My First Blog…

I cannot believe I actually did it, started a blog. I’ve been writing in my journal every day up until this time and then my boyfriend suggested for me to start one. I’m not too sure if he was joking or not but while I was waiting in the lounge area of his gym for him to finish his basketball game I decided to just go for it. Whatthehell, why not, right?

I’ve always said I wanted a chance to just say my story, the way it is, instead of hearing friends and family tell me about myself, who I am, what I’m about, what I like and what I dislike. Even though it does get entertaining at times. They talk about me the way I never could, stating confidently all aspects of what my personality is like, needles to say that description varies drastically depending on who the person is. I don’t know if I could answer all of those questions myself with a consistent answer, not because I don’t know who I am but because there is no one answer. And I’m really ok with that, it’s when people around me start telling me I need to find out who I am, find the answers to all of those questions, be one person, I start feeling discomfort. It’s then I feel like a misfit, not accepted, not able to fit in to the society I live in. I get extremely down on myself and depressed. One time I even wrote a story in my journal about an island where all the misfits like me are able to go and live on happily. But I don’t like feeling depressed and sad, who does, so finally after years of having to wear different masks just so I can’t feel accepted and still not getting that in the end,  I said fuck all that, I don’t need this shit.  I know who I am and I’m happy with it. I don’t need to be “one person”, I don’t need to have reason or give reasons for the things I do, I don’t need to make people comfortable with me by wearing a mask of some label or a category of the society that they understand and identify with. I can chameleon pretty well from one social circle to the next, adapt to the surroundings easily and the life circumstances I’m in.  I kind of had to be able to excel at that with all of my life experiences that are extreme in their diversity. But that doesn’t mean I identify myself with all of them. Maybe someone reading this can relate to feeling this way.

Shit gets really difficult sometimes, and when you’re really down in the dumps, having someone you can relate to, that can understand you exactly as you are feels like you can breath again, sometimes it is the only push you need to be able to pull yourself out of the shit.



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