Find a life of your own.

The first time I ever came out was in a tumblr group chat. Well, it was not coming out per se, for I had just discovered that I might have feelings for this girl but I didn't know how to categorize them, so I just wrote a text about this situation, ending it with "does this mean that I'm... bi?". Thankfully, the people on there (if any of you read this - hi!!) were really helpful and supportive and just said I don't have to label myself, that I should just wait and see how my feelings towards this person evolve.

So I did. And they became stronger. So strong, that I figured it would be good to tell somebody I personally know. So I told this girl called Julia, which I had met that same year on tumblr and with whom I went to a concert a few months prior because it felt safe. She had only known me for a bit so it was less scary, I guess. I think I texted her something along the lines of "I might have feelings for a girl".

When I came out to my best friend over the phone, I still couldn't bring myself to actually say the words "I'm bi". Again, I just told her that I caught feelings for someone of the same sex but that was it. Even when I came out in person to what was my first girl crush, I still couldn't form the words. "I think I don't only like men" was what I said. I still vividly remember this because before that, I had been struggling to bring out the term "bisexual" for around fifteen minutes, until I eventually gave up and settled with this.

Why am I writing all of this when I practically already summed it up in my "how I knew I was bi" post? Well, because I have recently become aware of the fact how difficult it still is for me to out myself. Don't get me wrong, when I'm out with my friends, I practically throw in the word "bisexual" so often that you'd think labelling myself as such comes easy to me. But it's actually not. I'm still not out to the majority of people in my life. Yes, okay, for some I have valid reasons, but I think for the most part I'm just hesitant to them possibly, as a result, changing their view of me. Or maybe being a fraud after all, what if I'm straight and I imagined it all, then I would be another stereotypical bisexual who reinforces people's notion that bisexuals don't exist and are actually straight!! (to sum up my thought process)

This has become painfully aware to me when a few guys had flirted with me over the past few months. Afterwards, I always told my friends "this is so silly, I'm not interested in men at the moment anyways" and they were like "well just say you're only into women, who cares". Or how I thought about just sneakily and indirectly telling that dude from my photography class that I'm currently dating someone. Like, I'd just need to say something like "Oh, my girlfriend and I thought about going there, too!" (PSA that we're not girlfriends yet but she's the only one I'm interested in, alas, it is actually not that far from the truth) and last week I had the perfect opportunity to do so but I just. Didn't. I couldn't physically form the words "my girlfriend". Not only because they're not 100% accurate, but because that'd mean that there's one more person knowing about my secret, one more way my road back to "normality" is blocked.

And I know that's fucked up. I LOVE being gay, like I don't wish I could go back to when I thought I was straight. But I'm so terrified of people thinking of me differently because of something as actually unsignificant as my sexuality. And then I become obsessed with that thought and I mentally go through a list of people I know and think about how they would react and how they woud see me and judge me after knowing I'm bi and I just get so stuck. And I wish being proud of who I am would just come more naturally, you know. I don't know.

Maybe I just need to realize that it's okay to be scared, but it's even more important to keep going despite it. To find the happiness you've been searching for. I think.

xxx Sarah

Sometimes I feel like I'm two people in one.

One of them is out and proud. She doesn't give two shits about men trying to flirt with her. She wears her rainbow flag like a uniform that shields her from all the negativity in the world. She doesn't care who sees her holding the hand of the girl she's in love with and she certainly doesn't care about not being "the norm". She loves dressing up, wearing her smile like an accessory which protects her. She loves singing at the top of her lungs, no matter how bad she is at it (trust me, it's really bad) and she loves striking up conversations with strangers if she finds they have the same interests. She isn't afraid to show her emotions, she cries in front of others the same way she doesn't hold her laughter back. She speaks her mind and doesn't hold back on her worries for she knows that talking about them is the only way to get rid of them. Or at least lessen them. She doesn't care about her parents and the expectations of this world and she knows that she is loved. Oh, she's so incredibly loved. She doesn't question her kindness or her "realness" and she loves getting excited about kittens and puppies.

