The Last Three Years

Ending the year on an uncharacteristically personal note.

TW // Discussion of abuse, not in depth. Discussion of mental health struggles. You know, the trauma.

Dear Reader,

I have spent most of my life yearning to be 22. No, it’s not a Taylor Swift thing. For as long as I can remember, inexplicably 22 has been my lucky number. I would imagine what my life would look like by the time I turn 22. In my idealized world I would have everything that I had been working for. I would figure out what drives me. I would be living on my own, not dependent on anybody else. I created a fantasy world with no limitations at a young age. With 2022 coming to an end, my 23rd year is crashing towards me like a tide coming to shore… and I’m far from the fantasy, but what I can say is that I’m happy….  Well, who am I kidding? That’s a lie. But, I am happier than I was. Before the pandemic, oddly enough. 

Getting to this point of contentment required me to strip away from my past self. I’m the same person at my core but I had to reflect on who I used to be on a fundamental level. What was working, and more importantly,  what was hurting me. My 20s have been driven by a desire for self-satisfaction that I’ve been struggling to maintain. I feel close to it now. Closer to it than ever.

I started 2020 freshly out of an emotionally abusive and manipulative relationship. It took me a year to process what I had been experiencing as abuse. The more disheartening realization being I had spent the majority of my life being abused or under threat of abuse — whether it be physical, sexual, or emotional. This filled me with a sense of self-hatred and frustration that still often waves over me. How have I gotten so weak that I can’t seem to avoid abuse?

Of course I know that it wasn't a weakness on my part. Never in my life would I imply another victim to be weak. I know for certain that abusers aren’t “strong”, especially not “stronger” than the person they are harming. They are fucking abusers. But being in these situations for so long caused self-loathing that I hope to unlearn in 2023. I see things for what they were now. I felt defenseless because I was. I was a child. I was 19. At the time I thought… you’re expected to magically turn into an adult at 18, right? I thought I knew everything, that I was as grown as I would ever be. There was, and still is, so much more for me to learn. I hope to be learning for the rest of my life. It took a lockdown for me to catch up to where I am today.

I don’t mean to imply the pandemic was a good thing. God, no. I hit some of my lowest points over the last 3 years. I lost family, I almost lost myself. I just mean to say, I don’t think I would be who I am today if I didn’t have a two year lockdown to bring myself here, entering 2023.

2021 was my personal year of rest and relaxation. I didn’t actually do… anything. I’m grateful to have been able to have that year for myself, I know others don’t have that luxury. I turned 21, I got my license, I gained most of my following on Twitter, and it was my first full year not going back to school after deciding to take a still-lasting college hiatus in 2020. Most distressing for me, I realized I had no idea what I wanted. Career wise, life wise, existence wise. Everyone around me was moving, while I was stuck. I posed questions with no contemplation of any answers.

The opposing force being 2022. This has been quite a year for me. Most obviously, I started this newsletter. Using my platform to start this remains one of the best decisions I’ve made. I believe writing to be quite therapeutic, but starting this also made it so clear that writing is what I want to do. I have always known that I love to write, but I never acted upon it or saw it as something that could ever be real for me to do. To actually launch a platform for it? This gave me true satisfaction and clarification. The fact that one person would read what I have to say is fulfilling, 1,000 readers and still actively growing is hard for me to wrap my head around. My writing is far from perfect, but it’s my own. Having such an extreme support system of readers is the most clear motivation for me not to give up on myself. Oh, and it’s currently unpaid, so I got a job, too. This was my back outside year!

Despite all of this positive energy being brought into my life, it didn’t come without expense. Being online in 2022 became suffocating.

Some context : I have spent much of my life with undiagnosed ADHD. Social engagement was noticeably different for me. For starters, I didn’t… talk. My coming-of-age coincided with the rise of social media, so naturally… social media became an essential outlet to me at a young age. It was the place where I could feel “normal”. For a decade of my life, I became dependent on social media. I felt as though in real life I had a mask, and online I could be the “real me”, the version of myself that wasn’t “different”. I found various communities, friends, and they felt more real than any of the friends I made at school. I simply couldn’t see how it could become a negative outlet. No offense, Emily Osment in Cyberbu//y, it just didn’t seem realistic to me.

I see how distorted my view was now. I had been a victim of grooming through various chat rooms before I even knew what grooming was. 2022 has been a necessary wake up call for me and my relationship with the internet.

