epi speaks: on the point of this blog

by epi

I really want to write something melo-dramatic here.  Something… that makes people run to me.  Makes people call me, and text me, and flood me with a barrage of technological (because who says anything in real life, who says anything heartfelt, anymore?) sentiments.  But I won’t.  Technological emotions are… messy.

I’m not sure what I want.  I say this half emo, half honestly.  I don’t know.  So I came here.  Because I felt both the need to speak, and the need to squelch emotions, I’m writing about something I already understand:  the point of this blog.

What: If you haven’t realized it yet, this blog is nothing more than an attempt to creatively express what it’s like to be an early 20s working woman.  Soon, it’ll be about a mid-20s transition back into formal education (I begin my MSW in August).  The title, I’m hoping atleast, reflects this.  I am here to do nothing more than speak.  Than talk.  Than construct and create and tear down and rebuild.  Everything.

Why: I’ve begun to realize that I am a person who others enjoy ignoring.  Don’t take this the wrong way.  It’s more a reflection on my own character than that of anyone else.  See, I decided a while back (vague, yes… but there was no specific day, no cold moment of here-and-now-there for this transition) that I wanted to disappear.  In my defense, at the time of my decision it was necessary.  I was a foster kid, as well as a very smart, but otherwise ordinary, young woman, and the combination was proving to be disastrous.  To survive foster care, one must be either nothing or everything.  I was neither.  I was ordinary, and worst of all, wanted nothing more than that.  I wanted to be like other people, I wanted to graduate high school near, but not at, the top.  I wanted to go to college, and join clubs and make friends, and graduate with a B-average.  I wanted to meet a boy, marry him, have his average-ly attractive children, get my doctorate, teach at an unobtrusive university, and retire.  But for reasons I have yet to understand, this made me dangerous.  They tried to squelch my dreams.  I tried to disappear.  Eventually I did.  But by then, I’d already left foster care, already survived the crazy-psycho-times, and was ready for something more.  Was ready to not be ordinary, maybe.  But it was too late.  I’d already disappeared. I was already a sometimes-phantom in my own life.  I say sometimes because it seems, I didn’t disappear until I began to talk.

It’s not really about being ignored you know.  I needed to say that.  I’m okay with being unseen.  It’s about being unheard.  I’ve mentioned before that for me, words have power, weight.  To have mine fly in and out of the ears of deaf men angers me.  Even though it shouldn’t.  Even though I should push it aside.  Even though I should realize that my need to be heard, &my subsequent anger when I’m not, is a weakness I can’t afford.  It’s nothing but pointless, inefficient, emotion.  But as much as I desire to be emotion-less, I am not, & so I created this outlet.  Because I do need to be heard.  I do need my words to weigh on someone’s heart.  To linger in someone’s ears.  I’m sorry (to both myself and you) for that.  Perhaps, one day words will be my only emotion.  One day, they will cry for me and laugh for me, and I will be stronger than weak.

Who: Okay, so you already know that I’m 23 & a former foster kid.  From previous posts, you should know that I am black and have a fro.  I have a large family, at times (again, foster kid-dom).  My name is Epi, and I love to write.  I live for words & Words & worship a God stronger than me.  I thank Him for Words&words because I know they saved me.  See?

Where: I’m already tired of writing this.  So I’m not going to tell you where.  I apologize.  I will say that my body lives in no one place, that I move from hot to cold to rainy to arid to decidious-y to palmy&balmy to empty skies that are bluer than I’ve dreamed the color meant to be.  My body calls home where ever it falls at night, because that is all it has ever known.  My body houses me.  My body lacks control over desires, leaks salty liquid from it’s brown eyes, and flushes from embarrassment.  My body is afraid of crowds and public speaking and imposing figures.  My body stumbles over words because I am not patient enough to think them slowly, not loving enough to soothe my own mind.  My body’s heart races too much and there are times when I fear it will kill us both.  My body is brown and sometimes I think that color is beautiful, and sometimes I hate it.  It doesn’t matter though.  Desire alone can’t change what is.  So I am here.  And here is where ever my body is.  And my body goes where ever it wants.

When: Now.  Always, I am writing in my own now.  And you are reading it in your own now.  And that is that.  Now.

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