But then there's the other person. She's insecure. Really insecure. She's scared that the girl she's holding hands with might leave her when she finds out about the depths of her soul. She's scraed that she's just being played with again, that she's investing into something with no future, that she's investing more because she always does, and she always ends up being hurt again. Fear isn't her pet but her significant other she cannot let go of. She's scared of telling other people about her sexuality, she's scared that they will hate her for it and that she will end up all alone. As much as she wants to be with a girl, and as much as her vision of the future doesn't really hold a place for a man in terms of romantic relationships, she's scared of the judgement. She is terrified of not knowing whether the person that sees her kissing her crush will threaten to kill her just for being her. She is terrified of losing her family. Her friends say that she will have to choose her love life over it, and she knows that they are right, but still she cannot let go of her parents. She knows they exert a shitty influence over her life and her mental health but she cannot deny that she loves them. In her own twisted way. She's terrified of being homeless, of being cut off from money. Of never finding a job that helps paying her rent. She's scared of her friends finding new, better people to connect with and forgetting about her. She's scared that her fear will eventually eat her alive (if it hasn't yet). She wants to be out and proud, oh so desperately, but she knows it's just a farce, a game she's playing that couldn't be farther from the truth. She wants somebody to hold her and tell her it will all be alright. Despite it all. Despite it all.

These two versions of me are fighting. Girl one screams at girl two to stop being such a scaredy cat and to start owning up to her truth. Girl two starts crying, and sobs that her worries are way too big to just ignore. Girl one wants to comfort her but girl two is scared of people getting to close, of getting to comitted, or even worse, too dependent upon anyone else but herself. She likes isolation because she feels like this is what she deserves.

How do you unite two forces that rip each other apart?

Dear 13 year old me,
Hey there. I have pretended you don't exist for many years now. I have pretended that person wasn't me. And to be honest, I sometimes I still feel like it. But today I found a picture of you. And I felt this urge to tell you some things, things I wish you would've heard back then. No, this is not a lie or play pretend, I'm not ignoring your struggles. Please hear me out.

You were so innocent. Naive, some would say. Fuck that. I love your naivité, and I love your kindness and your big heart. Those are GOOD traits, not bad. No matter what the world tries to make you believe. But you got stomped all over and you are sad (in my opinion, you should've been angry, but that's okay, you never liked conflict. you still don't do - spoiler alert!). You think no one gets you and you think no one ever will. You listen to sad music to keep yourself afloat. You try to remember the good things but they seem to fade into background noise more and more. You think it's all your fault.

It was not, and IS NOT, you fault. You didn't do anything wrong. You protected a friend, you told the truth and that's all you could have done. And those people who don't believe you? They don't matter. They want something to gossip about. They want to find something wrong about you, because you have been kind to everyone and so your kindness must be fake, right? They make you feel as if you should be less. Less excitable. Less talkative. Less you. And so you cave. You think you are not worthy of people treating you with respect. You actually think you're not worthy of anything at all. And if you could, you would sink into the ground and never resurrect.

And I get that. I'm not ashamed of you for hiding, for just wishing it all away. I'm not ashamed of you becoming silent, because that was your way of dealing with your feelings. What I want to tell you is that IT'S OK. You shouldn't feel bad for feeling the way you do. Let those emotions wash over you. (one day, they will just be a distant memory, I promise)

You deserve the world. You always did. And people not seeing that is their mistake. But you will find friends that do. And they make the people who treated you like shit disappear. You won't even think of them anymore. You'll laugh at how petty they were while at the same time honoring your roots. This is your past, your story and you will slowly learn that you do not have to be quiet about it. You do not have to pretend it was okay, because "maybe I just make it worse than it actually was, like, others have it so much worse". Yeah, they might have it worse. But your experience is still valid. Scream the names of your bullies from the top of the world. You do not need to protect them. They should be held accountable for their actions because it. was. not. okay.

