In my life I have traveled through a remarkable journey that has left me feeling completely lost in moments, while others I feel uplifted and enlightened. These consistently changing life events have taught me what people desire and how to behave so that society will accept you, even your inner circles. Essentially, I have realized that you can never truly be yourself because of the people you have in your life. This can be at times be a daunting actualization, while other times it provides a sense of security. I know who I am with this group of people so that's okay. One of the major concepts I teach in my courses is the idea of a deviant in the group. A person who is going to go against the group to provide differing perspective, which in turn can spark a more informed opinion of the situation. I was once that deviant. The person who did not live by stability and I conveyed myself in ways that I wanted. As time progressed and I realized it's not about finding your own happiness, but the happiness of others I shifted my deviant nature. I became a social product and thus the self-loathing began.
When you try to become a product of what is conceptualized ideal you give up so many pieces of yourself that you become an unsolvable puzzle. You question your existence or purpose in the world. You begin to wonder what the greater picture of life is meant to bring. Who am I if I am just producing what others desire? Why can't anyone love me for my interests or my being. Why am I different? People care about themselves and their advancement in life. Whether that be in their careers or hobbies they don't want to wait around for you. If you have concerns or worries in your life they will either change it back to their own worries or concerns, or say it doesn't apply to them so they don't care. I've heard multiple times in my life that people "don't care" or that I am not "sufficient enough." My self production has become a product of others not my own. My own craft and skills have been suppressed so monumentally that I have stopped producing to meet others needs.
During the process of this suppression I realized that things I once cared about like my health and mental well-being have suffered tremendously. Yet, even when these "important" areas of my life have suffered they are still trivial to others. Broken leg, no company, no help for 3 months straight oh you should be mentally stable still. Production, production, of what others want is the new focus. This has become the main assumption in my mind that I have not eluded to many underlying problems in my life. I realize now that my mother was the one person I felt I could be Alexis around. Perhaps my brother as well, but not that we are apart I'm not sure how to interact as we normally would. It's challenging to understand who I am in the context of life. I feel as though the person is slipping away as I'm not permitted to discuss my deepest and darkest thoughts.
This blog is disjointed, not clear. It lacks the luster that my old blogs have, but alas I feel as though I have lost my voice. One of the greatest gifts I had I feel has been taken. The amount of conversations that allow me to freely express myself are limited. The once gregarious and fearless girl who would consistently express what was in their mind has contained the thoughts internally. These internal thoughts have not been expelled on blogs when vocalization was not possible. They have sat stewing, constantly being silenced. The loneliness and the actualization that you are in fact alone with yourself (if you even know that you are in fact acting as yourself) has become a reality that I am still attempting to get used to. I wish others cared as much as I do and wished to understand the very nature of that person. I do dream of a day where we can look at someone and know what we must do. I can't carry on this blog. The perpetual thoughts of my voice being a captive in my body is too much to bare. I'm not entirely sure if the words I am typing are coming out as I hoped they would.
I'm hopeless, but not quite optimistic.
