secondpubertyscene

[secondpubertyscene]

8.16.22

It’s late and I’ve been wanting to write for a while but couldn’t quite get my thoughts together until now. I actually dragged myself out of bed to grab my computer so I wouldn’t forget any of this.

I’ve been yearning for romance lately. That feeling of warmth in your stomach whenever their name pops up in your head, the rush of brushing against them casually, the desire you feel in your center when they look you in the eye. This yearning feeling brought me to think about the last time I felt those combinations of things and it was difficult but not shocking to realize that it has been quite a long time. Let’s take a look at my most recent experiences with romance (or shitty attempts at them at least).

The last person I dated, who from here on out will be called GR for Golden Retriever, was a romantic through and through. He is (and was) kind and sweet and gentle. He has this kind of absentminded innocence to him, as if he has been untouched by the darkness I know exists in the world and to some extent, that is true. He’s had a relatively simple life, complicated by the combination of marginalized identities that he holds, but otherwise a simple life. Anyway, he was a romantic. Our first date was unbelievable. A four string quartet playing in a candlelit room in the back halls of a museum? How could anyone not instantly fall in love with him? Easily, so I found.

He didn’t love me, not the way he thought he did. He loved the idea of me. He loved that I was kind and intelligent and that I put forth effort and communicated well. He loved that I was interested in him and supportive of his dreams. He loved who he got to be around me. He loved love. But he didn’t see me. He didn’t see all the other parts of me that weren’t so lovable. Not because they weren’t there on full display, but because he had decided in his mind that they didn’t matter. But that’s not romance or love. It’s foolish and reductive and a recipe for disaster. Flaws matter. Loving someone doesn’t mean pretending that their flaws don’t exist and placing them on a pedestal. It means seeing their flaws and looking for the best in them anyway. It means recognizing that the person you love is a whole person with a life and story that exists beyond what can be revealed in a lifetime, much less a matter of months.

I didn’t fall in love with him in part because of that. I broke up with him for a number of other reasons, but it felt important to let him go especially because I knew that I could never love him the way he thought he loved me. None of his romance made my heart race or my stomach flutter with butterflies. The candlelight date, while magical, did not make me fall in love with him. If anything, it made me more wary. After only a month of dating, that was just a fuckin lot, right?

Then, I think about the person I dated before him. Stories of her have graced this page before. Constantly, I find myself writing this story in my head about where we could be in the future. Friends? Lovers? Enemies? It wasn’t until recently that I realized that we would never be lovers again for one simple reason: self-fucking-respect. The romance in that relationship, at least at the beginning, was almost entirely fabricated by my own desire. I don’t doubt that she had love for me and romantic feelings towards me, but did I feel loved in that relationship most of the time? No. In fact, I was the most insecure and most angry I have ever been in my life while in that relationship. I was constantly disrespected and made a fool out of. No doubt, we had plenty of fun times, but man, the number of bad times really did start to outweigh the good by the end.

I remember at the beginning of our relationship, maybe just about two months in, I had to go to work. She asked if she could use my car for the day and I didn’t mind, so I let her. I just asked that she drop me off at work and pick me up when my shift was over, which was simple enough. She drops me off without a hitch and I sit at my job at the front desk of this dusty little museum for the next several hours. During my shift, I’m hit with a barrage of racist and transphobic shit from this kid who works in the Starbucks across from my desk. They’re singing racial slurs in my face, almost daring me to do something about it knowing that I can’t. I mention it to my boss and he suggests I get over it. By the end of this shift, I am fuming and hurt and frustrated and ready to return to my partner so I can shut the world out again and feel some kind of safety.

Throughout this shift, I’m texting her, telling her all of this crazy shit that is happening. When it’s time for me to leave, I let her know she can come pick me up. Here is where it gets fucking crazy: she pulls up and there is a dude in my passenger seat. Now, before y’all look at me like I’m crazy for getting in the backseat of my own vehicle while some random white man sits in the passenger seat of MY car, I have to point out that all my fight was gone. I literally didn’t have it in me to even begin this confrontation especially because if she didn’t see the problem with it, that would mean that this would be a long drawn out thing that just wouldn’t be worth the energy at the time. So, I slid into the back seat quietly and she asks me something simple, like how I was. Her lil friend just peeks his head around the seat to acknowledge me before passing his Juul to her and they pass it back and forth until we get back to campus.

At this point, I’m so far beyond my window of tolerance that I fall into hypoarousal and I’m zoned out. We all get out of the car once we get back to campus and I think that she is going to come with me to my room to debrief with me. WRONG. She leaves with the guy to continue to study for a chemistry test or something. I later find out that the guy didn’t know that we were dating because she purposefully never told him. I just…can we all just…wow. And that was at the beginning!

