With my semester kicking into high gear, I've had the chance to really sit down and think about how things have been going for me. I must say, they feel like they're going well. I still feel like this is where I belong at this point in my life, and that this is what I should be doing for the interim. I'm enjoying learning about myself and about the environment around me, since it's all still so new to me.
I've also let myself think about me, about where I came from and where I've been for the past nine months. Surprisingly enough, it isn't nearly as difficult to think on as I'd thought it might be; if anything, it's been rather easy. I've come a long way since that night in December when my parents told me they didn't want me staying in their house, and each day I grow that much stronger. It used to be that remembering that night would make me tear up, now I can think of it with dry eyes. I sigh a bit at remembering it all, but nothing terribly painful. It just feels like a waste, of sorts. I wanted that parting to be a better one, not one influenced by Dad and his temper tantrums. But sometimes that sort of painful separation is the best way to break free, lest one remain complacent for too long.
Or worse. Some of you might note that I often jest that I'm too 'stubborn' to die. I still believe that of myself, but I also know that, had I remained in that environment much longer, I would have been another statistic. Even if all hadn't fallen apart, even if I had managed to remain there until I began CSUN, it wouldn't have mattered. The thing was, being there was making me compromise my own nature, it was making me be someone I couldn't keep on being. And that sort of life hurts, it hurts a lot. Had I stayed, I would never have made it to CSUN because I couldn't keep holding in that kind of pain while living that kind of lie.
You know what sucked about those first several months? If you know me well enough, you know I tend to be a rather bright, cheerful (or at the least mellow) individual. Those first five or six months? I. Was. Depressed. No, literally. I was literally depressed. Depressed, grieving, and struggling to pull myself back up to where I needed to get to. The problem with that depression is it was so subtle, and it was intertwined with so many other things that I couldn't even identify it until I distanced myself from it by a few months. In the process, I didn't take care of myself as I needed to, and I made a LOT of mistakes. I took things that weren't mine without asking, mostly out of fear and prior manipulations. Any ability I'd previously had to ask for my needs to be met was intimidated out of me because it was 'inconvenient' for me to have needs. I was in a lot of pain, and I was struggling to get from zero to sixty, as it were. I wasn't happy as I was, but I didn't know at the time how to fix myself, or how long it would take. Could I have done better? Maybe. I did what I could with what I had and the capacity I felt I had to do it with. I accomplished a few things that helped me along the way, and so shaped me now.
I really don't have regrets. Regret implies that I wish I hadn't gone through things because they were unpleasant for me. And yes, there were very unpleasant things. But I learned from them, so why should I regret them? The negatives turned into positives in the end, and they helped me to get to this point, so I really can't regret them. What I can do is acknowledge them for what they were, acknowledge that there were things I could have handled better or done differently, forgive myself for what I had control over, and move from there. That is what I have a say in, and that's all I can do myself. Acknowledge, learn, forgive myself, and keep forging ahead. What others think of me in that regard is irrelevant, as I have no control over that sort of thing.
I'm not afraid anymore. A little nervous at times, yes, but not afraid. I've learned a lot about myself and what I can do. I'm not who I was, and yet I am. I'm not judged for who I was, as I was back home. When someone sees me for the first time, they don't think 'Oh, it's the Chiropractor's daughter', or 'Oh, it's Stephanie's little sister'. I'm seen as just me, and that's fine with me. I'm judged by what I do for myself, instead of what the 'fishbowl' expects me to do.
From here, who knows? I just wish this path didn't feel so lonely sometimes.
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