Rebellion (past): “We are only as sick as our secrets.”
Confession: I’m kiiiiiiind of a hoarder. But there are 2 very valid reasons for this: 1) I’m extremely sentimental and 2) I think about the “what ifs” and decide “okay, one last time. If it’s still in here untouched at the next closet genocide, then it’s out of here.” Validation, Justification, & Rationalization – you subtle foes, you.
About halfway through the purge, I stumbled upon a New Year Mission Statement from 1998 titled “My Way.” I’ll get into that in Skeletons 1.4 but let’s just say the writing was on the wall super early- on sooooo many levels.
By default based on politics, I was to give a graduation speech on behalf of the class. This school did not do caps and gowns, but rather formal attire where the “ladies” wore WHITE* dresses that you needed to get approved first and guys black tie tuxes. At this school, any act of discretion came with a hefty consequence. My senior class started with 41 students and 36 graduated. People still say we were the worst class to ever grace that campus (so I’m told.) I don’t know how I am supposed to feel about being associated with that reputation. But since I have the power to choose how I feel, in the spirit of rebellion, I’ll relish in that notion…for now, anyway.
Speaking of reputations, for this former academy, theirs was sacred so if you’re seen smoking a clove cigarette on or off campus and they find out about it,** consequence. Caught with your shirt un-tucked one too many times***, consequence. PDA aside from holding hands (basically,)**** consequence. Being party to a huge scandal that almost took the school down to a heap of ashes (literally!), consequence. Okay, that last one is both a lie and a truth: I was not party to it but I was pissed at my friends for not telling me. Why? Because they thought I’d blow it for everyone involved. Like I said, the writing was on the wall.
So it’s graduation night and you know what that means: PARTY. But goodie-two-shoes over here isn’t going to blow the lid off that one. No no no. I spewed a bunch of nonsense. I knew exactly what they wanted to hear and I gave it to them. Knocked that fucker out of the park. Again, the writing was on the wall.
It wasn’t the first time I drank that night but that was the night I lost my virginity to my “friend” at the time, who would become my husband 11 years later. It was also the beginning of my 20 year love/hate relationship with alcohol. One that comes with a lot of baggage. Some heavy.fucking.baggage.
Someone who has known me since birth recently said “you can’t live in the past because there is no future in it.” How have I not heard this one before? Thank you, UR.
With that said, it’s time to unload, piece by piece.
Until I find my peace in my future.