say, but I think it's accurate in more ways than one. Feynman once noted that when a person thinks he or she has a firm grasp on the subject, the person is farther away than ever before. He, of course, was speaking of quantum physics; but he had a marvelous gift for driving the subject matter home. And once I think I know what I'm talking about, I get too comfortable. For somebody who tries to keep her privilege in perspective (and has legitimately never figured out how to spell 'privilege' correctly on the first try; there's no 'd'...why is there a 'd' in 'knowledge' but not 'privilege') and for somebody who dearly loves to learn and to open her mind to all kinds of different angles and perspectives, I can be pretty judgmental. And the worst part about that is, I get judgmental when I'm feeling well.

I don't think that my confidence is in the right spot.

Rather, I wish I could move it to other aspects of my life. I am overwhelmingly self confident in some areas, but detrimentally self deprecating in others. And most likely, to everyone a few years my senior, I seem to be endowed with a millennial's dose of self entitlement. 

But, that doesn't make any sense. Just six months ago I felt like less than a vapor stuck in a pocket of dark instability, but now that I'm feeling better, I confidently and happily own that instability as my home. How is that entitlement? I just want to stay alive and sustain. That's it. That's all. If that looks like entitlement to you, then shame on you. A thousand times, shame on your lack of perspective and compassion. Get out of here with your abrasive energy, and leave me to my own devices. If you wish to approach me, then approach me as a human being with an individual identity; not as a member of a demographic which you choose to scrutinize.

Or, was that wording too pompous and pretentious for you? Am I simply proving your point?

Whatever. Go away. I want to be around good energy, not this.

The whole world has gone mad, and I know it. Of course, my heart is heavy. But there aren't enough bytes of data in the world to post all of my irritation on the good ol' FB, nor would I ever want to. And besides, my silence is a recognition that I am not entitled to own an opinion on many of the goings on. My silence has never been consent. Ever. On the contrary, it's my refusal to own issues that are not mine to own. For example, I can have lots of feelings about the Charleston massacre, or Ferguson, or Baltimore, or Texas, or Rachel What's-her-face...but I can't own it. I don't know what it's like to be a black American. I don't, and I never will, and to try would be an act of ignorance and violence in itself. 

And even at this point, I'm almost ready to abandon (abandon is the wrong word. Vacate, maybe? Retire? Move on?) the issues that absolutely are mine to own. 

I just can't anymore. Maybe it's burnout, but more likely than that, it's my longing to move on. Keep moving forward. It takes a significant amount of energy to convince myself that I'm not in a cage. I have to keep going. There is nothing more that I can do for this healing process. I've been open, I've found community, I've found healing, I've come to terms with the fact that this does not ever go away. There is peace that comes with that. It doesn't even really hurt anymore. Not terribly, I mean. Not enough to die over. That's what happens when wounds turn into scabs. I'm not ignoring it; I'm letting it be.

Let me be.

I'll figure it out, but I won't know the right thing to do. I don't ever know. Nobody ever knows, for certain, what will turn out well and what will end up completely falling apart in some glorious, explosive way. So, of course I'm scared of my life. Who wouldn't be? It's a healthy fear! It's the kind of fear that will prevent me from plunging into the Grand Canyon without any rock climbing gear. It's a fear that just might save my life.

But I'm excited. I'll keep it exciting and progressive and as fun as I can. All I have to do is remind myself that I'm free to do all of these crazy things that I want to do, but to be smart about it.

I'm free. I'm not in a cage.

An Open Letter to Anyone Who Has Pissed Me Off, Ever

You know who you are.

Or, perhaps, you do not. Possibly, probably, you are blissfully unaware of your status on my list of severed ties. Not because I never tried to stand up for myself, but more likely because I have a tendency to self-direct my anger, finding it easier to identify fault in myself rather than others.

Usually, I am much more discerning than all of that. I can address anybody else with all of the clarity of grace in the world, but when it comes to addressing myself, I am as graceless as all of you have been. If possible, even worse.

That ends. Today.

How dare you. You ignorant, entitled, uneducated, narrow-minded buffoons. How dare you address me without the slightest regard for my most basic human rights? Who do you think you are? What entitles you to invade my personal space and my spirit and the spirits of those whom I love? Just what, exactly, makes you an expert on my process and my immediate needs and my growth? 

Oh, pretentious ones: I am done listening to your empty promises and your empty threats and your empty ideas. Your perspective, if any, is embarrassingly one-dimensional. Open your eyes, turn your heads; our observable universe extends far beyond your capacity of thought. Really, it baffles me as to how your heads have swollen to the sizes that they are. Who allowed that space, or is it that you've pushed and shoved and manipulated your way to occupy it? 

You should know that your attempts to isolate and alienate me have failed. You should know that your slammed doors have opened all of my windows and escape hatches. You should know that your mission to tame and normalize me has not made me like you. You should know that your abandonment and your blind eyes have made me more vigilant and more aware. You should know that even though you've shattered my sense of security, I have found safe spaces. And you should absolutely know that while you took away my idea of what a home should feel like, I broke free and I metamorphosed into a seasoned wanderer who has traveled many miles and met incredible people and who has woven herself an infallible network of genuine soulmates, always standing at the ready to advocate for one another.

