When I was eleven and starting high school I went through a crisis of being. Who was I? Where was I going? Why wasn’t I more like my fictional heroines? When would I find me and my path? Back then there was no spirituality to it, no battle of right and wrong, no desperately seeking out my passion and purpose, it was just about fitting in. Now these bouts of uncertainty are still as frequent, only they’re less easy to blame on growing up and growing into your skin. Why is ego so all consuming? There is, in some part of me tucked away deep inside, an acknowledgment of unity, of the individual not mattering as an individual. There are days when I feel like I’m floating through life, when everything is in place and not dependant on careers, personal expression and appearance. Everything about me up to this point are pieces of other people, friends, people I see for a second in a coffee shop, fictional characters and celebrities I admire. I’m a mimic, a fraud, nothing is concrete or real. Fake layers to cover up that eleven year old girl still inside me shouting out to be found. It’s probably some vague borderline personality disorder, but it’s nothing a councillor could pin point and nothing anyone I’ve confided in could understand. This is the most honest I think I’ve ever been and thats so important to a girl with a history of compulsive lying and vague acceptance of self. Maybe I’m going to get better as I grow but for now I’m stuck obsessing over people, the psyche, what my zodiac says about me, what my Jungian personality type is. Clutching at straws to get an idea of individuality.
So now I’m fleeing to the other side of the world. Honestly? I think it’s some feeble attempt to make something of my life. That old cliche of travelling to “find yourself” and the sun of course, that helps too. In all of this mess, this vortex of scattered thoughts and nonsensical slips of philosophical evaluation I’ve found solace in writing, in drawing, in music. This blog has never been one thing or another, looking back it doesn’t really seem like me at all. And no maybe the internet isn’t the place to divulge our deepest darkest secrets or a secure foundation to start piecing together your identity when you’re easily influenced. But I have passions and ideas and notebooks full of amateur writing and though I’m not the most intellectual, the most coherent or talented I’m not asking for praise here, I’m asking for understanding. To connect with anyone is an accomplishment and I’m hoping this is the start.