I also want to tell you that it gets better. It really does. The sunshine will slowly return to your life. It will be hard and you want to quit more often than you want to admit. But you have to pull through because the spring is worth it. Laughing with your best friends about being so sleep deprived you cannot even open a box of chocolates anymore is worth it. Going to your first concert and finding your home there is worth it. The feeling of being surrounded by your favorite people at your birthday is worth it. Running outside with your best friend because the first snow is filling the streets is worth it. Falling so utterly in love with a girl you can't even think straight is worth it (no matter what your parents tell you). Holding hands, hugging, music and the feeling of your favorite author publishing a new book is worth it. Getting out of school and finding out it's actually not as scary as you thought it would be is worth it. Being where you are, right now, is worth it. Despite it all.

If I could only tell you one thing, it would be this: I love you. So, so much. I'm sorry for not telling you sooner.

Yours,
19 year old you.

When I was 12 or 13, I was a pretty outgoing girl. I was fun to be around and I had a mental list of my favorite jokes to tell to new people I met. I loved wearing neon-colored clothing and I had just discovered what make-up was. I had also only recently moved to a new town with my family due to my father's job and even though I didn't feel a real connection with anyone at my new school, I felt pretty at easy with how things were.

When I was 12 or 13, I went to mess every Sunday. My father worked at the church next doors, which was connected to our home through a dark basement corridor, only blocked from our house through a small door we, however, kept open at nearly all times. At mess, there always was an extra program for the kids to which I went to until 2014 when I became to old for it. I had a friend at church, we'll call her Susan, and I always got excited when she was there for the mess, because that meant I could play with her during the kids program.

One specific Sunday, I think it was in winter, Susan was at mess and we talked and chilled as always. After mess, we stayed in the room where the kids program was held and just ran around or something, I don't really remember what exactly we did, but I do remember that we had a lot of fun. For some reason, there were deflated balloons lying around the place and we decided we wanted to inflate them, just for fun, you know. While we were doing this, a man from our church entered the room. He has a mental illness. Anyways, he entered the room and offered to help us with inflating them, he had a ball pump that would make it so easier and he'd go grab it. My friend and I already were uncomfortable. Maybe it was due to his mental illness, I don't know, or just the fact that a grown man interrupted two little girls playing.

He came back and we started inflating the balloons. Susan was still there so although I was extremely uncomfortable and would've liked to run away from the situation I was currently in, I told myself it's okay, Susan was here with me and it's also not okay of me to judge this man just because he has said mental illness. But then, after a while, Susan's mum showed up and said they were gonna go now, so Susan said goodbye to me and left. Left me alone with that man in that room. Now I was starting to get really scared. I wanted to leave. I tried to find reasons to leave. Reasonable reasons. I didn't want to say "I'm uncomfortable, I want to leave". I didn't want to make HIM uncomfortable. I also thought that maybe he wouldn't understand, he'd say it isn't a good enough reason.

I don't remember how it came to be. My mind is completely black between Susan leaving and the situation happening. All I remember is at one point, I was trying to inflate a balloon with the pump, but I was too weak, so he sat down on top of me. On top of my shoulders. And pushed me down. I was terrified. I wanted him to get off of me. I froze up. He kept sitting on top of me (I'll never forget this moment). My parents were upstairs. They wouldn't show up any time soon to pick me up. I felt helpless. And I felt ashamed of myself. For letting him do whatever he wants with me but also for already thinking I am a victim and what was happening was not okay. He has a mental illness, I told myself. That's just how he behaves. Accept it and move on.

Eventually I quietly told him some made up lie, about how I still need to get some homework done, and he let me leave. I ran up to our guest room and laid on the bed and immediately started crying. I couldn't comprehend what had happened to me. I didn't WANT him to touch me, that much I knew. But why did I then let it happen? Didn't I consent by not saying no? My mum came home after a while and I roughly told her about what had happened. She laughed and said I shouldn't worry, that that man has a mental illness and it's just the way he is, nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about. The mantra I have been telling myself for years.

The following Sunday, I was scared. When I left the room the week before, the man had said we could "repeat this next week". I was scared I would be alone with him in this room again. Helpless. I never left my mum's side that Sunday. And the following Sunday. And the following Sunday. And so on. To this day, I am terrified of going into our house's basement alone. I always think he'll somehow turn up. We'd be locked in this room again. And he'll touch me again, but this time not only the upper part of my body but everything.

