Who are YOU?!

I found myself asking this question TO myself in those days I laid in bed. Who the hell am I? What am I doing? Where am I going? What is my purpose?

 

Danger: Approaching existential crisis. Please eject promptly.

 

(See, if this were Scrubs, that would be a fantasy where JD's brain ejects from his body to avoid said existential crisis. I can still have fun!)

 

What I didn't expect was someone, namely MFIE, to ask me the same question when commenting on my most previous post. She wanted to know who I was. Not in the sense that she doesn't know who I am, but who I am without the pining interest for a significant other. Who was I...alone? It then occurred to me...how many other people want to know who I am too? How many other people, whether they were female love interests or not, have I been depending on to TELL ME who I am? Who I should be?

 

Well shit...a lot of fucking people. Particularly the people I'm having letting trouble go of in my past...because I thought they defined me. Does your past define you? I'm learning that:

 

No. It doesn't. But I certainly thought it did.

 

There is a rift in my memories. Pre-Firefly and Post-Firefly. I can barely remember significant details of things prior to Firefly UNLESS they revolve around some girl I wanted real bad. I remember my first crush ever.

 

I was 8. In Second Grade. Boy did I start early.

 

Her name was Stephanie. She was the most popular girl in second grade, she had flowing blonde hair, a perfect smile, perky blue eyes, and a score of beautiful friends who frolicked the playground, carefree, just being gorgeous. Even back then, at eight years old, I felt something, an attraction, a need. I was not popular. I wrote this girl notes I would never give to her, when I would try to speak to her no words would emerge...I remember one time I even won a goldfish at a school fair and I wanted to give it to her as a present. My mother even spoke to her mother and was going to drive me over to her house so I could give it to her.

 

But I spilled some of the water in the baggie, and filled it back up with water from the sink. The fish promptly died. I didn't know tap water was bad for fishies. This, as I can recall, is my first crash and burn. The phone call to her mother telling her the fish was dead was tragic.

 

I digress. It's true. My life, at least leading back to the age of eight, has been defined by a series of fruitless searches to find "the one". That perfect companion who would fill me up, give me purpose, and provide me with constant happiness. I've defined myself as a hopeless romantic who is hopelessly and perpetually single or in toxic arrangements, and that's where I'll stay if I continue to define myself as "searching" instead of "being".

 

None of you know this. I have a twin sister. We are nothing alike. We hardly speak unless she needs something. Fact of the matter is though, even before I was born, even IN THE WOMB, I was accompanied by someone, and I spent the first several years of my life with that someone. They say you're born alone and you die alone.

 

Well, I may die alone, but guess what. I wasn't born alone. And, according to an old therapist I once had, the fact that I'm a twin may link to my incessant need for "another half."

 

I wonder if other twins suffer from this problem?

 

I digress again. MFIE makes a fine point. She wants to know, and I want to know, who I am without the search. So, [My Own Voice Over] readers, despite being single for mostly ever, I still...

 

DECLARE INDEPENDENCE!

 

I am my own person. And yesterday when I posted that I felt creative...I meant it. I want to write. I want to draw. I want to digitally paint with my wacom tablet. I want to dance. I want to learn a martial art. I want to channel my energy to create (create being the root word of "creative") because that's what my mind was built to do. Not destroy itself by battering me all day with "I can't, I hate, I shouldn't, I won't, I'm afraid, What if, I'll never" and on and on and on...

 

If I don't express what's in my mind...no one will.

 

Thanks, Katie.

 

-Spontaneous K