I cannot believe I let so many incidents like that happen to me! I genuinely sit back sometimes and think, “Wow, you were a bitch ass nigga Miles! You really got played with like a bitch!” Even now, I’m almost cackling thinking about it because who in their right mind would go BACK to that shit repeatedly? ME, the dumbass. For a whole year and some change, I allowed myself to be disrespected and hurt and ignored and lied to and deceived all for a couple moments of peace or random bursts of affection or support. I let myself suffer great indignity and it wasn’t about love at all. She did not love me until I was gone. Not the right way. Not the kind way. Not the way that makes your heart skip a beat of joy. But in a way that makes your stomach drop when you realize that you weren’t important enough to be mentioned to her friends after dating for six months, or when you plan a simple Valentine’s Day scavenger hunt for her only to go hang out with her ex and her friend that she formerly had a crush on. I mean, COME ON. Come the fuck on.

She isn’t a bad person and I know that. I am to blame for the majority of it honestly, because I let codependency rule my behavior. I am sure that she has grown and improved and all of those things. The things that I loved about her then are the things that I still love now. Her taste in music of course, her style, her drive and adventurousness, her courage and strength. All of those things are so important and I could never take them from her. But letting her in again? Allowing myself to be vulnerable again with someone who hurt me 1000 different ways? Well, that would be foolish. Thankfully, it’s impossible. Even if I wanted to (and believe me, for a long time I wanted to), I couldn’t let go of how that shit fucked me up. My self-esteem took a nosedive that took a year and a half to start recovering. The insecurities that arose out of that relationship took months to get back to manageable levels. The person I was in that relationship and for some time after is not a person I like or even want to know. The shame I carry from being angry the way I was is something that I still shoulder daily, no matter how justified I might want to make it in my mind. There was fire no doubt, but not romance. In some ways, I was like the GR in this relationship. He didn’t want to fix me (because he didn’t even see my deficits), but he did idealize me and I did the same to her. I wanted to believe so badly that she really didn’t understand how she was hurting me, that all of the good in her was enough to negate any real problems, and that I loved her enough to overlook any harm she had done or could do. I idealized her, placed her on a pedestal, and believed that I could somehow make it all better. That if I just stuck with her for a little longer, everything would be fine. But that’s not how life works. It doesn’t matter how great she is now or how great she’ll be in the future. The reality is, I can never be with her and feel safe again, not in any romantic capacity. And that’s not due to a deficit on my end of not being able to forgive and move on, but because I’m wise enough to understand that I deserve more. I deserved more. And I’m never going to return to someone who hurt me like that so many fucking times.

Anyhow, that got me thinking about the last time I truly felt loved and supported in all the ways that count. What I came to realize is that my romantic relationships were not the place to look. My friendships were. One friendship in particular. My friend, who we will call AJS, is one of the truest loves I have ever known and I am so fucking grateful for him. The start of our friendship years ago was rocky but has since bloomed into this beautiful thing void of codependence and full of genuine support and love. I mean, I love this kid. Not in a romantic way, but in a way that matters even more. I don’t even know how to verbalize all that I feel towards him, but it’s bigger than life. I have never build a relationship with anyone that is as strong and secure and true as this. Where honesty, as painful as it may be, reigns supreme. Where conflict makes us stronger and trust each other more. Where support is given without thought and without strain. Where communication flows freely and deeply. I mean, I truly don’t know that I have experienced this level of intimacy with another human being ever. I don’t know that I ever will! I hope I will, with someone that I love in the romantic way, but even if I don’t, I am so grateful to have gotten to experience a love like this.

Maybe romance isn’t what I’m yearning for. Maybe it’s connection. I don’t know. It’s 5am and I started writing this at like 3am. Maybe it’s all just gibberish. I’ll post it anyway. Goodnight.  

[secondpubertyscene]

3.26.22

Well friends, it has been some time! A lot has happened since my last post. I’m not going to get into it all, but I figured some kind of update would be nice. Plus, I could use an outlet.

It’s been months since my mom died and I thought that by now I would feel something more than this odd numbness and sadness whenever I think about her. For some reason, I struggle to conjure up good memories or really any memories at all. I feel like I’ve almost blocked out my past life that included her and my grandma. In my time in grief group therapy, I’ve come to realize that I’ve also yet to feel the entirety of my grandma passing. I barely think about it and when I do, I just…I don’t? I’m not sure if that makes sense, but it is where I am. I know there is no proper way to grieve or a timeline for when I should be feeling things, but I am fearful that I will forget them both somehow. Or forget the fun stuff at least. The traumatic, sad shit is super easy to access. Go figure.

That said, I’m actually doing pretty good! I think the change in weather (however temporary, Ohio weather is certainly something else) is a big part of it. That, and I just increased my testosterone dosage pretty substantially, giving me more energy. With this new energy, I’ve gotten myself into some new activities. Rock climbing is the newest thing and I think it might be a longtime hobby. I’m going to West Virginia in a couple weeks to camp over the weekend (first camping trip!) and also climb a little, so that’s exciting. New experiences all around! I’m also taking Muy Thai kickboxing, just to get some more activity in my life and learn some new skills. I’m hoping to get back into the gym regularly outside of climbing and kickboxing, just so I can continue to build my endurance and muscle. I have a tendency to do everything at once and then give up on all of it at once too, so I’m being cautious. Adding new things in slowly and reminding myself that perfection is not a requirement for participation.

