Counting Stars - One Republic (literally only knew the first 2 lines until now, lol)

I'm listening to playlists with songs from 2012, 2013, 2014... my early adolescence, and I feel so heavy. I'm overcome by images of a teenage self that I never was, but that I could have been. Tumblr-worthy room. The colours of my blog both in room and clothes, and me being different. Oddly enough I don't think about parents or whatever, it's like I have no parents. But I have this winged eyeliner, a long bob like I have now, and it's straightened. I look like a pretty typical teenage girl and I act like one. I'm not self-harming, I'm not thinking of killing myself, and I'm not spending my time drawing wolves and furries to cope and put out creative energy almost compulsively. I would likely have been drawn to art still, maybe even made up the same characters, but it would have been different. I would've not stuck to the same things over and over again.

Oddly enough I don't feel like touching 2015/2016: had the early part of adolescence been good, I would've probably remained the same-ish. Or perhaps, given that there was a fracture also at age 15-16, I'll revisit this period later.

I think of my actual self during these years and I see a black cloud obscuring her face. My heart and throat feel heavy and I'm cold. It's so black, so dark, and I'm entirely alone, shivering like I have a fever, starting to get those bloody chilblains that have marked my winters since I was 12. It just evokes total blackness and a sense of pure hopelessness, and that hopelessness makes you want to just lay down and wait for it to either pass, or die. Preferrably the latter because anyway, no one loves you, no one sees you, no one hears you, and no one would ever care. Your body would be reduced to bones and no one would notice. I was dead inside.

I see a child who fades into the background. I wanted so much to be invisible. I would wear mostly grey and black when my skin tone looks pretty good in brighter colours, especially in green, yellow, peach, brown. I was faded out, washed out by these greys and black. They say teenagers wear black, it's normal for a teen to dress all black, it's a teen thing to cut yourself, but no, it wasn't: my classmates were not doing that. They were rebelling against the teachers, laughing, hanging out, having fun even if it meant being a little disruptive. Their makeup was impeccable. Meanwhile I was this insufferable and bitter killjoy who would side-eye them and sigh at their antics. Man, did I actually wish to be as carefree as them, but I was too heavy-hearted to even see joy anywhere.

I wanted to give off a goth girl vibe, be defined by my despair because teens seek identity, but I think this black had something more than that: it was an expression of wanting to fade away, to not exist, to disappear. I felt ugly in these glasses, the braces, and overall like there was nothing beautiful about me. That I was just cursed and that the world would celebrate if I were to finally pull the plug on myself, like a former friend and classmate did back in 2013, except I wouldn't have used a scarf and my bed. Blood would've gushed out, either outside from a cut, or inside from a violent impact.

(Tu me traverses encore l'esprit 10 ans après, Eva. Quand j'aurai mon permis, j'irai sur ta tombe, toute seule cette fois-ci, et je m'assiérai quelque temps. Peut être que toi et moi, si tu n'avais pas décidé de t'enlever la vie, on se serait retrouvées et on aurait pu se serrer les coudes, même si j'ai trop longtemps été incapable de relations normales.)

Hell, I wasn't even very aware of my body and when the first sexual urges started to overcome me and I discovered self-pleasure, I'd do it just to indulge them, because the urges would feel irresistible and borderline uncomfortable. Very mechanical, purely seeking the genital sensation, no emotions or loving my body otherwise associated, I wasn't even allowing myself to fantasize because I had a belief already that it was dirty, perverted, and unacceptable. I mean I was already considered weird and creepy enough and people were starting to talk about sex and how someone fantasizes on somebody, I didn't need any of that. Sex would've been the ultimate humiliation just like my attractions towards women came out in the most brutal, traumatizing and incomprehensible ways. I legitimately had no idea it was attraction at first, I just wanted to be near that one girl and know her somehow, and I just. did not. know. what. was. going. on. No connection to the body. It's only recently I started being more aware of it and actually trying to be present in it. I guess my whole life was lived in a state of low-grade dissociation that could go up or down...

I imagine the me that had a chance. She isn't a popular girl, no real interest in being popular, but she isn't a creepy loner either and has a pretty solid group of girls as friends. No weird rumours about her. No one really makes fun of her. She might even have a first girlfriend. Her colours are not bright, but they're not dark. She ain't a goth or emo girl, has a couple influences, but is mostly this soft blue... She sure is a beautiful girl. She has no idea how beautiful she is. Her enthusiasm was never squashed, she never once had to fear or expect the other shoe to drop. And surprisingly enough, she doesn't have my first name, but the name I use currently, my second. Meanwhile I can't unstick my child self (under 10-11) from this horrible first name. She's literally stuck with that name and projection that was imposed on her.

I'll never be that teen girl, but I hope that somewhere in a parallel universe, where choices were made differently, she exists and thrives, and that in adulthood, she finds a just as beautiful and upbeat girlfriend. I don't know what she'd work as, but it wouldn't change that she's deeply happy, and that she wouldn't do her life over.

So many summer nights missed for me. So many fits of laughter, playful moments, and young love affairs missed. So much jamming missed because I looked down on mainstream pop music when, yeah, it can be nice, sound nice, and I can even like some of it, especially in the right context. (still don't like Maître Gims though, can't help it.) So many friendships missed. Just so much goodness missed because I barely survived my teenage years. Oh, I will certainly build these, a little late yes, in a more mature way though, even if something in me is worried that I've missed the boat, that working will make it impossible for me to have any semblance of carefreeness in my life, that my mother is right, that "you are born alone and you die alone" (these words are enough to trigger deep seated rage in me), that just like her I'll say "back to the graft" when I leave home, that I'll hate my coworkers like everyone else, will feel stuck, and will not be happy. But I don't want to be like her. I want to see the bright side regardless. I've seen enough of the darker side already, I'll fucking die if I keep on focusing on it.

I guess I'm truly grieving the lost years now. I think, are they really lost? I guess I can make up for them, but still. That time won't ever come back.