Read Me

I'm amazed as to how long I've been writing.

I was forced to start this for my COM 101 class in 2008.

I think I wrote about food--(smirks, no surprise there).

It--somehow and you know what I'm not sure what made me want to start writing so openly on here--turned into a place where I shared my exploration in recovery. It turned into my best friend. Ya best friend. This simple little blog has always been there for me to pour my heart out to. To help me understand myself. My thoughts so plainly in black and white for me to read. See I like to talk but I don't like to listen--it's interesting when you listen to yourself. What are you really saying?

What I'm getting at is tonight I want to write about my night. I want to write about the fact that I had the guts and confidence to approach my favorite band after seeing them live. That I only had two drinks. That I didn't binge or purge tonight. That I felt like myself with people I used to put a front on for.

But when I write all of this and I start crying and laughing like a psycho at the same time because I don't know what to do with all of this emotion, I realize what I'm really writing is: I feel at home. At home in Vancouver (shudders) yes but mostly I feel at home with myself.

I'm constantly looking for belonging. I'm looking for acceptance. I want love. I want to be wanted. I want to be appreciated. I want to feel like someone. And with a lot of practice, tears, anger, drinking, eating disordering (totally a thing), money, therapy, and years of work I feel at home with myself.

There is no rush, there is no desperate pining for more: more love, more attention, more acceptance, more fucking food. I am. I just fucking am.

Letting go is something I've written about in here hundreds of time, with anger. If I could fucking let go I would. How do you let go? Those words vigorously typed out here while I succumb to tears. But that's exactly what I am finally fucking doing. I am living in the moment, I am changing my perspective, I am just here to enjoy my life.

Depressed me would want to punch me right now.

Easier said than done, but easy never got me anywhere.

I write in here about some very dark things, and some powerful emotions--and happiness, security, authenticity are among those powerful emotions.

The more I work to accept who I am, remove those things that don't align with who I want to be, the easier my life is getting.

I titled this "Read Me" because I will every so often comb my posts, the ones you read the most (that Face of Bulimia one pretty much kills it) and I ache for the girl that poured her heart out to an unknown audience hoping for some kind of acceptance.

And girl, I'm here to tell you, and remind you, that you can give yourself that acceptance.