Moving into the academic side of things, graduate school is actually fucking lit. I love my program, I love my cohort, and I love that I am excelling. As stupid and annoying as this is going to sound, I did not experience a lot of joy when I graduated from high school or undergrad. Not because I didn’t go through a fuckton of shit while trying to graduate from both places, but because I always knew that I was going to finish no matter what. I also didn’t feel like I was always learning a lot or being challenged in a meaningful way, so my accomplishment felt less significant. This led me to believe that I wasn’t actually all that smart, just smarter than perhaps your average bear. Since being in this program, I feel infinitely more confident in my intellect and my abilities. I am presented with lots of challenges regularly and I’m figuring shit out extremely quickly.

For example, in my multivariate statistics class, I am KICKING ASS! I was never good at stats (failed like 3 times between high school and undergrad) but now?? I am a stats god. I don’t LOVE that I’m learning STATA rather than R or SPSS, but I figure I can learn those over the summers. Also, my advisor asked me to recode our department’s website and while I had zero knowledge of how to do that, I learned within a couple days! I’m quite proud of my performance here and I’m gaining more confidence that I can not only get through this program, but I can excel here. Make a name for myself. Or something like that.

On the social side, I’m also really happy! I’ve started and ended a couple friendships since I’ve last posted and I feel good about my choices. My boundary work is improving all the time and I am satisfied with most of my relationships. I’m becoming closer to some people in my cohort through shared activities and others through mutual attraction. As for relationships from back home, those are mostly intact as well! While I do sometimes feel some frustration with the one-sidedness with some aspects of my friendships, I also have come to realize that they are one-sided for a reason. I think I’ll leave that at that. As for my ex, who has graced this page many a time, we are back on speaking terms. I’m happy about it, but wary. I’m excited to have her back in my life because she was a great friend (appears to still be a great one). I’m hoping to get to know her again, as I can tell a lot has changed for both of us over the last year or so.

All things considered; I am doing pretty good! I am perpetually broke (which is to be expected) and stressed about money but I am also very conscious of the fact that things could be a lot worse. My dad and I have a better relationship these days (something I’d like to talk more about later) which has been refreshing. I have some anticipatory grief that I need to let go of around him getting sick and dying while I’m away at school, but I know that most of my anxiety is unfounded. He is healthy, active, and stable. I don’t have any real reason to think that those things would suddenly change, mostly because he has been the same since I met him. He has always taken good care of himself and I don’t see that changing. My cat is also doing pretty good, save for a small injury that took several months to heal.

Things feel like they’re starting to stabilize. I’m feeling better these days. I do hope to deal with my grief more intentionally in the months to come. I think right now, my brain is probably trying to protect me by not letting me get into all of it while I work through the stresses of school, but the summer opens up a lot of space and time for deeper work. Plus, I’ll be back in DC which is triggering and there’s no way that I can be there without actively thinking about loss at least a couple times a day. I plan on reaching out to my old therapist and seeing if I can start EMDR with him so I can start working on reprocessing some memories and giving myself a fair chance to heal.

I’m out of practice with writing, so you’ll have to excuse the mess. I’m not going to make any promises about writing more because I seldom honor those well-intentioned promises. I will say that the increased energy should help me get more writing into my days. To be seen. Thanks for reading! I’ll spill some real tea in the next one, I just needed something to get me going.

[secondpubertyscene]

12.3.21

I’m not going to lie. I haven’t been dealing with this grief shit nearly as well as I thought I was going to.

[secondpubertyscene]

11.14.21

I am beginning to understand truly the loneliness of grief and the pain that accompanies it. My mom was incredibly strong to have pushed forward for this long after losing her sister, her brother, her son, her mother, and a slew of other friends and family in such a short time. Losing her and my grandma these last two years feels unbearable. I struggle to be present for more than a few minutes at a time because the moment that I focus on my reality, I feel hollow. There is no remedy for this. There is no way to change it. This is forever. Every day, this is going to be the case and there is no escaping that truth, even in dissociation. I don’t know how she did it for so long, but man, I am proud of her for doing it.

My mom’s death was complicated and my grief is alongside it. She died while we were not talking, about two weeks after a pretty horrific fight between us in which I said some painful, hurtful things to her. I told her that I was angry at her for being a horrible parent, that I was tired of her pretending like she has done things for me when the inverse has only been true, that I was tired of her acting like a child and expecting me to pick up the pieces when she made a mistake. I was tired of being run around, tired of being talked down to and gaslit, tired of living with the frustration that she didn’t see the pain she put me through until I threw it at her harshly. I regret it. I regret saying those things to her, but more than that, I regret not picking up the phone when she called me just a few days before she died. She wanted to talk. She was trying to make amends. I was still too butthurt to talk to her, so I texted her saying that I couldn’t talk and that I would talk to her soon and to take care. Isn’t that fucking lame? That’s the last thing that I said to my mom after telling her she was a horrible parent. That was it.

