visible

I've done that thing where I haven't written for so long that any attempt at a new post takes on a disproportionate level of importance, and I continue not to write because I can't think of anything inspired enough to restart with. This is silly, and so I'm going to do daily blogging again for the next month.

This year's been okay, so far. I've danced, I've seen shows, I've made clothes. I spent New Year in Sicily, though that's really not as much of a brag as it sounds. My friend had a baby and I managed to persuade her not to name him Oakley. I'm taking a burlesque course and seem to have agreed to do a performance at the end. I'm signed up with a temping agency, I'm going to Paris next month, and in August I'm moving in with my boyfriend. Life's alright.

It's going to be an odd year. So far I've spent quite a lot of it being angry. I know, I just said that life was alright, and it is. But I've been angry, and being angry on my own behalf is something I'm completely unused to. When I've been mistreated in the past I've always responded with sadness, or fear, or a compulsion to rationalise the other person's actions until it looks like everything is fine, and this hot feeling of how fucking dare you is new and weird, and it has to be said, not entirely unpleasant.

I'm angry at the extended family members who are treating me like a pariah. I'm angry at the friend who abandoned me and is now sulking and pouting as though he's the one that's been hard done by. Having spent my whole life reacting to bad behaviour by assuming I'd caused it and trying to disappear, it's a very sharp kind of relief to know without any hint of a question that this is not my fault, this is your fault. I've been lacking that kind of certainty for a long time, and while I've got no interest in staying angry forever, right now it's giving me back some of the energy I lost last year and I'm grateful for it. Not that I know what to do with it, mind you. I'm still working on getting my activity levels back up to normal, so all my restlessness is getting channelled into sewing; I've made ten garments in two weeks. Which is bonkers. I need to slow down, but I think I'm worried about directing that energy to the places it really belongs.

If step one is realising that this is not okay, then step two is telling people that this is not okay. I've made it my business to be as unobtrusive as possible, to not fight and not complain and not start drama, and the idea of stepping out of that is terrifying. I have an astonishing imagination, and yet I can't hear myself saying "that thing you did was incredibly rude" or "you've been acting like a massive knob and you owe me an apology" or "you are a fucking adult who won't speak to me because I don't want to run around in a circle trying to steal hats off people's heads and that is pathetic" (I have some very specific complaints) without adding something into the scenario to make it clear that it's not real. Like everyone is wearing snakes or it's all taking place inside an orange. I can't imagine any version of me inviting conflict and demanding to be noticed like that. But at the same time, if all the anger stays on the inside, it's going to do me no good whatsoever. I've always wanted to be seen, but I've never wanted to be looked at. One way or the other, that needs to change this year.