I Am A Leopard And Those Are My Spots

Rebooting is a double-edged sword (she said, mixing a reference to modern computers with an ancient metaphor about an archaic bladed weapon).

On the one hand, my operating system and programs are loading back in. I’m feeling things I hadn’t felt in so long that I had forgotten what they felt like in the first place. I’m remembering my life, and myself.

On the other hand, I’m remembering my life, and myself.

I know who I am. I know that I sacrificed what I wanted and tried very hard to reshape myself into someone new, someone that could live the life I believed I was called to live, and be satisfied with that life.

I gave it my very best, for a ridiculously long time, and I failed. I know who I am and I can’t reshape myself into someone else and be satisfied that way. I can’t live a life I hate and love it.

I march to the beat of my own drum not just because I want to but because it’s the only beat I can hear.

The combined pressure of my parents, my Bible, my churches, my fellow Christians and my culture, applied in an isolated, impressionable youth couldn’t reshape me, couldn’t change the drum beat.

My own not inconsiderable tenacity and force of will couldn’t reshape me or change the drum beat.

I’m not the right size for the box I was handed, and I never will be. I can destroy the box, or it can destroy me, but I can never rest comfortably inside. (She says, having now used leopards, computers, swords, drums and boxes in one short post.)

I was royally fucked over trying to be someone I am not, and now it’s going to be a fucking pain in the ass creating a life that accommodates me as I am and not as anyone else wishes I was.

Oof.

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