something has changed. seven years later I do want to be like that old lady at the grocery store. actually, not being a little rude in benign ways and focusing on myself in a way that can sometimes make me come off as selfish to strangers is what got me here in the first place. "here" meaning a place of insecurity, a sense that I once surely had a better grasp on who I am and what I want than I do now.
had I been a bit more eccentric, individually packing all the items I buy into thin plastic bags or doing whatever the hell I fancy in the moment, I surely would have left sooner.
the other day I was soaking in the bathtub, thinking about all the times this place had been my refuge, and about how when I first had my apartment to myself I would flinch at the sound of a key turning in the hall way – thank god it was just my weird, divorced neighbour. I thought about how thankful I am that both apartments on my floor are now occupied by new people that I – surprise, surprise – actually know and, even though I dont love them, I have some sort of connection to. and isnt that what community looks like? such a stark contrast to strangers calling the cops because you forgot to close the window before carrying out yet another fight.
so I was lying there, in the water, still learning how to fully relax but much closer to it now, and I can whole heartedly say that I do not regret a single time I fought back. no door slam, no moment of gathering my things and leaving only to turn around after a phone call to my mom and a phone call to be begged for forgiveness. I do not regret a single argument I started because I did not want to just bite my tongue or shut up about the hyprocrisy of the entire situation. I am proud of keeping my honour, always giving it my all and doing the work even while I was drowning.
I do regret the time I allowed to be wasted, which I think was the ultimate goal, the peak of pleasure.
the fuel that people who love wasting other´s time with hollow arguments and empty rhethoric run on is a deep fear that they are simply not as brilliant. the sad part is that its not true and all of this energy could have been spent on something beautiful. instead, I am sitting here, slowly but surely recovering from this mess. looking back at the clues my younger self left for me to rediscover myself.
so I guess writing is just another thing I abandoned in order to make space for you and your endless self pity? time to take it up again.
now I am screen printing and got offered a key to the studio by two different people in one night. now Im making zines, alchemising my grief, anger and gratitude, diving into their political history, giving workshops about them. Im slowly putting the last touches on this home, but the change came immediately. I slept on a new mattress the first night I finally got free. I was caught, held, protected and uplifted by so many people. my social circle has broadened without being watered down one bit. solid people surround me, support me, see me, appreciate me.
you could never grasp what Im doing.
you can never catch up to what Im building, because I never competed with you, you just chose to pick me apart. this is not about putting you down. never have I had a desire to hold you back, ever.
this is your own doing.
you set me back so much, yet I can never say that without immediately outweighing the hurt with what I got to learn. I grew much more than you tore me down, and Im still going. gaining more clarity and setting deeper intentions with every step I take. getting closer to myself, Im only gearing up. Im simultaneously recovering, resting, rejuvenating, healing and reinventing, remembering, rising.