I want to believe that it wasn’t my fault. Logically, I have to know that I didn’t kill her myself. But, those words were harsh. She was off of her psych medication (which is likely part of the reason why we were fighting to begin with honestly, everything was so volatile), she was already depressed because of the season change and the fact that everyone is gone, but I know that us fighting didn’t help things whatsoever. I said some harsh things man. I wish I could take them back. I wish that we could have ended our physical time together on a more positive note. A happy note. A peaceful note. A joyful one. Not this painful, hurtful, dark note that I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from.

Lately, I’ve been looking for signs that she knows that I’m sorry, that she hears my cries for forgiveness, that she knows that I truly do love her even if I’ve felt pure unadulterated rage at her. She doubted that I loved her, I know that. She made it known. I feel like I did do my best with the tools I had, but I know that there was more I could have done. She wanted to hang out more. She wanted more phone calls. Simple text messages. Adventures. I couldn’t always bring myself to do it because she wasn’t always a safe person but I do think I could have tried more. I could have given her more. I think she hears that I wish I could have done more, that I had more planned for her. Two things happened yesterday that made me believe that she knows.

At the hair salon that I go to for my loc maintenance, the radio is always playing. Usually, it is on a gospel station or an oldies but goodies R&B mix, but on this particular day it was different. It was just some general popular music, nothing really notable. As I’m sitting under the dryer, thinking about my mom and how she would have absolutely loved the new painting that sat across from me, her favorite song starts playing on the radio. Now, look. This song was not super popular, it came out in 2009 and it’s by K’Jon, an artist not all that well-known. It was amazing. I cried like a baby, it was mildly embarrassing in hindsight, but it flooded me with memories and warmth. I went through the rest of the day thinking about that moment.

After my hair appointment, I went to her apartment to handle more cleaning up. I finished loading the last of her things in the car and decided to go to a place that has offered me comfort and refuge during hard times: the National Harbor. Not directly on the water, but at the little McDonalds where you can see everything below you. It had just begun to get dark, the sunset still sitting on the horizon when I arrived. When I parked, I decided to listen to the song again. The last time I had been at the Harbor, I was contemplating killing myself. I sat on that dock for two hours that night, processing the pros and cons of it all. That was actually the day after my mom and I got into that huge fight. The last time that I saw her in person. The last time I would hear her voice. Anyway, when I returned yesterday, listening to her favorite song and trying to remember the last time she and I had a laugh, suddenly I hear loads of popping. It was fireworks.

Yesterday was apparently the fireworks festival at the harbor. I had no idea when I pulled up that it was going to happen, had no way of knowing since it wasn’t something that I had seen any advertisement for. But, I just so happened to arrive right in time for the show, seated at the best possible location for viewing them, watching the first firework go off as the chorus of my mom’s favorite song played on. In that moment, I knew that this was for me. Or, at least, I want to believe it was. I want to believe that she knows without a doubt that I love her. I want to believe that she hears me. I want to believe that she communicated that she knows through those things. But I can’t feel that relief. It won’t come, or more, it doesn’t stay.

Perhaps therapy will help me make some degree of peace with my guilt. Perhaps it is something that I will never let go of. I don’t know the future. I do hope that I can stop feeling this pain. I hope that I continue to see signs of her approval and understanding. I hope that I can connect with her, that I can see her more in my dreams and hear her words flow through my head with ease. It is so hard to not dissociate or intellectualize what I’m experiencing. I don’t entirely know how to feel my feelings yet and it feels like it’s all building up without anywhere to go. I’ve cried a lot and I usually feel a little better after a good cry, but I need something more powerful. I don’t know what it is yet, but when I find it, I will give it my all. I need to feel this in its totality.

I think the thing that is making it hard for me to feel it is that I haven’t seen the evidence that she’s actually dead. I went for years without seeing her when I was little but still knew she was there because I just knew. My brain remembers these lulls as normal, as temporary. The permanence of this just isn’t something that makes sense to me. It isn’t something that I can accept because I have only seen that she isn’t in her apartment or that she isn’t answering her phone anymore. Does that make sense? It’s just too hard to conceptualize her truly being gone. As morbid as it may sound, I think I might need to see her so that I can force my brain to accept the fact that it is true.

I feel like I’ve hit my limit for the day with feeling this. I’ll catch ya later.

[secondpubertyscene]

9.25.21

I should be happy. Yet, it’s this music thing that is killing me. Hippo Campus, Glass Animals, Wild Party, Ritt Momney. It makes my chest feel on fire. It makes my eyes water. I love it so much. I don’t think I’ll love anything as much as I love it. I am stuck.

Anyone that really knows me (hell, even people who don’t know me all that well), knows that music is everything to me. Sharing music is not just a hobby, but a spiritual and emotional thing for me. Finding other people who understand music, who feel music the way that I do, who are completely rocked by a variety of different genres, it’s not as simple as I thought. Finding SOMEONE who makes ME feel the way music makes me feel? It’s only happened once and I don’t know that I can accept any less of a feeling from anyone anymore. It’s embarrassing that a playlist of only 49 songs has the ability to completely unravel me and take me to another place altogether. It’s embarrassing that it’s all I want to listen to sometimes. I thought I was good, but holy fuck, feelings are so complex.

