Posted by: shellyweave | April 22, 2010

the truth

Internet, I have a bit of a confession. It’s nothing too serious, I mean we all have our quirks, right? Weird obnoxious laughter, awkwardly flexible knees, the fundamental inability to drive stick.

Okay, okay. I’m not even going to try and pretend I didn’t just describe myself. But I have another, slightly less obvious quirk.

I am Pack rat, watch me hoard. Now I don’t know if people pick up on this little habit of mine, or if Meghan just doesn’t bring it up, but I keep EVERYTHING. E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. It’s borderline ridiculous. It’s not to the point where I’ll be starring in my own segment on a reality show (at least not yet, but I can totally see it in my late fifties, crying over the collection of objects that I have poured myself into), but I am talking shelves and shoe boxes of useless crap. Most of said crap ends up taped to my wall among movie posters and film strips from my photo adventures, stuffed into a binder from a previous semester, or tucked into the ottoman I keep in the corner of my room. But I keep wrinkled wristbands, tattered pieces of burlap, a scrap of paper containing a myriad of color that resulted from a spilled bottle of nail polish. Anything that ties to the most simplistic moments.

You can dress it up and make it sweet by calling me sentimental, which I am, but really I just want to remember all of the events and items that have shaped my life and I haven’t enough brain power for all of that. I’m so terrified of losing a piece of myself that I use stuff to hold all the insignificant details that have made up my high school career.

It may be pathetic, but it is awfully true, reader.

I also have another facet of that whole using things to remind me of what’s gone on in my past deal. I’ve made a habit of turning emotionally stressful and traumatizing situations into physical changes. I’ve chopped locks, pierced ears, changed shades and polished with bright hues like nobody’s business. Most of the time it’s a new nail polish color, something just drastic enough to be known to me. But they aren’t always this subtle. I’ve been known to bleach a thick chunk of my red-brown waves, slice nine inches off, or get bold bangs on a whim. I’ve had eight piercings, including the cartilage on my right ear three times, and every time it is a decision that only took me a few nanoseconds to make. Only four of those ear piercings have survived over the years, two of them being the double cartilage piercing I got with Meghan after a particularly dramatic shift in my house last October, and my hair has since recovered from any of the mentioned salon trips.

But I’ve been in a pretty crazy situation with my family lately, the details of which I would not like to post on the Internet. So once again I found myself aching for a shift.

That change was in the form of a tiny, sparkling stud in my nose. My younger sister mentioned that she was heading to a place downtown with our mom to get her node pierced, and for some reason I thought “YES! I’m in!”. Not only did I really want it all of the sudden, but I absolutely adore the tattoo shop atmosphere, and was totally on board just to visit (If you’re wondering, LA Ink IS a staple show in my house). Now don’t get me wrong, I did not intentionally say “this week sucked, put a needle through my skin”. I’ve just recently noticed this whole piercing/hair changing trend. But changing something about myself, like receiving a permanent scar on my nose, will always serve as a reminder to this particular time in my life. It’s not something I want to forget, but it’s something that I might someday, if I can’t see the manifestations. It’s silly to think that something to life-altering as the situation I’ve currently found myself in would somehow fade away someday, disappear like coiling puffs of smoke, but it’s a fear I can’t shake. I never want to lose the strength I’ve found in myself through this, I want this piercing to remind me every time I look into a mirror that I can overcome the transgressions that have been committed against me.

So I think what I’m attempting to do with this blog is keep all of those memories and moments in one place, where one day I can look back on my youth, my crazy years. And by Meghan doing it with me, I can have all of the pieces of her as well. She is my best friend and we are only going to have our senior year together for sure before we start moving on to more adult things and actually putting together the future we’ve only dreamed of so far. This project is my last fleeting hope of savoring this year for all that it is worth. I can’t guarantee that the next time someone hurts my feelings I won’t go out and buy a box of slightly darker hair dye, but this could very well be the outlet I need to pour all of my fears of someday losing this phase of my life into. I mean, I really enjoy putting my thoughts into the extremely public world of the Internet for anyone and everyone to see. Except that was a total lie. I am a person that takes a great deal of time to organize all of the little fragments of thoughts that shoot from one end of the world to the other in mere seconds if I am not keeping them under careful supervision, so writing two posts a week that reveal and expose my innermost thoughts is somewhat terrifying. But here I am nonetheless. Judge me, ridicule me, adore me, but whatever you do, don’t ask me to give up my hoarding habit.

I’m just not ready yet.

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