I just got notified by WordPress this morning that my last post on Queertastic was my fiftieth post, and wow. I had no idea I’d actually been writing that much, especially considering how inconsistent I’ve been with posting. Well, it got me thinking- what is it that’s changed fifty posts later? I’m still me, duh, but I thought looking back at all my posts to see what’s changed and what I’ve learnt would be fun. Well, that is assuming I’ve learnt something (fingers crossed that I have). So come with me, lets go back into the somewhat cringey depths of my blog. I put this in a numbered list just because it’s easier to read, and I’ll be going post by post. I’ll got from my earliest posts upwards, that is in reverse chronological order.
1 – I have had to reconsider if kisses are the sole way of healing scars. (based on this post)
Here’s some context- I wrote this post about my self-harm scars (a topic that I now try to avoid) and how having my then boyfriend accept them shaped my recovery. I wrote- “Relapse now seems to encapsulate a lot more than just my pain- now it also sees to break the invisible line of trust draw by that one kiss on my most prominent scar.” I suppose I grew out of this perception. Yes, the kisses helped and honestly I still smile back at how wonderful it was to be helped through recovery in such a raw and empathetic manner, but I later realized that there were far better incentives to avoid relapse. Back then, I wanted to relapse and had to hold myself back because I didn’t want to hurt the people that loved me. Now, I can’t bring myself to relapse (though I will say I’m guilty in that I still think about it too much) because I’ve come to far. I can’t bring myself to relapse because I would herald it as sort of sacrificing my sanity and all the progress I’ve put into improving my general state of mind. Kisses help heal your scars, yes, but now I realize I should’ve been even more cautious not to over romanticize the concept of healing. Reducing it to a kiss was my attempt at being optimistic when in reality I put a lot of mental muscle into recovering. Did the kisses help? Absolutely. Was there more to the story of recovery? Definitely, but I didn’t know it yet.
2 – I now have a collection of afterthoughts on being “the freak who self-harmed” (based on this post)
This post was me wrestling with myself on my then mixed emotions about self-harm. While reading it, I couldn’t resist pulling down my sleeve to look at my scars. My desire for a smooth wrist have somewhat waned, and my scars are slowly (very slowly) fading. Time has led me to accept them as a part of me, and now I don’t think about my scars and self-harm nearly as much as I used to. In fact, I’m surprised by how much my scars affected me back then when now I only occasionally feel embarrassment over them. It goes to show that feelings are temporary (if you read posts by me a lot, you’ll know I love that quote) and eventually what used to be a source of distress to you will be whittled down to simply a fact that you’re mildly indifferent to. It’s heartening to see how far I’ve come, and yet I know I have so much further to go.
3 – My thoughts on coming out to myself have, strangely enough, not changed one bit. (read the first part here and the second part here)
Reading back to my emotions about how I had to learn to stop shutting myself out is insane, because I still identify so much with learning to live as my true authentic self. There’s still homophobia that I face, and as a result of that the internalized hatred towards myself hasn’t quite dissipated. I read my description of locking myself in the bathroom stall just to breathe, and I could remember that moment so accurately in my head that it scared me. I know that eventually will spread my wings (my gay, gay, wings) and fly. The memories of the people and experiences that helped me to come out and discover myself still leave me smiling, and I guess this just all goes to show I have far more to learn about my own sexuality before my perspective on coming out to myself changes. It’s a work in progress, y’all 🙂
4 – One definitive thing I can say: I loved cutting my hair. (there’s a post about it here)
So I know that at first read cutting your hair seems like a superficial change, but cut me some slack- as a sixteen year old girl, I can’t help but be superficial every now and then. For almost forever, I got complimented on my long brown curls and how perfect they were, and how I was so lucky to have them. It was something I started hiding behind a little bit, and some days if my hair didn’t look good I’d feel as though I didn’t look good. Stupid, right? And for the longest time I was scared to cut it all off- what if it looked awful? Well, now that it’s all short I’ve actually stopped giving a fuck about my looks. It’s a nice feeling, and now whenever anyone (or any boy) tells me they liked me better with long hair, I can confidently tell them that it’s okay, because I like me better with short hair, end of discussion.
