Elucidation

To be honest, I don't have to explain myself to you.

To be honest to myself, I have some (internal) explaining to do.

Ever since I hit puberty, my life has been a multitude of questions beginning with "What": What do I want to be when I grow up? What is sex like? What am I looking for in a relationship? What do I believe in? Whether or not this is a common stream of thought in all adolescents, I don't know. I like to think, though, that this is part of the shared experience of growing up with my peers.

At 26, I've managed to answer many of my 'what' questions, but the path to my answers has not always been clear.  Sure, it was made apparent to me at a very early age that my life would revolve around music and the written word. While I've had some uncertainties through the years and experimented with other paths, all signs led to those two passions. It is an undeniable calling that I am finally choosing to no longer suppress with fear and outside influence. But this outside influence was answering some of those other 'what' questions.

We are raised by people with their own set of values, and up to a certain point it is all we know. Once we are old enough to make our own decisions, to ask our own questions, we are not a clean slate; we have the bias of a past generation. So, we start out by answering the questions of 'what' based on how we were nurtured. At some point, though, the answers stop making sense to us, and we start asking "Why."

Why do I want to be an artist?
Why do I have this spiritual belief?
Why do I continue to follow social constructs that go against my basic ideas of human life and liberty?

I am at a point in my life where I am constantly peeling away the layers of conditioning I have gathered over the years. Each time I peel one away, I run the risk of putting it back on because I feel too exposed. In some instances, I feel safe in the beliefs I was raised on because not thinking about it is a much easier task than being honest with myself.

I have questioned everything from my sexuality and idea of love, to the ethics of owning a pet and buying canned goods. I found early on that the notion of 'normal' doesn't exist; it's just the way of the masses. I am finding that many of my ideas don't align with these masses, and perhaps at some time in my life, I may be judged and ostracized because of this. I am always tempted to just keep the layers on and suffer in silence.

I am constantly changing, constantly evolving into a person that I will one day be able to look in the mirror and recognize, but I don't feel that right now. The reflection is familiar, like an old photo of a classmate, whose name and relation to you is right on the tip of your tongue. The woman looking back at me is trying to break through; she's trying to break through all the bullshit 'whats' and screaming 'why'?

While it is not an easy task, and I certainly don't have all the answers (where's the fun in that?), I feel a little freer knowing that I made a conscious decision to explore it all and listen to my heart rather than settle for what has been handed to me.

But, to be honest, I don't have to explain myself to you. This is all for me.

~Pusher. Of. Pens.~

Assertive (Or, She has a Pen.)

She had a bad habit of playing therapist. She was the modern sexless sapphire;  the matriarch there to suckle the adult toddlers, to solve everyone's problems.

She watched them talk. She watched as the complaints rushed out of their mouths, like levees breaking, like dams crumbling, flooding her mind, washing away any self-reflection she was saving for herself when she got a moment alone.

Because to them, she was just the girl at the tin can on the other end. She was the Freud, the Dear Abby, the Oprah--ethereal beings that were untouchable, that didn't need assistance. They comforted and soothed the self-absorbed, the emotionally afflicted.

They told her laconically that they wanted to know what she was going through, but she knew better. She knew that once she began to talk, it would always, Always, gravitate/relate back to them. She helped them believe that the world revolved around their melodrama, their fuck-ups, their self loathing.

But things have changed.

She is now purging her life of anything that does not benefit her progress, her comfort, her self-assurance.

That includes those who have likened her presence, her friendship, to that of a therapist's session.

She has no time for one-sided relationships.

She has no time for those who only see her as a "good listener."

You have been mistaken. She is merely a writer that enjoys observing and analyzing the human experience. She will take your stories of self-inflicted woe and twist them into her own beautifully flawed gems of fiction.

Be warned. She has a pen. And she will fucking use it.

~Pusher. Of. Pens.~