Checkpoint 1

I wrote this in early 2021. I re-read it (and edited it) today. It all still holds (mostly) true (surprisingly)(lol). 

This is a checkpoint.

I'm trying to use this in place of "finding myself," which I believe to be an endless task of scrambling through life unsatisfied with every version of myself that comes into fruition. I've just now decided that establishing consistent checkpoints feels more right than self-discovery as this be-all-end-all-final-true self.

I believe I do, of course, have a true self, but that self doesn't necessarily need finding - it is always there. It's just a matter of whether I choose to listen to it or ignore it. And that truth is also bending and curving and growing and breaking and consistently changing with my learning and experiencing of the world and people around me and the things I decide to do to fill my time. I hurt it and nurture it depending on the day, but, at its core, no matter how I treat it, it is an unwavering, solid force that stands far beyond any earthly experience. 

To try to "find" it is an impossible task. To stop, to check in with it, to see where it is at any given point of this experience is something that will (ideally) bring a truer sense of self and wholeness. Nurturing, listening, accepting, and challenging it as regularly as possible is how to embody it. 

I want to work with it, not act as a separate entity hunting for it.

That said, here are the results of today's checkpoint:

I am a human tangent. I am a run on sentence person to my very core. 

I am a type/write/scream/run away/throw mashed potatoes against the wall to express my feelings rather than speak person. ANYTHING-but-speaking person. 

I call myself the queen of procrastination because I have a (very unhealthy) addiction to instant gratification. 

I am a person who hates starting every single sentence with the same selfish word.

I. 

I am a think-about-too-many-points-faster-than-I-can-get-them-down-then-completely-forget-all-of-them-and-get-mad-at-myself-for-losing-so-many-brilliant-ideas person. 

I am usually one breeze away from a panic attack.

I have been a liar for people pleasing purposes, but I am really working on that. 

I am sometimes a hypocrite due to prioritizing the mental wellbeing of those I care about over my own.

I call myself the black sheep of my family but I have never been able to fully pinpoint whether or not I actually believe that's true.

I am a person whose love language is making fun/being made fun of because I grew up that way. I have never been sure whether I think that is a healthy attribute. 

I am not a decision person.

In my very core, I want people to be completely uncomfortable with the way I express myself. In my everyday life, I act as if the opposite were true out of sheer terror of being perceived by other human beings at all. 

Currently, there are a lot of things that I do not like a lot of things about myself, but I choose to widely ignore those things because they make me uncomfortable. I know that logically this has the opposite effect. 

I am a person whose brain is flooded by far too many thoughts far too much of the time. The biggest, scariest ones being the ones that anxiety feeds me through a tube, attempting to pass them off as natural and inescapable. Part of my brain knows they aren't, the rest swears they are. 

I have a million and one different laughs, and I think they are all obnoxious, but a lot of them probably aren't.

I have a lot of skills that my brain refuses to recognize as such (even with precious, precious external validation), but I have been working on that, as well. 

I am a two-step, one-pot dinner person because I have better, more interesting things to do with my time than inevitably winding up with a subpar meal, when one from a box or freezer will do. (But cook for me and I will love you forever.)

I make shit for people that none of the recipients ever ask for, but those who do ask will never actually see the painting I promised them eight tuesdays ago. (My creativity is selfish in that it doesn't let me spend its energy on ideas that it did not concoct itself.)

My fingers love to write for the feel and the aesthetic, but must click ferociously on a keyboard if there are important ideas bursting through the front doors of my mind. (My chicken scratch is both illegible and incredibly displeasing to look at.)

I make some amazing art (by my own standards, which has taken a ridiculous amount of time and acceptance to say) and I make some horrible art (by my own standards, which helps to balance the unwarranted guilt I feel for believing in my creative abilities). I love making all of it, and I know that definitively. 

I need a hands-on creative project on the go at all times to combat my depression, but it can't be too hard or take too long lest my creative brain get bored and doze off. (It takes a long fucking time to wake it back up, let me tell you.)

I believe to my very core that every single person that does, has ever, and will ever exist on this planet is creative, and I WILL die on that hill. 

For some reason, I just remembered those Geromino Stilton books that we read as kids and the way they captured my attention with the use of colourful and funky text. 

I am a short chapter reader. A short episode watcher. My friend recently showed me a novel they're reading that just goes straight through - no breaks, no chapters. No thank you. 

I am rarely a book finisher. I'm aware every day that my fleet of neglected bookmarks may very well be plotting revenge against me. My only chance for escape being to recount the endings of the books they've long been paired with. My demise is imminent. 

I am a doodle concentrator. I am a god-awful note taker. 

I am a very rapid subject changer. But I am also a go-back-to-the-story-you-were-telling-before-I-cut-you-off person. 

I am a forget-the-end-of-my-sentence-halfway-through-my-sentence person. 

I am a WHAT-THE-FUCK-IS-THE-WORD-I-AM-THINKING-OF-THAT-FITS-THIS-EXACT-CONTEXT-and-not-satisfied-with-any-replacements person. 

I am a sing-to-every-single-song-that-I-know-even-one-lyric-to person, and I have long dreamed of singing in a stadium full of millions of fans (but, dear god, I never want to be known or seen). 

((((I love parentheses))))

- and dashes - 

I am a sit-in-the-very-back-of-every-single-room person. 

I am a person who has not realized until this very moment that I cannot POSSIBLY expect to fit every single nuanced aspect of my personality into a google doc. 

Let alone the aspects of who I used to be, who I want to be, or who I will be tomorrow.