When I was growing up I felt like I had to grow up really fast, but the truth is that I was simply forced to bypass growing up; I was never given the chance to grow up at my own pace, and I never had the opportunity to sit down in front of the mirror and see who I was.
When I was seven, my second grade teacher had to sit with me through every lunch hour, making sure I ate at least half of my lunch. I thought I had fat thighs. Who knows where that came from--I look at pictures of myself from back then now, and I don't see that kid as "fat" at all. It's probably because all my friends were skinny, or something.
I had a rabbit named Benny, and a lovebird named Thandi, and my mom had a cockatiel named Tristan and a parrot named Schubert. We gave Schubert away when my little sister was born because he was just a little bit dangerous around babies. Tristan died of old age and I was torn apart. I was given Thandi a few months later, for my birthday, and she was my best friend for three months before she died too, of a sickness she'd had since birth.
My father left for good when I was eight and a half and I'm still trying to figure out what I did wrong. When I was ten my mother met a nice man and so she, my sister, and I all moved to Germany with him. I had to give Benny away and I have no idea what happened to him.
We moved to Vancouver after Germany, where I went to high school. I was kind of a weird kid and I had kind of weird friends. I liked to make jewellry out of bottlecaps and cover my jeans in writing and safety pins. My best friend was named Will; we met every monday for lunch and went on walkabouts.
When I was in grade 10, Will committed suicide.
In grade 12, I ran away from home for three months. Then I came home and nothing was ever the same again. After I graduated I moved out again. I attempted to go to school for a few months but dropped out because I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder and couldn't really handle anything.
As a culminating result of all of these things, I continue to feel jumbled, lost, stupid, fat, ugly, wrong, disjointed, pointless. I know that none of that is true; I just never figured out who Lorelei really is. It was always on the bottom of every to-do list I ever made, and so I've got to finally get around to checking it off. I had to spend so much time dealing with things and accepting things and fighting things and figuring things out that I didn't put any time aside to figure out what I loved. There are a few things I know about myself, but it really is a very few things:
My favourite snacks will forever and always be pickled peppers, which I eat like chips.
I play guitar, but I'm really not very good. I'm a better singer.
I only really listened to my art teacher after I graduated high school, and I wish I'd listened to him before. He has important things to say.
My best friends are my teachers. Other than that, the list is short. It's gotten shorter over time it seems.
I'm terribly impulsive and I think it's gotten me into trouble before and I've wanted to punch myself in the face because of it before. I've thrown a lot of things away before, and I've made a lot of really bad purchases. But deep down inside I know that's because I didn't trust my gut and I decided to veer off the path. I'm going to try to trust my gut on this one:
I think I started this blog because I wanted the world to validate me, to tell me that I was doing great, that that's such a pretty photo and oh, I wish I could be like you. The truth is, though, that the world, all of you readers out there, you're really good at spotting fakes. Right now, that's precisely what I am: a fake.
I could try my entire life through, but I will never be Rumi Neely of Fashiontoast. I will never be Fashionista Extrordinaire. I will never be an amazing blogger. I love to bake, I love seeing people wearing beautiful things and I love dressing up, but I'm never going to have ground-breaking, profound, exceptional ideas to contribute to the fashion world. I'm always going to be behind the camera. I'm always going to be writing commentary on what other people do. And THAT'S OKAY. That's who I am, that's who I have to embrace. I can't expect to create an entirely new person on the internet who is a false representation of me.
I've been looking for people to leave me inane comments that make me feel like a whole, successful, meaningful person. And yet, 0 comments, 0 comments, 0 comments. And that doesn't mean for a second that I am not a whole, successful, meaningful person. It means that my heart isn't in it. Why would anyone leave me a comment saying they love my style when I don't even love it? People aren't idiots. They can tell. And it doesn't matter if you've never met a person before and just happen to stumble upon their little place on the internet: it's easy to spot a facade.
So here's to abandoning something that never really started anyway. Until I start being true to myself, and until I am doing something that truly gets my heart pumping, and until everything feels really and completely truly right, no one is going to leave me a single comment. No one ever turned heads with a dress that didn't fit. I'm going to finally sit down in front of my mirror.
These are my beautiful skull-painted tributes to Halloween because I'm not going to be doing any Halloweeny baking this weekend. I'm on the prowl for a new electric mixer, but so far I haven't found anything that fits my budget. Yesterday, however, I picked up a couple of fabulous new icing tips for future cupcake adventures. Once I get a new mixer, of course.
Rock & Republic Jeans, Alexander McQueen heels, Allison Wonderland blazer
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