This is hard
Welps. Here we are. This is where I stopped writing a year ago. I couldn’t write about this then, and apparently I still can’t write about this now. I had an entire post written up in my mind talking about Yeah, I can’t write it. There’s a block. Something that stops me from fully admitting to myself and everyone around me that I am, and have always been, a mess. Not a mess in the classic sense of not being able to hold down a job or keep relationships, but a mess in a more internal and fundamental way. A mess in the sense that something within me is broken. Well, technically, it isn’t really broken. It’s fine as far as I’m concerned. It makes some things harder. It’s harder to fit in and find spaces where I can be myself, and it’s nearly impossible to meet expectations — and by expectations I mean what people expect to get when they see me. I am, at my core, a misfit. I don’t fit. There are neat boxes in society. Girl. Boy. Gay. Straight. I fit into none of them. I...