Rae's Rambles

Why am I Like This?

I have held off on writing this blog post for a little while now, since the conception, because I don’t want people to think I am playing the victim card or asking for pity, and I especially don’t want people to think it’s a cry for help because it isn’t.
I do, however, want to address the fact that I am weird. More specifically, I want to address the fact that I do not know why I am weird.

You can ask anyone who knows me, or who has known me in the past, and they will tell you that I am ‘weird’, ‘strange’, ‘different’, etc. It isn’t necessarily even a bad thing, it just is, and I am twenty-one now, I have well and truly accepted that I am the way I am, so be it. I’ve been weird since I was a kid, seriously, just ask my childhood best friend (she’s hard to miss, she spent all of high school sneering at me).

My first blog post was ‘Who Am I?’ and ultimately, the point of this blog- apart from being a hobby- is so that I can find out who I am. I can record my thoughts, feelings, past, present and future here, and if me finding out who I am helps others, then that’s great. But ‘who am I?’ isn’t the only question I have asked myself, as I am sure others ask the same of themselves. For a long time, I asked ‘why me?’. Why was I the one ostracised at school? Why was I the one with the unwell mother? Why was I the one with the backwards support network? Why was I the one who lost her mum, who loses all her friends, who likes books more than people? Why am I the one who has to live my life? I didn’t ask for it. I even told my father that he shouldn’t have had kids with our mum, and in some regards, as much as he loves us, he agreed.
I stopped asking ‘why me?’ a little while ago. It did no use asking that question, it just made me angry and sad, and it tunnelled my vision until I didn’t see the good things in my life anymore, and there are plenty of good things to see.

Being Bisexual

This picture is me before my first Pride Parade (2017)

My coming out story isn’t as linear as it is for some, and perhaps it is simpler than it is for others. This is my story, and I want to tell it because I learnt some valuable lessons throughout my journey, and sometimes I had to take my own advice.

I had my first crush in primary school, I would hazard a guess at maybe year 5? She was beautiful and brave and I once thought about kissing her. I pushed the thought away so fast I gave myself whiplash, and I continued to push away the feelings I had until they disappeared entirely by the end of that year. Or, at the very least, I got very good at ignoring it.

Am I a Slut?

I have asked my panda-eyed reflection this many times, and the answer is always different. Sometimes I say no, of course I’m not. Other times I nod my head, yawn and rub more mascara from my lashes.

Don’t get me wrong, I do not think that the word ‘slut’ should mean a bad thing, and promiscuous women have every right to explore their sexuality as frequently as they wish. I also do not hold ill will or judgement over sex workers, so that’s my little disclaimer about the word ‘slut’ before I delve into this blog post.

Growing Up Before Grief

There’s a universe in which my mum grows old and one day walks me down the aisle, or teaches me to drive, or watches me get ready for my first day of university, or meets her grandchildren. This is not that universe.
My mum took her own life when I was fifteen years old, and in some regard it feels like she forfeited her right to those things. Ever since her death I have spoken about what it was like to lose her, to lose someone because of their own decision. The discussions that have surrounded the loss of my mother have always been about the grief and her death, but there is something else that I want to discuss. There is another angle, a gap in the story that I need to fill.
What it was like to grow up with, be raised by, and live with someone mentally ill and suicidal.

Stepping Out of My Comfort Zone

(Or leaping from a safe bubble)

Earlier this month, it was Valentine’s Day (or as my partner at the time liked to say ‘Valentime’s Day’), and I was one of the lucky ones who had a Valentine this year. I was also lucky that my partner challenged me and pushed me to step out of my comfort zone sometimes, and on this one occasion, it was more of a major leap out of my safe little bubble.

I do not like, I even detest, my photo being taken by someone else. I can take a selfie, yet even 5/10 times I give up on that endeavour, and someone else taking my photo fills me with so much anxiety it often reduces me to tears and makes me shake. I know that the picture I will see is not the one I want to see, that the person in the photo is not the version of me that I want to be. I do not see what other people claim to see, so the actual event of having my picture taken is terrifying and oftentimes heartbreaking for me.

Who Am I?

Good question, I am still trying to work that out

Welcome to my blog, and thank you very much for stopping by to have a look around.

I started this blog for a few reasons, namely because I wanted a hobby that didn’t involve joining a sport team or club of some variety. I find putting myself in those sort of situations makes me feel uncomfortable and ends up with me feeling kind of sad. It’s kind of a haunting feeling from when I was young; being the tall, chubby outsider in a very small primary school kind of does things to your long term ability to fit in or feel comfortable in a crowd.
Besides, I love writing and I have always found it easier to communicate what I was thinking and feeling when I can write it down first.

I also started this blog because I am a Media and Communications student in university, majoring in journalism and minoring in public relations. I hope that this blog will be a good base to my online presence and create a home for me to implement the things that I learn over the course of my studies.

The main theme of this blog, or at the very least the theme of me, is that it is a work in progress- just like I am. Which is something to be proud of; something I am teaching myself to be proud of.