A (Very) Late Introduction
Hi, I'm Jess. Or Jessie, or really anything that isn't Jessica. I've been writing on this blog for roughly a year and a half--although the location changed about a year ago. Since everyone who I show this blog to knows me already, at least for the most part, I never really introduced myself on here because I figured it was redundant. However, over the last year and a half, a lot of things have changed. Like. A LOT. That's to be expected, I guess. As a person in their 20s, I think it's normal to feel like "self" is ill-defined and ever-changing. That being said, I do want to give something like an introduction, if only so I have a more overt record of who I am right now.
So, this is me.
When I was little, I believed deeply in magic. I was pen pals with the toothfairy, I wished on stars and dandelions and eyelashes, and I often looked out my window hoping to catch a glimpse of Peter Pan. I jumped off chairs, trying to fly, and I thought if I tried hard enough I would grow a mermaid tale when I went swimming.
Basically since I could string sentences together, I have been a storyteller. When I was two, I would dance to any song I heard ever. By three or four, I was making my parents act out my favorite scenes from Disney movies. At five, I was making up my own melodies and lyrics. I've been writing songs and poems and fantastical stories ever since I started writing. Even though visual art has never been my main medium, I've gone through phases of painting, sketching, scultpting, photography and design. At the very heart of who I am, I am a creative. That has always been true, and though I am sure of very little, I am sure this will remain.
One other thing I am sure of is that I will always be a spiritually-minded person. My religion and faith is at the crux of who I am. I was born into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I remain an active member of the congregation today. While faith isn't something that is important to everyone, it is everything for me personally. Relgion is one of the only constants in my life--it has always been what I can turn to when I have questions, when I am in pain. My Savior is the only person I can rely on to know precisely what I feel and what I go through. I struggle talking about what I believe online, but I do believe in the Gospel of Jesus Christ, in the concept of eternal progression, in the reality of continued revelation--both generally and personally.
I am highly empathetic. When I was little, I would cry during "Where is My Hairbrush" in Silly Songs With Larry because I was sad that Larry was upset about not having hair. Last week I cried because I couldn't pet a dog because of social distancing, but the dog didn't understand that and just kept trying to escape its owner and come say hi to me. I feel deeply, and I am easily influenced by the emotions or energy of the people I am around. I am not comfortable being happy when other people are sad. To be perfectly honest, I am not super comfortable being happy about something if it doesn't make someone else happier.
I started showing symptoms and signs of anxiety when I was two years old. By the time I was in third grade, people my age were starting to notice (and make fun of) the fact that I was deeply sensitive. I cared about everything a lot more than I was supposed to. I was obsessed with doing the right thing. I cried a lot. I worried a lot. No matter what anyone told me, I was convinced that the only way I could be "good" was if I was perfect.
When I started high school, I also started attending therapy to address my anxiety. A year later, I started seeing a psychiatrist. Around my junior year, I had a nervous breakdown and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. At the end of my senior year, I started taking ADHD medication. I have lost count of the weeks and months I lost to my own illness. It became impossible to believe in anything better than the pain I was experiencing. I had always been taught that I could hope for a better world, but it seemed like a cruel joke to look toward something I was becoming increasingly convinced couldn't exist for me. I had long since given up on magic, on happily ever after, on even finding something good in the person I saw in the mirror.
For a long time, I was unwilling to talk about my mental health. When I was growing up, it was still a super taboo topic, and to some extent, it still is. I feel weird talking about how deeply depressed I used to be, and I still don't feel super comfortable talking about things that are still hard now. I worry that I am going to sound like I'm overgeneralizing, or promoting toxic positivity, or on the flip side, that I sound too sad or serious. I have done my best to tread the line of being open and oversharing--but it feels impossible. Someone is always going to think I am saying too much, and others will privately feel like I am not doing or saying enough. I still feel like I have to do everything.