5 – I now get more sleep, but the memories of troubled nights don’t fade. (read it here)
“Depression Is Not A One Night Stand”. Gosh, i remember that title flashing past my eyes one day when I was bored in a class, and it stuck with me because if you’ve ever felt the pang of chronic sadness, you’ll know the nights are the worst. Summarizing this post is difficult, mostly because I still have difficult nights where my stomach tosses like a troubled sailor. There’s this one quote I love by Andrea Gibson- “To think, a sweater, is made entirely of knots. My stomach could clothe a village.” All the different types of nights I had to sleep with. Now my mind finds sleep somewhat easier- of course, I still have awful nights (don’t we all?). Recounting how much more frequently these awful nights used to last, all I can say now is that confronting your insecurities and fears is scary enough. Having them sing to you in the dark and not being able to do anything about it? Well, that’s worse than any thriller horror movie you could throw at me.
6 – Rereading my posts about recovery, I now see that some things can’t be explained. (here)
There are so many things that caught me unawares about the recovery process, many of which I just couldn’t put down. Delicate knots in your lungs when you learn how to stop drowning, and the works. I tried my very best to put down the basics of all my unknown forays into recovery, but it got so much harder than that- I remember needing to endlessly edit this post because of how much I thought was unsaid. The emotional explosions and complicated guilt were just the beginning of it- and maybe a post on the nuances of recovery (one that veers more towards the side of poetic rather than anything else, to do the process of recovery artistic justice) is in order. However, I love that unlike me previously, my voice in this post is one I can hear today. I can hear me from the past reading this out to me from the present, and I really like that (oh gosh, I hope that made sense) because up till today I still think this post is realistic. And I love that, because I’m a firm believer that the prospects of recovering are realistic.
7 – It isn’t about loving someone more, it’s about loving someone better. (based on this very angsty emotional post)
This was a post I wrote to say goodbye to an ex after breaking up with him. Ah, yes, Queertastic wouldn’t be complete without a heart-wrenching unsent letter. As a matter of fact, I’ve always loved the ideas of unsent letters- I’m a sucker for the right kind of pain, and I could ramble on and on about the metaphorical questions raised by unsent letters, but for now I’ll spare you the rant. You see, my lovelies, on thing I realized is that you can only achieve so much with the quantity of love you dole out. When I left my ex, the amount of mushy messages I sent him while we were dating weren’t insufficient, (in fact, I’d argue looking back that I sent them too often to the level of cringe) and that at the end of the day it was my waning faith in the relationship that caused me to leave. A perfectly loving relationship, and yet I left, because yes, I loved him, but not as well as I should’ve. That being said, most of what I said in this post stands true. I just think that as a reflection maybe my word choice was a bit off, and while it didn’t strike me then I think for some reason the subtle difference hits me hard now.
8 – I have far more than ten thoughts on pain (but you can find ten of them here)
But I knew this even while writing that post. My thoughts on pain are not containable, and maybe a part two is due. Wow, I’m finding a lot of post ideas from just looking back- strange how I can be my own idea factory just by looking through old work. Nothing much has changed as far as my thoughts on pain go, but my thoughts on pain go deeper than this.
That’s about it. To be honest, I will say that the fifty posts flew by really fast for me and also that I would’ve gone past 8, but that would bore everyone and become a rant. Thank you to everyone who’s been reading (lol so like basically 5 people or something), I thought I’d tag some supportive people by just linking to their most recent post (that’s the only way WordPress lets you tag other bloggers I think!) BelleUnruh , the monarch of midnight, Sound of Eds Voice, kimkasualty, the green tea fashion cafe, fauxcroft, Lira, and Alisa Hutton, to name a few. There’s more lovelies that have been nice and supportive throughout my journey as Queertastic, but these are the people that first popped up in my mind. I know, my readership is fairly small/ non-existent, but nonetheless, fifty posts later, and I like this space I’ve made for myself.
Much love, Queertastic 🙂