Watch me do me

I can go off on tangent after tangent, ranting about how 6birds is my blog, my life is my life, and my story is my story.

I can explain how fucked up it is that I’m expected to fucking censor myself because some people that were once in my life are so fucking paranoid—and then go on to explain how fucking ridiculous and out of line it is to have people request from me proof of my online activities demonstrating how I’m not doing anything wrong in their eyes.

(But in their eyes, it would be considered wrong.)

Last year, I decided I was going to make 2015 the year of self-love for myself. I was going to make it official with a series thing, but I suck at those, so I decided against it. (You can blog about how you’re loving yourself all frequently and whatnot, but that sort of regular thing isn’t my forte.) As a part of this self-love thing, I’m working on being okay with myself again. I was once, but then I succumbed to the need for approval of others, because such is what is found all around me; I let people think they could control me and that their preferences took precedence over mine—that it was okay for them to walk all over me.

I don’t care how old you are; I’m done letting people walk all over me.

I’m a strong person. I’ve been through hell, but that isn’t what has made me stronger. What has made me stronger is the way I’ve learned to deal with the pressure—the way I have started to heal.

I’m tired of people saying I’m this and that, especially when they don’t actually know me all that well. I’ve this place, where I invite others into my head space—this blog is the most intimate people are able to get with me—but otherwise, nothing else is known. My family thinks they know me because they grew up around me, but in reality, they only know what they want to of me. They’ve shaped me into this mold they expect me to be, and from that, they determine what and who it is that I am.

I made really shitty grades in school. Where I made great grades, I did such only because I did the work. Yes, I’m pretty good at math, but I never could have been in advanced placement unless I started at a younger age. I do well writing, but it’s only because it was a special interest and I’m really picky. Anyone can pick up a pencil and start drawing lines on paper—just like anyone can go to school and do the work, then get good grades because of it. I know how to build computers and hook up the Internet, because I grew up around it. I know how to make like a mouse and do things without being heard, because I needed to do that quite often. I know how to do what I have learned to do because I either learned them myself, grew up around them and picked those things up, had to, or they were the basics you learn in, like, grade school.

This whole “you’re a smart girl, you just don’t do anything with it” line is a load of crap and actually really annoying. The majority of the time, I use “big” words and have collected enough facts (another special interest) to give the illusion that I’m well-cultured, and blah, blah, blah.

(There’s also the fact that pop culture references, “big” words and facts contribute quite nicely to sarcastic remarks, which I love so, so dearly…)

If the best adjective you can use to describe me is “smart”, you really don’t know me at all. If you think I should do freelance writing because I enjoy writing stories, you clearly don’t know me at all, you don’t understand freelance writing, or you neither know me nor understand what exactly freelance writing is.

I’m not going to not do something because someone doesn’t believe in or agree with it, and I won’t stop sharing pieces of my life because people think this shit should “stay in the family”. Like, if you look up symptoms of abuse, you’ll find lines similar to “keeping things that happen at home quiet from outsiders” and “stressing to keep things all in the family” listed. It should be a choice. People have stories; my experiences become my stories, and as someone who looks to writing as an outlet and a way to express myself, my stories are important. If I can’t share them with others, what else do I do with them? I don’t want to write them in a journal on paper and have them found after I’m long gone, I want to share them now, because it’s a way I connect with others who have experienced similar things.

One bad apple shouldn’t sway someone’s perspective entirely; hating the Internet because you only see the bad that happens on it is like hating guns because you think they kill people. I’m not going to change the entire way I am because one person doesn’t like it; if I’m going to change, it’s going to be because of me. This reminds me too much of the way people think of bullies: If a bully is hanging around an area, others say to avoid them; if the person(s) being bullied don’t avoid that area and instead go near it and get bullied, the victims are blamed—not the bullies—for “putting themselves in the situation”.

I posted to Facebook once about one of my sites bringing some unwanted attention in, and someone said, “Delete it and start over.” This site was a not-so-public one, but it was kind of a big deal in the category it was in, so I explained that I couldn’t easily do that, because my reputation was at stake. They replied, “Then you shouldn’t complain. It’s your fault.”

Is it really so bad to not want to back out of something anymore because people can’t grow the hell up and stop ruining things? The “CAUTION: HOT” warning on cups was put in because a lady got a hot coffee and was burned by the hotness of the liquid. It’s a bad example, but because she didn’t want to just not order coffee and wanted to continue doing something, the future of fast food coffees was changed.

(Or, ya know, something like that. I’m too lazy to look up the case.)

I suppose I did go off on a tangent, but case in point: It’s my life. Micromanage your own life. I’ll be twenty-four soon, and even though I’ve yet to get things all figured out as per some plan others dreamt up for me, I’m doing better than I could be doing, and I’m doing what I believe is best for me.

I’m tired of being cornered into making promises to please people. I don’t have to do anything because you’re ___, because I am an adult, and I am old enough to make my own choices and stand up for what I believe is right for me. If I don’t believe something is right for me, then I have the ability to decline—no matter who you are.

And that? I learned that from the last person so many would expect, because she’s also the one people expect to be on their site—to want to micromanage my life and force me into things I don’t believe in, as if I’m still a mere child.

And I’m just really sick of it.

So, here’s to another year where I try to do just me—again.

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