To me, you are as meaningless and irrelevant as you tried to make me feel. No more. There is always a breaking point; a point at which I can decide that enough is enough. You have no say in my journey. If you are not here to grow me, then you're here to show me exactly who I do not need in my way. So, enjoy the sight of my fabulous backside as I walk away from you, for good. 

Did you really think that you could turn tables on somebody as wide-eyed and open-hearted as I am? Sneakily warning me against seeds of bitterness in order to validate your own guilty conscience did not deny me of my righteous anger. And, more importantly, these years have not made me bitter. These years have made me beautiful.  They have widened my gaze and opened my arms and delivered me into good, good hands. They have afforded me experience and collaboration and community and intellect and growth; I have taken all of it in my stride. All of it.

I have fallen and I have gotten back up, never any thanks to you. Never.

You graceless simpletons. You had no idea with whom you were dealing.

You still don't, but I do. I finally do.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Becca: shaped and molded and used and invaded and bound and released and glittering with the sweat necessary for survival. I've been told, by people with stronger backbones than you, that there are good things for me; finally, I accept that. In fact, I accept that at the very minimum. Great things for me, for today and for every tomorrow.

I almost feel sorry that you won't be along for this marvelous ride. But then again, you've done your part. You've made your opinions known. You've been very clear about how unacceptable I am, and I do not accept that. There is no space left for you in my life; I've made plans and I'm going to new places and I'll meet new people and we'll invest in each other the way we were meant to, and you? You'll remain stagnant.

You don't even have to stick around to watch me grow. You wouldn't recognize growth if it were thriving and overflowing right in front of you.

And it is.

(mic drop)

Dancing and Staying Alive

I wanted to tell you that I'm okay. 

I think it's worth saying. More importantly, I think it's worth believing this time. I know that I've used this space as an avenue through which I could channel my negative energy so as not to hold it inside of me, so I just figure that most of you probably siphon through my words, guarding your spirits from the heaviness but offering quiet support nonetheless. And I'm grateful for that.

Recently, I noted that I thought I had royally fucked up. I thought that I had come down to Florida and spun myself a web instead of freeing myself from the one that already existed. I thought that my masochism was taking over and that even though my intentions were fine, I wouldn't allow myself to receive the help that I need. I pretty much figured that I'd die pretty soon.

I wish I could tell you what changed. Last time the darkness was this tangible, I knew exactly what had happened to change it back into lightness. And the lightness was almost ridiculous, because I hadn't known that I could simply invite it back and it would come, until I did. And that was a miracle. I knew it. I slept for 14 hours and regenerated into something new, brushing ashes off of my brand new Phoenix feathers and continuing to live. 

But this time, I don't really get it. I knew from the get-go that this one was far less spiritual and far more chemical, situational, whatever-al. Maybe I just needed to get out of South Carolina. Maybe I just needed to chase the wind for a while. Maybe I just needed to work my ass off for a while, pulling the same hours as I pulled while getting my degrees but filling my time with something far less meaty and difficult. Maybe I needed to remember that I like challenges and intellectual stimulus, but that I can be okay with relatively simple tasks for now. Because it's not everything. Because everything will be okay, and if it's not okay, it's not everything.

So I'll just tell you a couple of the things that have changed. Like I said before, I booked a flight to Iceland as an incentive to stay alive; update: it's working. And now, that trip has become an entire November full of thanks and community because I'll have the opportunity to spend some time with a subset of my favorite people in the world, sprinkled around Belgium, Germany, and Ireland, and potentially find some more favorite people. I don't know. It doesn't matter...I'm adventuring and I'm following my wandering heart and isn't that enough? It is, for me.

On that note, I've pretty much given up listening to any of y'all who want me to stick around, stay in one place, calm down, or be safe in general. Safety, as it is colloquially recognized, is the opposite of safety for me. You know this. I go where I feel safe, and sometimes, that's sleeping outside in my car in the middle of the prairie. I'll wander, when I want to wander. I'll stay, when I want to stay. But I'll always come back.

Recently, I learned a little bit more about vitamins and the things that can happen when there is a deficiency for whatever reason. Unsurprisingly enough, the symptoms of deficiency sounded awfully familiar to me, so I stocked up and I've flooded myself and I've felt so much better. Maybe it was just me, not taking care of me in the most basic sense.

I know that's what it is.

Something else that I've noticed lately, as a pleasant surprise, is my natural reaction to myself in the mirror. While sometimes it's a nit-picky self-destruction, lately it's been me looking straight into my own eyes and thinking to myself what a pretty girl I am. What deep, watchful, and lovely eyes I've been given. I'm a spacious, voluptuous, wild-haired gale. And it is well.

So, more than likely, I'm headed out West pretty soon. Then Nordic, then Eastern, then Northwestern Europe. Then Midwest. And maybe, if things settle in the direction of my heart's current arrow, back out West eventually. 

I'm only 24. It's just life. It doesn't need direction or stability or anything like that; it just needs to continue until it doesn't. And I just need the things that I have now; I just need this. Almost every aspect of my being has been ripped wide open, raw and exposed, in the best possible way because I've found community instead of alienation. I've found support instead of loneliness. I've found togetherness and honesty, and that's all I want. I miss the people that I don't have right now, but out of the same vein, I only want the people that I have now. This time was meant for us. It was designed for our specific investments into each other's lives, and we won't be the same for it. I won't be the same.

I'm never content, but I'm happy. I'm not the same. I love the fact that I am here right now. I love it.