Temperaments Lost in Forgiveness

As aforementioned in my last entry, I attended performing arts school for the last two years of my high school career. Let me explain why this was such a crucial time in my life. In regular public school, I got out at 3:20. Most of my former classmates could tell you I got through entire days laughing. It passed time. It blurred my vision (I'm a crier-laugher), thus making a haze that made things more bearable. On the cliché side, I laughed to conceal my pain; however, I did this unbeknownst to myself. What did I have to cover up? There were people I loved going through much worse than me. Two of my close friends, for example, lost their mothers to cancer and even the treatment stage was pure tumult for them. I knew teen moms, sexual abuse victims, and of course don't allow me to forget the trials people around me were suffering that were not to my knowledge. In short, I laughed because I thought I had no reason not to.




It wasn't until I transferred schools and had to sit in front of a computer for three hours a day with nothing but myself and my story, I realized there was more to me than just the surface level, and I began to drown in it. It being everything I was and am. Prior to leaving my hometown, I had been involved in three serious relationships. The first being a confusing, pessimistic glimmer of happiness. The second being short-lived and ending, well, because of me (I promise that will be explored later. Y'all will know my character flaws quite intimately, I assure you.) The third carried over into the first couple of months of MSA, and quite frankly, surpassed the amount of time it needed to.


Do NOT misunderstand any of this. I don't write out of spite. That would make me a weak artist. Just know that I will be honest with myself and others throughout this journey, and if I so happen to make people mentioned here uncomfortable, the posts will be edited as-needed. Until then, here we are.


Where was I? Right. Third serious relationship. Here's the thing about dating in a small town. Everyone knows you, everyone knows who you date, everyone knows what you do, where you go, etc. There is no such thing as a private relationship. There's actually no such thing as a private life in a small town if we're being as frank as possible. Me being me, that doesn't fly well. I don't like people in my business without invitation, and two years ago, I hardly passed out invites. I feared judgment in every spectrum, be it from people I knew well or complete strangers. Thank God I outgrew that shit.


As I was saying, my relationship was quite open to the public regardless of my stance on it. Being back in my hometown for the summer is conjuring up a bunch of faces and emotions that I'd be content not seeing or feeling. Period. This isn't coming from a hateful place. The stank faces and apparent disdain just get annoying. For one thing, I forget people. Not on anything bougie. I just real life don't remember people. I've been away two years, only coming and going on weekends. I don't have a mental filing cabinet of how I know people or knew people because I've been affiliated with so many new people. So when I get the looks and finally put two and two together, I'm just left wondering why people care so much about someone that forgot they existed.


I digress. This isn't even fully about that. What I was trying to say is, my relationships here kept me preoccupied. I had self-made drama to distract me. Same thing junior year. I had a relationship to distract me. It wasn't until my senior year when I realized I had somewhat disassociated from most of my peers and spent a good majority of quiet time with myself, I found out a lot about me that I would've preferred not to know at one point in time. Now, though, I'm grateful for the knowledge.


That being said, I had/have a lot of pent-up anger and aggression that culminated in my reactions to simple things. Arguments with my mom over the radio stations because I blamed her for how my dad treated me. (Again, will be explored when the time is right) Feeling severely abandoned when people aren't where they say they'll be. Feeling ashamed or embarrassed over my sexual identity and choices. Forcing myself into a religion sophomore year to publicly repent for things that were no one's business and that I had nothing to feel guilty about.


All of this, everything, is rushing back to me at once as a friendly reminder that being here was an infection. I grew up with these people, though. Until MSA, they were all I had known. I'm not throwing them under the bus. I did/do love some of my people here. I won't forget they stamped my passport to a place I came to consider home. However, that doesn't mean I'm willing to revert back to a meek form of myself, which means as long as I'm still here with the combination of my smart mouth and ever-present chip on my shoulder, trouble will find me. And I'll combat it head-on. Forgiving and forgetting aren't synonymous.