Half a year after these events, I was walking home from school. I had a terrible day at school, people were calling me names and I was sad all the time. I saw two guys walking towards me, with a smug grin on their face. They were maybe two, maybe three years older than me. As soon as I saw them, I knew what would happen. I felt helpless. I ignored their stares, pretended I didn't exist, speeded up my pace so that it would be over soon and maybe then they would be quiet and wouldn't say anything but they did. "Hey, you lush hoe!". I froze up internally. I forced a smile. I walked past them. I pretended it never happened. Again. It's a compliment, I told myself. You should feel honored. Or they're just dumb and it's stupid you're getting upset over such a small thing again. This is how it is supposed to be.

This is how it's supposed to be, is what I told myself many more years. I repeated it like a mantra every Sunday when I was at mess, and I saw that man, and he stared at me lustily (he still does. every Sunday. it never ends.). I told myself it's normal to be anxious when random men were walking past me on the street, looking at me greedily, and I thought maybe they would touch me the way he did, because men can take whatever they want and leave and that's just the way it is.

Then I suppressed it. Until like a year ago. When I read sexual harrassment stories, that event never even came to my mind. Never. And then it did again when Taylor Swift's sexual assault case was a big topic. And #metoo. But I shrugged it off. All he did was to sit atop of me, and he has a mental illness after all, I said to myself. My mum was probably right and it is not a big deal, I'm blowing things out of proportion, it's not worth sharing, I'm taking away the light from REAL survivors of sexual assault. I should just shut up about it.

But the thing is, I cannot shut up about it anymore. I cannot shut up about it when that situation still impacts my mental health. I cannot shut up about it when I still think every man I meet will eventually assault me. That's just how men are. Boys will be boys. I cannot shut up about it when it has impaired every chance at a romantic relationship with any man ever. Because after a short while I got scared, I thought they would touch me against my will like that man did, since all I was taught was that my body was an object I had not control over. I cannot shut up about it when it has made me choose horrible men to fall in love with because I thought their shitty treatment of me was all I deserved. I cannot shut up about it anymore. I don't have the energy to keep quiet anymore. I cannot. I simply can't.

When I was 12 or 13, the world I was living in was maybe naive, but I wish I could turn back time and prevent it all from happening. Somehow. I don't know.

Just trying to find a life of my own I guess.

xxx Sarah

Hey there. It's time for my annual post I guess. Honestly, I have done some thinking the last few weeks and came to the conclusion that I don't know if I'll keep making these every year. I mean next year I'll probably do, because I'll hit five years but then I'll just see how I feel. (this is just a short psa at the beginning).

I've also been doing some thinking about how to even start this post. Do I even have the right to post this when so many people are doing worse than I am? and do I even have the right to post about this when I feel like I've been lying to you guys about my mental state for quite a while? I don't know.

But let's start at the beginning.

I have always been very vocal about not just sharing the good sides of my life on tumblr. Tumblr, for me, was always the social media platform I was completely myself on, shared everything - the highs and the lows -, it was one of the few, if not the only social media platform, where I felt I don't have to make my life look prettier than it is for the sake of impressing people. But my blog grew massively last year, around the same time when I started getting worse again.

I of course have touched upon this in my 2018 recap post, but it still didn't feel completely honest to me. I was in a really bad place mentally, so bad, that at one point I started questioning whether I still am "clean" anymore, whether I can still proudly celebrate May 19th without feeling like a liar, and a hypocrite, since I have so clearly been doing worse and worse. Who am I to say that it gets better when I couldn't see that flicker of hope for myself? Who was I to make posts on here ending on an optimistic note when my life was currently in pieces?

