What’s behind you

What do you find in your story? They say never look back but I beg to differ. How would I know how far I’ve come if I never looked back. I have been through what I consider some tough shit that I wouldn’t care to repeat. I’ve been lost, heartbroken, broke, empty many times. I have no regrets. Not one.

I’m trying to remember that these days. The reminder that I have made it through what have felt like rock bottoms. I don’t look back on anything with regret. Maybe remorse, maybe embarrassment but no regrets.

The difference today is that I am feeling things for exactly what they are. Raw, tasteful, sexy, invasive, overwhelming, frightening, and most of all completely real. I can tell you this, life seems to get only more colorful. What I mean by that is I can feel things more and more. It used to feel like when something happened and I didn’t like it I would find a way to mute it. Turn the volume down. Blur my vision. What happens when I do that is I create an illusionary experience. Almost a hallucination.

I ran away from situations many times. I did things on my time when I wanted to. I left people hanging and let me tell you my experience with that…. Sometimes when you leave people hanging long enough there’s no coming back from that. I have lost friends and parts of my father too. I haven’t shown up for my sisters either but luckily I get one re-do on that one because they were too young to remember my absence. In order to not feel regret you know what I do? I try harder and I face my fuck ups. They aren’t mistakes or wasted time, they are fuck-ups and we all fuck the FUCK up okay?

Today I show up. If I’m not going to show up I let you know ahead of time and I have a damn good reason for it. I show up on time, hell sometimes I show up early. If I’m not I work diligently to show up early the next time. The biggest thing is show the fuck up. Even if I don’t finish my homework I show up. Even if I am ill prepared I SHOW UP. That is the most important thing. To me, if you don’t show up you didn’t even try and you might as well discount everything else. I could work on my tolerance for others, as it’s very low for those who don’t show up.

I try to remember what I used to be like. Afraid. Afraid of conflict, afraid of being wrong, afraid of being yelled at. I also was a flake and a liar. Here’s the thing. Whether people don’t show up or do a lot of times it gives you this perspective of their commitment to themselves and their own life.

Updates about the meds: It’s day 3 and I’m still not feeling anything which is expected. I wish they would hurry up and even things out soon but it probably won’t be until late March until I feel a thing. Could be even longer. Let’s just hope they work. Fingers crossed.

 

 

Xoxo,
Al

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Author:

I am a 26 year old Japanese American queer cis female who is from the bay area and currently lives in Portland, Oregon with her pitbull named Yuki. She is my pride and joy. I have been sober since 2014 and started to work in the sex industry in December 2016. We moved to Portland about 4 years ago in 2013 and have been learning how to thrive in this grey, wet, yet charming environment of Portland. Three things attracted me to this magic nook on the west coast. Tree tunnels (as I like to call them) that tower over roads swallowing you into a tube of nature, people’s tendency to look you in the eye and ask how you’re doing (with expectation of a genuine answer), and tea houses/coffee shops are a past time here. They say this is the city where 20 year olds come to retire or the city of refugee weirdos who just didn’t quite fit in. My diagnosis of Portland is the city that embraces those who love to isolate and be awkward so if hiding out in your room to geek out on your blog or simply drink tea in your room all day is your thing I suggest you check out what the fuss is about in Portlandia. Although Portland is whimsical in it’s own right it has a major amends to make to it’s citizens of color. It’s been here that I’ve learned the most about activism and politics unfortunately as a result of the city’s non acknowledgement of all of their citizens. The citizens here although progressive in it’s own way participates in it’s own subtle yet powerful microaggressions daily. The city is vanilla to put it lightly. When I am not day dreaming of sunnier days you can find me in a tea shop rambling in my journal about the romantic fantasy of hopping a train or living out of a van, admiring baby doll heads and crooked picture frames, watering my indoor plants desperately trying to learn how to have a green thumb, geeking out on astrology charts, obsessing over Michael Jackson and screaming all his songs, flooding my earphones with Princess Nokia to CocoRosie to Mac Dre to name my top favorites, going to strip clubs, crying, praying, attending pole dancing class and learning a variety of ways to make my beautiful backside bounce, holding hands, blowing bubbles, dismantling the patriarchy, writing a story, a poem or working on a zine. My blog has no rhyme or reason but you may find some of those influences as themes in within my posts. What I do hope to do with my blog is expose myself vulnerably if nothing else as an act of leaving behind a documented record of my human-ness but the truest hope, dream in fact, is to help someone out there to feel less alone. I hope that through my ability to candidly share my rawest sense of self I can help build an online community of witches, activists, freedom fighters, freaks, mermaids, pretty boys, studly girls, theys, and thems.

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