However, I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that I am not capable of solving every problem I come across. Over the course of literal years, lots of therapy, many breakdowns, and a lot of heartbreak, I am starting to learn how to accept help. I have been incredibly blessed recently with some incredible friends who are patient with me as I learn how to trust them with more than just my story; as I work on trusting them with myself.
At the end of the day, I am not a sad person. I have traumas and fears that I have to work through, and things are rarely easy, but I remain optimistic.
I have made it through everything I thought would kill me, and though it has not left me unchanged, I still recognize myself. If I look closely, I can still see the little girl who believed in ball gowns and fairy godmothers. I hope she knows that she did find magic eventually. It turned out a lot quieter than she thought it would. It wasn't so much a shower of glitter and the appirations of glass slippers, nor did it vanish at midnight or the end of three days: instead it takes the form of a steady hand to hold in moments of pure excitement, it is a campfire in the spring, a long drive with family, it is the miracle of seeing someone and loving them imperfectly and having that be enough to be loved in return. It is in the quiet majesty of the stars, and the comfortable silence between people who know they have nothing to prove to each other. There is magic in the deep breath taken before speaking something true, in the fact that we can cry from any emotion, and most of all?
There is magic in learning what it means to be you.
So, this is me.
When I was little, I believed deeply in magic. I was pen pals with the toothfairy, I wished on stars and dandelions and eyelashes, and I often looked out my window hoping to catch a glimpse of Peter Pan. I jumped off chairs, trying to fly, and I thought if I tried hard enough I would grow a mermaid tale when I went swimming.
Basically since I could string sentences together, I have been a storyteller. When I was two, I would dance to any song I heard ever. By three or four, I was making my parents act out my favorite scenes from Disney movies. At five, I was making up my own melodies and lyrics. I've been writing songs and poems and fantastical stories ever since I started writing. Even though visual art has never been my main medium, I've gone through phases of painting, sketching, scultpting, photography and design. At the very heart of who I am, I am a creative. That has always been true, and though I am sure of very little, I am sure this will remain.
One other thing I am sure of is that I will always be a spiritually-minded person. My religion and faith is at the crux of who I am. I was born into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I remain an active member of the congregation today. While faith isn't something that is important to everyone, it is everything for me personally. Relgion is one of the only constants in my life--it has always been what I can turn to when I have questions, when I am in pain. My Savior is the only person I can rely on to know precisely what I feel and what I go through. I struggle talking about what I believe online, but I do believe in the Gospel of Jesus Christ, in the concept of eternal progression, in the reality of continued revelation--both generally and personally.
I am highly empathetic. When I was little, I would cry during "Where is My Hairbrush" in Silly Songs With Larry because I was sad that Larry was upset about not having hair. Last week I cried because I couldn't pet a dog because of social distancing, but the dog didn't understand that and just kept trying to escape its owner and come say hi to me. I feel deeply, and I am easily influenced by the emotions or energy of the people I am around. I am not comfortable being happy when other people are sad. To be perfectly honest, I am not super comfortable being happy about something if it doesn't make someone else happier.
I started showing symptoms and signs of anxiety when I was two years old. By the time I was in third grade, people my age were starting to notice (and make fun of) the fact that I was deeply sensitive. I cared about everything a lot more than I was supposed to. I was obsessed with doing the right thing. I cried a lot. I worried a lot. No matter what anyone told me, I was convinced that the only way I could be "good" was if I was perfect.
When I started high school, I also started attending therapy to address my anxiety. A year later, I started seeing a psychiatrist. Around my junior year, I had a nervous breakdown and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. At the end of my senior year, I started taking ADHD medication. I have lost count of the weeks and months I lost to my own illness. It became impossible to believe in anything better than the pain I was experiencing. I had always been taught that I could hope for a better world, but it seemed like a cruel joke to look toward something I was becoming increasingly convinced couldn't exist for me. I had long since given up on magic, on happily ever after, on even finding something good in the person I saw in the mirror.
