DISPATCH 01: Nice to meet you

Ok, hi! How do I start? Where do I begin?

I guess I will do what feels natural, and that is starting at the beginning. Do I tell my life’s story? Does anyone care?

Ew, I just tried to write down my “story”, and I physically cringed. I think we are going to have to keep it a little more casual than this ladies and gentlemen. I really want to this blog to be unedited, I do my best thinking/learning/growing when I don’t overthink. I want you to think of this blog as fermented, it is alive, it is constantly growing and changing. You may encounter some bacteria, and please just know, that it is part of the process, no fillers or additives here, no siree!

I know that I wrote in my “about me” section, what I want this blog to be, and why I am even doing this, but I want to go deeper. I want to tell anyone who is reading this right now (probably only me), where the fuck I am in my life, how I got here, and where I am trying to go.

I need to be upfront about something, some of the things that I write about on this blog will feel depressing, dark, vapid, scary, creepy, uneasy, traumatic, privledged, and so much more that I don’t even know yet. But I need you guys to know that if I am writing about something, it means I am moving through it; it means I am nearing the other side of it, it means I can see the finish line. I am writing this blog as a means to heal, I have so much noise in my head, and I think if I don’t get it out, my boyfriend may divorce me.

I think I have reconciled a lot of my mistakes through writing ABOUT them. I find salvation in my ability to string together words, for the sole purpose of stringing words together. My therapist called me “existentially competitive” the other day, and nothing felt truer. I am physically incapable of enjoying the process, it has always been about getting to the finish line as fast as possible, in whatever it is that I am doing. Writing, however, I am free. I can write, and it can be shit, and no one can read it, and I can never finish it, and I still fucking love it.

I love to write for the sake of writing, and to me, that has been the ONLY sign that I am in-fact, human. Sometimes (often), I am literally checking myself for a pulse. Like am I good??? Am I alive??? I should care about what just happened to me but I don’t??? This has been the theme of my life for the last 10 years, pretending to care about my life in ways that I just simply didn’t. The second I put pen to paper however, I know I am alive. I know I have a pulse, a conscience, a brain, and at least a couple ideas that are worth listening too. This blog is giving that pulse a place to find it’s rhythm; it is allowing me to feel consistenly alive- something we should all aspire for, no?