The new year brings the inevitable ‘resolutions.’ This year I’ve decided to embrace the cliches and try something I have wanted to do since I was a teen.

My first blog post. Honestly, I don’t know where to start, but I’m glad I am. I don’t expect anyone to read this really, but if reflecting on my feelings here I can help one person I’ll be satisfied. I’ve never really had time to really come to terms with everything that has happened to me, but I know my problems aren’t unique. I take comfort in that. My story however is one that’s often met on a spectrum with pity laying on one end and admiration on the other. It’s definitely different, a little unbelievable, but one that shaped me into who I am today. The climax is vague as any number of off-handed anecdotes from my narrative would mark the beginning of the falling action of someone else’s story. Or at least that’s how I feel.

For the good or bad I don’t know. I oscillate between wondering if I am repaying some karmic debt from past life crimes or if I’ve been blessed with learning how to climb from the lowest rung of the ladder to the top. I’ll elaborate on this later but for now, I want to set my expectations low but my intentions high.

My goals with this blog are abstract. I can’t decide if I want thousands of people to read it and expose these people who have failed me in my life, or if the publishing of it will somehow validate my experience. I hope to slowly decipher and decide.

I started therapy on Christmas Eve of 2022. It’s been nice. My therapist is a woman of color, like me. She coincidentally went to my college as a first gen student as well, despite not being from the Pacific Northwest or anywhere near it. I really admire her. She’s inspired me to take more control over my story, rather than the opposite.

Officially, I’ve begun an inquiry into my dark past. I have these dark spots in my memories from childhood. I really need to find out what I don’t already know which sucks. If that even makes sense? I know what happened to me generally, but the details, the names, the dates, I want all of it. I’m owed that. It’s my story, not my abusers, the county, or whoever. Mine.

Alright, that’s enough morose, sob storytelling. I just hope I can hold myself accountable as well.