I spent my first twenty-three years being painted. Shoved. Pushed into a stifling box. Put into a pretty picture. I was nothing more than a half thought out idea. A mediocre caketopper, sitting upon the mounds of candy coating that they wanted to keep eating.
I was too smart, too opinionated, to creepy, too fat. I was bought dresses in smaller sizes to encourage me to lose weight. I was told at 12 I looked like I was pregnant while trying on clothes and then drug out of the store, bawling from the verbal abuse, and berated for not simply taking it.
I was put in gifted and talented. Then burnt out quickly, and quite frankly didn’t enjoy the time spent with the kids I was grouped with. As a cis female I was expected to take home ec, and perhaps even focus on it specifically. I didn’t. I took every course and club I could and then I’d get bored of them and end up in a library reading era novels and dreaming of a life far away from my little Bible Belt cultesque town life. Coming up with ways to fight my way out if I had to. Scraping together every ounce of courage and imagination I could, to tell myself one day, you will be free.
I usually write about manifestations and the fact that you can create any life for yourself you truly desire —and that is still true. I think it is often misinterpreted into life being suddenly easy, or a dream. That some lavish life will whisk you away and everything will change.
But you see, change is inevitable, unstoppable, and lacks direction. Life is real and raw, and ever changing. You could receive exactly what you asked for and it not be what you need.
So from this point forward, this is the complete tale(s) of my manifestations. The good, the bad, the real. And how they affect(ed) my everyday life as I know it; from childhood to present day.
baratheonpilled
origamiaround
kianamaiart