As established, I am a survivor of abuse. I have never felt quite so unsafe online than when The Trial was happening. It was inescapable. I had encountered days upon weeks upon months worth of death threats, invalidating replies, and harassment. I wasn’t even as vocal about anything as I would have wanted to be, partly because of the anxiety that flooded inside me with every new notification I received. I knew I had to use my platform for what I knew was right. I just wish we were in a place where survivors didn’t have to retraumatize themselves for the entire internet to comment on. I wish internet culture didn’t punish and harass survivors for existing online.

The smaller things would really break me, though. My following was growing more than ever and, though I love the people I’ve gotten to know, it was hard to miss how more and more people just… suddenly hated me. I’m not any type of public figure, but if I made a joke reply to my friends, one person could see it and completely make up a context in their heads, quote my tweet, and lead to even more harassment against me. All while swearing they protect survivors. It hurts more in this context, because at least when I used my platform in an attempt to raise awareness for what is happening with The Trial and its future implications, I knew the people harassing me were just… gross. People saying horrible things about my character just based on random tweets or replies they see from me felt so personal.

The logical part of my brain knew these people didn’t know me. They had never messaged me, for the most part they had never even interacted with me. The people making the most horrible claims about my character did not know what my character was or is. They don’t know two things about me before telling me that they wish I was not alive. Looking back on this Summer, I can see how it never had anything to do with me. Yet, it had been happening to me. All year.  At a certain point, seeing people personally hate me at such an extreme level for what started to feel like every single week for months on end… I started hating myself. I started thinking… well, if everybody that interacts with my account hates me, it has to be me.

In July, I had to take a step back from Twitter. I’m sure an average person wouldn’t have noticed. I still had a public account, I still kept it updated regularly so I wouldn’t lose engagement when I posted my next newsletter issue, but I was disconnected from the app more than ever.

Taking a break saved my mental health. I’m not exactly at my best right now by any means, but I can safely come back on Twitter without feeling as though I will terribly harm my mental health at any given moment. This probably seems like a non-issue to most who use Twitter like a rational person, but throughout the lockdown especially, I had an all-consuming relationship with my phone - Twitter particularly. I never want to be so unhealthily dependent on any social media ever again. Though, being able to open the Twitter app without hating myself is a source of comfort.

There will be days where I wake up and a deep sadness or emptiness takes over me. Or I will get home from working all day and when I get a chance to sit down or breathe, a darkness arises inside. I don’t remember if I had this feeling before. If it always has been in me, or if it suddenly just came about. I don’t know if this is a feeling everybody has, or a symptom of mental illness. I never talk about it, so I don’t know how I would know. It’s not a voice in my head. It’s a pit in my throat that once in a while encompasses me. I don’t bring it up in fear that people will worry about me, or worse, think I’m just looking for attention. That often happens whenever mental health is discussed. You can’t talk about the bad stuff without it being something people can discredit, invalidate, undermine. Maybe I am just being dramatic, but I still want to have the right to discuss it.

Will anybody even read this? I’m not sure. Writing about myself is terrifying. I’ve valued the sense of anonymity I’ve had on this account. It’s a shield I have, but it has also been a block. When I talk about what I’ve been through… why would anybody listen? Why would anybody care? Nobody follows me for me, they follow me for what I talk about. Posting this isn’t going to be for engagement, when I post this it will just be for me. I’m okay with that.

If you have read all of this, you’re probably wondering… how are you happier? In what way? Everything I’ve gone through, every choice I’ve made, every step I’ve taken, has allowed me to get here. I engage with things with a better mentality than I would have engaged with them just last year. I don’t feel codependent on anything. I feel as though I can count on myself. Trauma didn’t get me here, I got myself here with the cards I was dealt. I don’t have to blame myself for what others put me through. I have steps to take within the next year. I’m still healing from old scars, but for the first time I’m ending this year thinking… I can do this. Is that too corny of a conclusion? That was pretty corny of a conclusion, but it’s also true.

22 has been my lucky number for the longest time, but with 23 coming at me faster than I can prepare for… I think it might be time to retire 22. I haven’t found my purpose yet, but I am actually excited to see what comes next. I have never been someone who thought much about my future. I never thought I’d live to see 2023, honestly. Now that it’s here, maybe it’s time to actually start reaching for goals? Start taking control of my own life rather than just being a passenger reacting to what comes my way. I have no idea where I see myself in even just one year, but I want to start thinking about that as I start my transition from my early 20s to my mid 20s. I want to be in a better place than I was before, that’s for sure. A better place than I am now.

(Pictured Above : The final line of Young Adult, starring Charlize Theron. Photo Creds : Anamorphosis and Isolate on Tumblr, Paramount Pictures)