If you could feel the heaviness of my chest right now as I listen to stupid ass False Direction by Dayglow, you would LAUGH. It’s incredible. I can’t even finish this post. I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry, hahaha. Maybe both. Maybe it’ll get better in more time. Maybe it won’t. Maybe I’ll learn to be content with knowing that I at least got to fall in love in a way that literally makes me shake, even now in the aftermath. I’m just immersed in this music right now and I don’t think I’ll turn away from it. Not for now, at least.

[secondpubertyscene]

8.14.21

This year has been one of major change. In Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower, there’s this quote, “God is Change. Beware: God exists to shape and be shaped,” and I think for the first time since reading it, I get what was being said. While I subscribe to the idea that there is a higher power of some kind, I also believe that we (as in, us as individuals) have great power as well. That power lies in our ability to change, to grow, to persevere. This year has been one of major change, and we really have to talk about it.

It is easy to look at this last year and think, “Well, that fucking sucked” because frankly, it did indeed fucking suck. I could write you a list of things that brought me great pain this year, unbelievable, undeniable, unrelenting pain that still lingers now. But, see, the beauty of it all is that none of that pain happens in a vacuum. Along with the pain, I’ve come through it all with more wisdom, more compassion, more empathy, more gratitude, more peace, more love, and more confidence. I’d like to share how those things all are connected, but first I would like to acknowledge something.

While I don’t know for sure if this is just an American thing, it does seem very clear that Americans aren’t fantastic at processing grief, death, and pain collectively. We often are encouraged to suck it up, to shut up about it, to not make others uncomfortable with our tears and trauma. I believe this is in large part due to the fact that American Exceptionalism doesn’t quite allow us to acknowledge when our systems have failed us or when we are suffering in the “greatest country in the world.” I don’t intend on participating in that toxic positivity or to dismiss the seriousness of the year past. I simply intend on acknowledging the nuances of my experiences, the complexity of it all. Now, let’s begin.

Without recounting every moment in large detail (in part because that would be far too much and also because I don’t need to relieve my traumas today), the events of the last year have been as follows: 1) COVID hit, 2) I had a severe emotional breakdown that resulted in a short stay at the hospital, 3) my grandma passed away, 4) I broke up with my partner of a year, 5) I was officially diagnosed with adult ADHD (inattentive), 6) I got into a PhD program for sociology (fully-funded), and 7) I moved to Ohio (two weeks ago now). So much happened in what feels like a blink of an eye. When you’re a kid, you think a year lasts forever. Now, a year feels like a couple months!

Anyhow, all of these things had super intense negative impacts on my life and most of them had super intense positive impacts on my life. Let’s talk about how. I won’t say that COVID had any “positive” impact on my life, because it’s still currently making things difficult and it is still destroying lives (full worlds) every day. The emotional breakdown that I experienced shortly after COVID began, however, was the impetus for some of the greatest change I would ever make in my life. It began with new therapy, medication for the first time ever to treat my mental illnesses, and a new relationship with boundaries.

Out of this breakdown, I came to realize a few things. 1) I wasn’t really feeling most of my life up until that point. That isn’t to say that I didn’t feel at all or that I wasn’t aware of my feelings all the time, but to say that most of the time, I numbed everything out that was too hard to bear. I didn’t cry, I didn’t write, I didn’t even take the time to try to identify exactly what emotions I did feel. I just lived through it and waited until I felt better. Or, I would breakdown with rage and then feel better. Therapy, especially the group therapy I participated in for a couple weeks after leaving the hospital, changed that in huge ways for me.

Because I was able to sit in my pain, in my discomfort, I was able to actually work through some of my issues. I began to identify the areas in my life that made me genuinely unhappy and began to grant myself permission to feel disappointment. I granted myself the permission to expect more, to want more. I granted myself the permission to set boundaries without guilt or shame. I granted myself freedom. It is an ongoing journey of mistakes and back-peddling and trying again, but it is mine and I am proud of it. Had I not had that breakdown, I don’t know that I would be where I am now.

My grandma dying is one of the most painful things I’ve experienced and honestly, I haven’t dealt with it all the way yet. I didn’t get to say goodbye to her in person, I still am battling the feelings of guilt despite knowing that there likely was nothing I could have done, and my chest still feels heavy thinking about her. Even as I write this, I feel that pain. I know she is not truly gone and that she lives within me, but oh, I do miss her physical presence. The nagging, the phone calls, the hugs, the cooking, her soft hair and beautiful hands. I miss her. Because of her, though, I have been able to rehabilitate another relationship in my life. The relationship I share with my mother.

My mother is a lot of things, but for whatever reason I continually forgot that she too is a victim of hardship brought on by nothing but sheer luck. In this last year, she lost her mother, the man that she loved, multiple cousins, friends that went back to childhood, and who knows who else. She suffered a lot this year and she has suffered a lot over the course of her 61 years of life overall. For the first time, I have been able to really acknowledge her as a full being with a complex history and understand her as a person, rather than just as a parent. I’ve set new boundaries with her as a result, boundaries that have completely change the dynamic of our relationship and will continue to do so as we both learn more about each other. Gone are the days where she relies solely on me for emotional support or financial support. Gone are the days where she feels comfortable talking down to me and then expecting any kind of favors from me. She understands and respects that I am an adult, that I am independent, and that I can terminate our relationship should it get to a point where I feel unsafe again. While this might sound like a threat or even negative, it is in fact quite the contrary.