For me, the second half of 2018 was a whirlwind of a lot of dark days. I don't think I have truly been myself during that time. I mean I was there, and I met up with friends, and I posted about exciting new things that happened in my life on tumblr, posted selfies of me smiling and beaming as if I was doing great, but it never really felt like ME. I lost my grandparents last year. I lost a friend who meant everything to me. I had to come to terms with my sexuality, while simultaneously figuring out ways to hide it from most of the world. I got my heart broken by a girl, ran after her, not noticing I was chasing a ghost, and placed my value into what others thought of me again. I was deeply insecure. And I felt like I had been lying to myself as well. I always complained about how no one ever notices my progress, how everyone still seems to think that I'm that scared little 13 year old girl being bullied by most of her school, especially her class, again. What I didn't realize was that part of her still clinged to me. Of course, your past is important and is always a part of it, but what I noticed that instead of taking the time to actually work through what happened, I just stayed quiet about it and pretended this was what healing was. Told myself the numbness I felt when thinking back about it is me being okay with it, me making peace with my past.

And I was angry. I didn't think I could hold so much anger within myself. I was angry at my friend who dumped me. Angry at my parents for the way they are. Angry at them for being the main reason why I can't trust any men and why I keep quiet just so that nothing can be twisted against me. I was angry at whoever is the head of destiny or the universe or whatever, for putting me in the position I was in. And I was angry at myself, for failing time and time again, thinking it was still self love I was practicing.

I didn't realize that loving yourself doesn't mean pretending that you can never do anything wrong, but acknowledging when you hurt people and making amends, saying sorry. Loving yourself also doesn't mean screaming over your thoughts, keeping yourself as busy as possible so as to not give them any attention, it's about making time for yourself, time to structure your thoughts and feelings and figuring out where they are coming from. Loving yourself isn't keeping quiet about the things that weigh you down, protecting people that don't deserve protection for what they did was horrible, just so you don't have to face people who might think your pain is invalid. It's about talking to others, not closing up to the people who only mean well, who genuinely love you for yourself. Loving yourself is taking steps out of your comfort zone, daring to wear brighter clothing again, daring to go up to people and start up a conversation, daring to express your thoughts.

I'm at a better place now. Not fully, but I am recovering, and I feel like my mind has returned to my body and it's actually me who's talking and making decisions again. And a lot fo good things have come out of that painful phase of my life. I'm closer to my parents. I understand why I am so freaking secretive about everything happening in my life, coming from a household where problems are dealt by remaining silent and pretending they don't exist. I am extremely close to my best friend now. She's my best friend, but for so so long I still would've kept most of my feelings about things to myself, being scared that she might dump me if I do tell her. I have a better grasp of who I am, where I stand and where I need to start. Where I CAN start.

So am I allowed to post about being clean, when last year was such a hard time for me? Yes, I am. Being clean doesn't mean never having bad days again. It doesn't mean that I'm not allowed to cry and crumble and shatter and scream anymore. It means balancing the two of them, fighting time and time again. And even if I was feeling bad, that doesn't change the fact that getting clean in the first place was a huge achievement. I DID THAT. I had help, but I was the one who picked myself up. I was the one who said "enough is enough" and started working on myself. You shouldn't belittle something just because it isn't as picture perfect as you thought it would be.

Some of you guys have known me since before I got clean. Some of you I got to know when I was in the middle of picking myself up again. Some of you I only met recently. But one thing remains: No matter how big my blog becomes, or who follows me, or who knows me, most of you support me. And tell me when I'm wrong. Which is good, too. And I like talking to you so much, I get teary-eyed whenever anyone ever sends me a nice message or compliments me. Some things never change after all, I guess. So thank you again. For sticking with me through this journey. Even when I got more distant. Thank you for staying until I started emerging on the brighter side again. "don't read the last page but I'll stay" - the same goes to you. Thank you.

And this wouldn't be a celebratory post about being clean without thanking Taylor. Because she is the reason why I felt seen in the first place. She is the reason why I met so many amazing people. She is the reason why I feel like I can keep moving forward, because she keeps moving forward, no matter what life throws at her. Taylor, I know you won't read this, and that's okay, but I just wanted to say that I love you. Thank you. For everything.

