#tagsaresoweird

[purple-parasthesiac]

An Open Letter to Everyone Who Told me Happy Birthday

Hi everyone,

I didn’t really know how to reach out to everyone that wrote me a letter except to write you all a letter back. I considered doing individual ones -and I will try to reach out to you all individually- but I realized the things I wanted to say to each of you were the things I wanted to say to everyone who wrote me a letter, and by extension everyone in my life who cares about me. 

The message is this: Even though I knew that everyone had only said kind things about me in those letters, it was really, really difficult for me to start reading them. Your letters helped me realize I have some issues I need to work through, and that’s probably the best birthday present I could have received.

My time since leaving Boston has been transformative. I moved abroad, got a corporate job, traveled, partied, laughed, cried, became someone new, fell apart, succeeded, failed. A year and a half out, a lot of the old struggles I faced, especially around my more severe mental health issues, feel like a distant memory. I’m more outgoing; I talk to strangers frequently, go to community events alone, get phone numbers and make friends. I make plenty of art in my free time, the idea of which used to paralyze me with the fear of failure. In a way, I’ve succeeded at most of the things I set out to do after I graduated. I’m only realizing that now. I guess I should be proud of myself?

The problem is that I’m not. I thought these things would finally make me happy, but they didn’t. In fact, while pursuing them I let something ugly consume me from the inside out. Something that stinks of fear.

I’m not sure why or how, but in these last 18 months, I have severed myself from my own internal world completely. I wake up in the morning, and I’m not sure why I get out of bed except for the fact that I “should”. I have so little insight into what I want and need on a day-to-day basis; when I look within myself and ask “what do I want?” or “what do I need?”, all that I find is a murky sludge of shame, self-loathing, and empty, momentary impulses. My head is filled with other peoples ideas, other people’s tweets, other people’s judgements. When people ask me “what do I want to do next?”, my answer changes depending on what I think the person sitting across from me wants to hear, and I’ll believe I mean it in that moment because I have no sense of self to defend. I get angry for stupid reasons, and I can’t say why. When I cry, I have no explanation. And when your letters were handed to me, I freaked out. 

Being known is a scary thing. I spent the first eighteen years of my life not really being known at all: I was a closeted, occasionally bullied kid with severe mental issues and few friends, none of whom stuck around for very long. I am home with my family as I write this, and every time I return I am reminded of the ways I had to contort my body, my personality, and my spirit into such specific shapes to feel loved by my community, my parents, and myself. It is painful to remember, and it rhymes with my present. It feels safe to not defend my pronouns at work, to assure those around me that I “love being a data analyst”, to tell myself and everyone else that I don’t feel starved for connection with a queer and artistic community. I worry that I can’t stomach the anxiety of defending boundaries, standing out, not being satisfied. So I don’t do any of it. I become smaller. My desires quiet because they must. And soon, you don't really know who you are, and you're scared to find out.

It has taken me until today, November 11th, when I finally finished reading the letters, to realize why I was so scared on my 24th birthday. But I understand now. When I saw who had written to me on my birthday, I knew my current state of being would not withstand the power of love. I knew I would yearn not only for my friendships with you, but for the version of me that had built them. It would thaw something frozen in me, and then I would have to face it. It made me feel so vulnerable, pushed towards the growth and change I had spent so much energy resisting. But I’m ready now.  I don’t think the pursuit of authenticity will be an easy or linear one, but I’m glad I’m to be starting a period of my life where I’m at least agreeing to the journey. I’m looking forward to keeping you all up to date on how it goes, whether we catch up one a week or once a year. 

Your letters were filled with so much kindness that it scares me, but it also makes me believe that if I do pursue myself, disrupt my life, let myself be known, I will be loved. I’m so sorry that it took me so much time to read them, and I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to say thank you. Your time and thoughtfulness (especially yours Matthew, for collecting all of these) deserves more recognition than that from me. The best I can do is say it now: Thank you.

Sincerely, 

hp