We now share the belief that I deserve better from her and that my continued relationship with her is founded upon our mutual growth. That’s a beautiful thing that arose from us being pulled together by the loss of someone we both loved more than we maybe even loved ourselves. Thankfully, though, I have come to love myself more than anyone else on this planet. This newfound self-love and respect resulted in the severing of my relationship with my partner.

I won’t pretend like my ex was this horrible person because she wasn’t. She was kind, loving, intelligent, hilarious, unique, complex, and so many other amazing things. I still love her with all of my heart and have thought about her every single day since we broke up. It is not for lack of love that our relationship came to a close. The issue was that I needed more than what she could give. I needed someone who could really sit in my shit with me without invalidating my feelings jokingly because they didn’t know what else to say. I needed someone who could make me feel safe and secure, not fearful and insecure. I needed someone who understood boundaries as openings for futures, not closed doors. I needed someone who could show up for me the way I showed up for them, even when they hurt me, even when they lied out of fear. She wasn’t able to do that. She wasn’t able to stick beside me during the worst days of my life. She wasn’t able to see me beyond our relationship. When my grandma passed and our relationship was on the rocks, she made it about us. She didn’t stop pestering me about our relationship for long enough to give me support on losing someone who meant the world to me. I couldn’t trust her after that and I also realized, I wasn’t required to.

Boundaries in that relationship weren’t healthy. I felt unseen, unprotected, and sometimes even unloved. While I am sure that she has grown even more since we have parted, the reality is that when I ended things, I knew that doing so was the most fair thing I could do for the both of us. This is because I deserve someone who sees my value inherently. I deserve someone who takes the time to understand me, to love me, to see me. Not just see me and them together, but me as an individual separate from them. More importantly, I needed to be able to ask for those things without feeling guilty or bad. As of now, I still don’t know that she sees me as me, as a singular person, and maybe she never will. That is okay. I still love her anyway. I just love me more now. As a part of that love I’ve grown for myself, I also now have sought out more help for myself. This seeking of resources led me to realizing that I was ADHD and helped me change my life.

Being diagnosed with ADHD at 21 felt absolutely ridiculous. How could I be ADHD when I can sit still most of the time and have a pretty decent amount of impulse control? The answers came from my psychiatrist, breaking down the stereotypical understanding of ADHD and allowing me to find myself within the diagnosis. Finding the right combination of medication has been difficult, but what hasn’t been hard at all is finding more resources that help me manage my symptoms. It’s because of some of these resources that I am able to sit here and write this.

A huge part of ADHD is this perfectionist mentality that makes it nearly impossible to start or complete some tasks. Every time I sat down to write in the past, I told myself that I absolutely had to write every single day, once a day, or I should just not do it. When it came to this blog especially, I had so much shame when I failed to post for a long time or had a lull, that I would either consider deleting the whole thing to start over, or just never posting again. I realize now that those were just cop outs for my brain, that I can write as little or as much as I want because it is for ME. It doesn’t have to be perfect; it doesn’t have to be anything but what I need it to be. Waiting for perfection would have me waiting forever because it’s simply not how my brain works. Accepting that is a large part of how I got into my PhD program.

I’m not going to lie. I am still trying to figure out all of the feelings I have regarding this PhD program. I am shocked that I got in, shocked that I got full-funding, shocked that I am now in Ohio, shocked that I am in my own apartment, and overall shocked that I’ve made it this far in general. While I do not believe that I am stupid or not capable of greatness, I am realizing that I’ve always seen myself pursuing something more straightforward. When I was younger, I had a pretty clear idea of what I wanted to do even as those things changed. I knew what was required of me, I knew what I would ultimately do, and I took refuge in that. Doctors go to medical school. Chefs go to culinary school. Forensic anthropologists get masters degrees and do field work. It felt clear cut, straightforward, safe. This is uncharted territory. What do you do post PhD? What do you do DURING PhD years? I suppose I’ll just have to find out!

Anyhow, this year has been intense. Change is always present in our lives and sometimes it brings with gifts that we can only receive when we’re healed enough to take them. I’m hoping to keep healing, keep growing, keep loving, and keep going. I’m learning so much about myself and about the world. I’m loving myself more than I have in the past. I am incredibly proud of where I am. And I’m not done yet.

[secondpubertyscene]

11.2.20

I was never one of those people that hated the holidays until now. This sucks.

 (It has gotten dark over here, not gonna lie. I’m big sad and vibin but I promise I’m good. Just having a lil pity party for a bit.)