For a long time, I was unwilling to talk about my mental health. When I was growing up, it was still a super taboo topic, and to some extent, it still is. I feel weird talking about how deeply depressed I used to be, and I still don't feel super comfortable talking about things that are still hard now. I worry that I am going to sound like I'm overgeneralizing, or promoting toxic positivity, or on the flip side, that I sound too sad or serious. I have done my best to tread the line of being open and oversharing--but it feels impossible. Someone is always going to think I am saying too much, and others will privately feel like I am not doing or saying enough. I still feel like I have to do everything.
However, I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that I am not capable of solving every problem I come across. Over the course of literal years, lots of therapy, many breakdowns, and a lot of heartbreak, I am starting to learn how to accept help. I have been incredibly blessed recently with some incredible friends who are patient with me as I learn how to trust them with more than just my story; as I work on trusting them with myself.
When I was seventeen, I decided I was going to live. A month ago, I decided I was going to pursue being happy. That has been a much harder choice, because in order to be happy, I have to let myself feel everything--even the things that hurt me. Those who know me probably assume I already feel everything, considering how obviously emotional I am, but the real challenge is to let myself feel whatever I feel without being angry with myself in the moments I am unhappy. This is not going to be easy, but I am stubborn--when I make a choice, it's nearly impossible to dissuade me, so I'd say the odds on me keeping this promise are very in my favor.
I am happiest when I am with other people. I have learned the value in being alone, but at the end of the day there is very little I would rather do without someone to share it with. I love having pictures of my friends and my family, and whatever I go and do, I embark with the intent to share it. I have a deep desire to bring light into the world around me. There is enough darkness, and I have spent enough time there. I am intentionally goofy and dramatic, and I feel an intense satisfaction when I make someone laugh. Sometimes my humor is too dark, or I rely too much on self-deprecation, but I do see value in taking my own struggles and making them lighter.
Art is still at the center of my life. If I can create something beautiful--or at least interesting--from my experiences, or if I can make something that translates how I see and think into something someone else can understand, then I can find purpose in my sorrow, in my joy, in my two am wonderings. I think one of the most worthwhile things we can learn is how to step into someone else's shoes, and the first step in doing that is allowing yourself to be seen as well.
No matter what has happened, I remain impossibly curious. I am still incredibly hopeful. Hope is often very scary for me, but perhaps the most frightening aspect of it is how relentless it is. Despite the number of times and variety of ways I have been hurt, I continue to seek for something more. I am still looking to experience somehing better. The depth of my hope terrifies me--telling people about the things I dream about often feels akin to pulling the pin on a grenade and letting it sit in my hands. But I hope anyway.
There is still so much I want to do with this life. Despite the fear that follows me, despite my own limitations, I love deeply and widely. I am not always good at showing that--being open in my affection often feels like an invitation to get hurt. But I do care, so much. There is so much I find beautiful, and so much that seems worthwhile, and I am hoping that means I will be able to see that same beauty and worth in myself some day.
At the end of the day, I am not a sad person. I have traumas and fears that I have to work through, and things are rarely easy, but I remain optimistic.
I have made it through everything I thought would kill me, and though it has not left me unchanged, I still recognize myself. If I look closely, I can still see the little girl who believed in ball gowns and fairy godmothers. I hope she knows that she did find magic eventually. It turned out a lot quieter than she thought it would. It wasn't so much a shower of glitter and the appirations of glass slippers, nor did it vanish at midnight or the end of three days: instead it takes the form of a steady hand to hold in moments of pure excitement, it is a campfire in the spring, a long drive with family, it is the miracle of seeing someone and loving them imperfectly and having that be enough to be loved in return. It is in the quiet majesty of the stars, and the comfortable silence between people who know they have nothing to prove to each other. There is magic in the deep breath taken before speaking something true, in the fact that we can cry from any emotion, and most of all?
There is magic in learning what it means to be you.
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