About Me

I struggled to fill out the description box on my profile. How can i accurately portray myself with words? Will 500 characters be enough? Will I even be able to come up with 5? Should i list the things i do? the things i like? my struggles?

I have a million old diaries and just as many documents on my computer: all full of my rambling conversations with myself. They start when i was 8 years old. I got twin baby dolls for Christmas, they came with bottles and rattles. I loved them dearly, but they got old pretty fast. They came with their clothes sewn on permanently. What i secretly wanted was a barbie doll to dress and undress. But Barbies were not allowed in my house. They were immodest and inappropriate. They represented woman in a way that "worldly." Dr. Barbie and Lawyer Barbie would no-doubt fill my head with feminist notions about being anything other than a mommy when i grew up. And that was just not what "God wanted." Hence: the baby dolls.

The Diaries continue throughout my teenage years, there's the time i secretly kissed a boy. He told me he loved me. I thought we would get married some day. when we weren't 12 anymore. The time I got in huge trouble for rolling the waistband of my skirt. We wore them all the time. Pants were inappropriate, which made it Oh-So-Hard to ride a bike. Around 15, my writing grew darker. I was a overweight, I was awkward, I could never do anything right. I knew i would never be normal. The pages are full of anger, pain, desperation, and tears. There's the time i broke the window in my bedroom on accident: I saved the sharpest pieces of glass in a little box. They were perfect for those times when I needed to demonstrate that i owned some part of my life. It takes strength to open your own skin, to watch yourself bleed out, to wait until the dizziness started to take you before staunching the wound. The themes throughout are the same. Torn between who i want to be, who i am supposed to be, and who i am, I lost track of myself. I didn't know what my heart i looked like anymore.

I threw out a few of my diaries, tore out pages i was ashamed of, scribbled out words that showed too much emotion. Looking back, I wish i hadn't. I assume that my thoughts and feelings are a huge part of what makes me, me. I hope that by publishing them in a blog, they will become a story instead of disjointed set of words. I have this silly idea that if i throw enough paint at the canvas, I will start to see something that looks like me. I'm really excited to finally see what that looks like!