Since leaving the home of my aunt and uncle, my holidays have lacked tradition because who I’ve lived with or where I was. I can distinctly remember two Christmases where I ended up sleeping on my grandma’s couch after my mom got so drunk and belligerent that it wasn’t safe for me to be in the same house as her. Holidays with my mom looked like me being guilted into getting her an expensive gift that should would maybe use once or twice, her giving me some money that she would “borrow” only days later, and then her getting fucked up with friends elsewhere for the rest of the night while I stayed at home. When I moved in with my dad, things changed but weren’t significantly different. My dad doesn’t believe in most holidays and thus, doesn’t celebrate them. So, Thanksgiving usually was him cooking like he normally does and perhaps my mom and grandma would come over, but it wasn’t a spectacle. Christmas looks like a normal lazy day at the end of the year. I usually get him some socks and he usually gives me some money and that’s about as far as the tradition goes. There are no trees, no lights, no decorations, and usually a lot of quiet. This has never really bothered me but now, for some odd reason, it does.

 Living with my aunt and uncle, Christmas was an event. We went out together to buy a big tree, we decorated the house (outside and inside) with lights and crap, we made and painted our own ornaments for the tree, we wrapped presents together, and we made a magnificent dinner (with Jack Daniel’s chicken wings and mashed potatoes (to die for) and lots of cabbage). It was one of the most exciting days of the year and it wasn’t because of the presents but because of the tradition of it all. Halloween was similar. We didn’t celebrate Halloween in the traditional way of going out and trick or treating, but rather we ordered Chinese food, sat in the living room altogether, and watched movies until it was super late. This was a yearly occurrence. Thanksgiving was the same. Two days of cooking, organizing, cleaning, and the same people would come over year after year with minor alterations depending on who was dating who, who died, and what new life came into the world. Each holiday was a performance of community and I haven’t felt or seen that since I was 11.

 I keep thinking about how unstable my life is and has been. I’m a bit angry that I haven’t been able to keep anything for the entirety of my life. People are always coming and going, no one that was there from the beginning has been there through the entire course of my life and that includes even my parents. I feel so alone because in so many ways, I am. (I know this is a pity party, but I just gotta get it out.) I feel so unimportant and replaceable. I hate it when people come and go as they choose, like my existence one moment is more important or valuable when their standards are lower because they need something or want something. I just really hate it here.

 I particularly miss my grandma and really don’t want to go home to deal with the fake happy bullshit that my mom is going to push on me. I don’t want to talk to her about how I feel because it is not productive for her or for me. I’m just really over being here man. I don’t really see the value in any of this stuff right now and I know that’s not permanent and that better days are to come, but I really can’t see it. My rights as a human being are being tossed up in the air by this election (regardless of who wins, my rights are still up for debate), my family barely feels like one and keeps getting smaller and smaller, and I have like four friends who actually give a fuck sometimes, when they feel like it or when it is convenient. It all just really doesn’t feel worth it anymore.

 I miss being that kid whose head was always in some book, living in a different world with characters who could always find a way to make things right and had the world behind them, cheering them on. I can’t believe how different things are now. I live with my adopted dad whose emotional capacity is about that of a baseball, my mother and I are (and have been forever) on two very different worlds, and I really just don’t feel connected to anything or anyone at this particular point in life. It might change with time and a change in location or it might not.

[secondpubertyscene]

9.13.20

You know, I don’t think I’ve felt this alone in a very long time. In the past, I had at LEAST one friendship that I felt comfortable always counting on and with the loss of that space, it really has set in just how isolated I am. Here at college, I don’t really feel comfortable confiding in anyone because honestly, I don’t know that they’re necessarily people I really WANT to know on a more intimate level. So many of the kids up here have really harmful views about core parts of my identity and navigating friendships with differences is one thing, but literally experiencing subtle violence in every conversation is another. It just feels fucking horrible and pointless sometimes.

 I hate that all of my relationships suck. At this point, I have lots of friends but when it comes to support, it seems like my network fell apart almost as soon as I returned to school. I have my therapist that I see MAYBE once a week (and might have to stop seeing because of state laws) and honestly, that’s about it. I have people in my life that claim to be there yet even when I’ve trusted them enough with a roadmap to supporting me, they don’t do anything. I’m beginning to think that there has to be something that I am doing to create this reality. We all define what we want our relationships and friendships to look like, but we also don’t get to dictate the longevity of them. I don’t know.

 I’ve spent the entire weekend with some of the most affirming, kind people for this conference I’ve been at and it has been great to see that people like that exist, but now it’s about finding my way into those spaces in a way that doesn’t feel intrusive or weird. How do you insert yourself into someone’s friend group? How can I build my confidence up to where rejection isn’t going to hurt too bad? Honestly, I’m not sure that rejection is actually what I’m scared of at this point. I don’t really know what I’m scared of. Being left behind again? Getting a taste of what healthy is and then losing it again, due to some weird fuck-up on my part? I don’t know.

 I’m angry and sad and frustrated and tired and just all out overwhelmed with the reality that I’m really fucking out here by myself and that in some ways, that has to be my fault. My fault for not reaching out, my fault for letting good friendships go, my fault for not vetting people better. I just don’t really know what to do. It sucks when you like scroll through your contact list that is full of people and not one of them is someone that feels safe, available, or comforting anymore. What kind of life is that? What is the point?

