From the Sidelines

I want to preface this entry by saying that the music lyrics I talk about below are just my interpretation of these words for my life. I don't know what the artist intended, but that's the beautiful thing with art. It's not the art, it's your interpretation of art.

I'm not going to lie, a shit ton is happening personally and politically in my life. Well, politically in all our lives. I attended my first real protest the other day. (I say the other day — it was a few weeks ago.) Thousands of kids were there. Thousands of kids missed school to protest ICE. Kids. Children. Under 18. I decided to tag along as some of my friends were going, because fuck ICE, and the turnout was insane. Adults never get kids.

My whole life I have struggled with adults trying to understand me fully. I was and still am the person who was quiet or talked too much. A pushover but too bossy. Bullied but self-confident. Ever since elementary school I was told I was "mature." I took it as a compliment. Now that I'm looking back on it, I wish someone told me to slow down. I don't think I would have admitted it, but I want to be a proper kid again. (Heh, proper British.) I grew up so fucking fast and now that I'm still "mature" I'm just burnt out.

While I'm writing this a song came on and I want to paste the lyrics here. For me, lyrics say things I can't put into words. It's like that in this case. I'll split it up — this song hits hard. There Are Leeches In Denton Lake by Everybody's Worried About Owen. "Yes, I'm still grieving, that clock never stops because I was alone for so long/And there's a part of me that stays that way, down to the last, the last fucking drop." I grieve the person I could have been. Don't get me wrong, I love myself, but somewhere in the world there is a 6 year old girl playing with her friends not worried about anything. I was watching from the sidelines. I guess that was the start to my issues. I wanted to be included, wanted and still want to be normal. But nothing they did interested me. I want people to think like me. To get me.

"And I'm not saying you made a martyr of me/I just need you to know that I'm struggling." I had one conversation with my parents about me masking. My dad said something like "oh honey, if you think you're masking we can see right through it." They can't. They don't get it at all. I try to keep in mind my dad's also an anxious mess, but he's so in denial about me having any issues. I'm not looking to cause issues, I'm just searching for answers. They don't get it because they don't listen when I try to explain.

"And I'm worried that I'm not in the right place/I'm worried there never was one/Picking up the pieces that have fallen off over the years/I think I'm coming undone/No, I've already come undone." My safe spaces are few and changing. My friends, sometimes family, my room, outdoors. But in every place I go I leave something behind. A thought that never got said. A photo I didn't take. A moment I will inevitably forget. I'm never whole, don't think I have been for a while. As a kid I watched for things that were socially acceptable. I learned through others and my mistakes. This conditioning is buried deep inside me, I don't think it's leaving even if I really tried.

"Did I have a plan or was it all for show, am I faking it all?/If I stop now, then where do I go?" I can't stop. I have to keep going. Call it spite, determination, perseverance. I cannot stop, I'm too scared of what would happen if I do. I have too many plans. Plans A, B, and C. Plans, hopes, dreams when I sleep. I don't stop.

So yeah, this took a different turn than I expected, but I've said shit here I haven't said anywhere else. If you relate, I'm truly sorry, love.

-Quiet District Girl