I'm really intrigued to see where I'll be next year. Who I will be. What I've learned and what I've lost. And I hope I will still be as proud of being clean as I am today.

Still trying to find a life of my own,

xxx Sarah

(yeah, I know, long time no see again - or *insert gif of Madison from American Horror Story saying "surprise b*tch, bet you thought you'd seen the last of me*. I just tried getting my feelings out through writing poetry lately but sometimes it just doesn't feel exactly right so I'm gonna try to post more on here again)

Sometimes I feel as if I am a trainwreck waiting to happen. Okay I know this sounds terribly romanticized and cliché, like the posts we all used to like whe we were like thirteen and felt like everyone around us including ourselves hated ourselves. Or, if you stan Lorde as much as I do, this reminds you of A World Alone, but that's besides the point.

Okay, maybe it's not that I really am but that I regard myself in that way. And I really thought I had gotten over that by now but lately this insecurity of mine seems to creep up on me again similarly to that American Horror Story gif (seriously - it suits so many situations, wow! thank you internet for your endless supply of reaction gifs).

So, here's the thing: I used to have reaally big problems with jealousy within my friendships. And by big I mean gigantonormous problems. Like on one birthday of mine, I went climbing with my best friend and another friend of mine. Mind you, that was at the peak time of my insecurities. But I actually kind of snapped at both of them, because they were getting along so well that I feared that soon they will find that the other one is way cooler than I'll ever be and they'll be best friends and I'll be left behind. I know it's stupid, but that's how my teenage brain worked. And although I comparatively got better at handling this jealousy, it hasn't vanished completely yet. I always want to be everyone's closest friend somehow and that's so dumb because the other way round, my closest friend is and always will be my best friend - talk about double standards. And I still feel this pang of jealousy whenever I introduce one of my friends to another one, as if they're now going to leave me. I actually talked about this with my best friend recently and she said that she had the same issue but by now she has accepted that she can't be everyone's closest friend and somehow that made me feel a little bit as if we're talking about a race and she's right at the front while my knees still give up after just a couple of metres of running.

And, to come to the title of this post, it's probably still because of my thoughts about myself. I know I am pretty weird (not like, Jughead in Riverdale weird, like I don't mean it to make myself "cooler" or anything, it's just something I have learned to accept). I know that oftentimes I cannot articulate my thoughts properly, that I'm the clumsiest person you will ever meet and if I don't at least once blush when I'm talking to you, something is seriously wrong. I know I've got issues with being vulnerable, even with my friends, I know I let things get to me too easily and that I overthink more than it's actually healthy, and that I have a complicated family and that sometimes I try to avoid conflicts so much that I actually feel worse about myself. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. I mean, it's good to be aware of your flaws, but I do think I am incredibly hard on myself in that way, but I can't turn it off because so many people I thought were my friends actually did just that: left me for somebody who was "cooler" or "more chill" or just everything I am not.

It's an even bigger issues when it comes to relationships. While I have never been in anyone to this date, I do usually overthink every action of every person that ever even remotely flirts with me to the point where I push them away before anything can ever happen. This is especially worse with men. Maybe it's a "you gotta leave before you get left" mentality, to put it in Taylor's words. Or maybe I just watched To All The Boys I've Loved Before too often, or maybe also Pitch Perfect and the scene where Jesse is disappointed in Beca. But back to my point. My point is, that I'm so scared that they are going to leave me, that I put up walls before they even have so much of a chance of getting to know me. Or I just straight up ghost them. And I'm aware it's unhealthy and actually making my life more miserable than it actually should be but I just cannot seem to stop.

That's why I have been thinking about this a lot lately, and have come to the conclusion that while I seem to crave for a relationship, I truly and really wouldn't be ready for one. It's not fair of me to get someone's chances high if I eventually leave anyways because of my anxiety. And yes, that sounds terribly depressing, but I just can't help myself.

Maybe I just need to find a way to healthily deal with my fears. Or realize how stupid they are since I know that my friends love me. Sometimes I just forget to remember it. I don't know. Until then, thank you for coming along on my journey of trying to find a life of my own.

xxx Sarah