 Okay, I’m done having my pity party now. This depressive episode has lasted for about a month and a half now and it is really draining to keep pushing through it alone, but I know that I can definitely find the energy at some point to find (and hopefully keep) community. It seems like I must think that I’m a much better friend than I actually am and perhaps that is something that I also need to confront before seeking out new friendships.

[secondpubertyscene]

Selfie tag?

I’m gonna be honest mate, I don’t know what that is. What is that?

[secondpubertyscene]

5.12.20

I’m not the same person. I mean, we all change from day to day. A couple new hairs here, a healed cut there, some extra gunk behind our ears. We’re never the exact same as we once were, but this different feels…different, ya know?

 I’m generally not a sad person but for whatever reason, it feels like I can’t quite get happy for too long. Things are going much better lately. I finally got myself together enough to begin to return to some of the things that used to be a part of my routine, finally got around to doing my shot after who knows how long, and I’m arguably not in a bad place at all. I have nothing to worry about. Food is provided for, I have fat savings in case of emergency, I’m living pretty easy. So, why is it that I can’t get happy? Why do I find myself missing my past self so much? What did I have then that I don’t now and how can I get myself feeling normal within the parameters of my new normal?

 My normal in the past was relatively simple, I think. I didn’t overthink every aspect of my life (shocker, I know), I was generally on the happier side of neutral, and I was motivated consistently to do something. At all times, I was engaged in something. If it wasn’t some kind of labor around my RA job, my job at the museum, my classes, or my club, then I was likely goofing off with friends and my girlfriend. When alone, I would do what I’m doing now. Listen to music, consume way too much media, have random epiphanies about life that demanded some shit writing, and brood. I wasn’t too sad most of the time, even when things were stressful or frustrating. In fact, I think I thrived in the stress and chaos. I liked being busy. I liked having things to do and doing them and then getting mildly stressed about something I knew I could AND would handle with general ease. It felt right. Now, things are different. I suppose that it is not so much so that I have changed, but that my circumstances have.

 My normal now feels kind of sad. I don’t know if that sadness is because of my brain chemistry or purely situational, although both would certainly make sense given where the world is at. Acknowledging that fact, I don’t quite know what to do about it. I have been taking my meds as I’m meant to, I go to group, I go to individual therapy. I’m doing what I need to and it is definitely working based on where I’m sitting right now. I suppose the other half of this is about making myself happy. I’m not doing anything to spark joy and I really cannot afford to keep waiting for other people to do it. Can I tell you something? This is off point but it feels relevant.

 I was feeling bored and overwhelmed a few days ago and I had been itching to just get in the car and drive. To where? I don’t know. But drive, music up, with a friend to vibe with. It has always been a surefire (I love that word, surefire) cure to a bad space. It’s freeing, you know? Music, wind, speed? I didn’t want to bother my best boy because I knew he needed rest and I didn’t bother Rue because she wasn’t built for silence, so I decided to go with the next best option: Car. I figured since we vibe all the time with music over text and scream singing in my car is one things that we have done almost every time we’ve seen each other (even though it’s like every other year, lol) we would be set to have another scream sesh. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Instead, what I got was nervous insulting jokes in typical Car fashion and someone talking over my favorite fucking song about (this is the kicker) whack dick. It was that moment, that day, that I realized that there is literally only one person in my life that I would want to do that again with and that is a whole other thing that I don’t feel like getting into right now.

 The point is, I need to find a way to make myself happy. Therapy and medicine are for healing and while healing feels good, it also isn’t something that is particularly happy. I need to hold space for where I am emotionally and also find some fun for myself. There are all of these things that I want to do, things I want to learn! I have to stop waiting for the quarantine to end for me to get back to enjoying and living my life. Even once everything opens back up, life will not be the same. I have to decide now to be happy regardless of what’s happening out there. Maybe instead of being involved in a thousand and one clubs and classes and jobs, I can focus on finding some work here, doing research for my non-profit, talking to friends, making new connections, and learning new fun skills! I can learn how to do lots of things WITHOUT pressure and enjoy them to the fullest. I can learn how to be fulfilled without needing a rush. The question of how seems to be the barrier here.

 I guess being happy isn’t something you really try to do though, is it? I don’t think any of my happiest moments were ones where I had to try to be happy. I just was. There are things that I can do to help make myself happy but I think I might need to reframe my goals here. Maybe my goal needs to be “chase happiness” instead of “be happy”. I don’t know.

 I got distracted by my thoughts midway through writing this and ended up texting a shitload of people in my phone about their favorite memories and moments in life. Those stories are so beautiful and bright. Definitely helped my mood a little. Isn’t that beautiful? That we all have these little nuggets of pure light in our lives? Isn’t it also funny how our brain remembers those things? Tiny little segments out of billions of other moments that bring us so much joy and a rush of happiness. In any case, I think this is the end of this post.

 Next time,

Miles

P.S. - I’ll have to share some of those stories people shared with me after I get their permission. Some should be heard.