This bit here is me defiling the purity of the blank page, so it's done with and the blank space can no longer intimidate me into silence. I seldom see a blank page as an opportunity to recount an experience or weave a tale or write a poem as much as an opportunity to despoil a perfectly good journal that someone could have put to much better use.
This is my place to write down all the dumb stuff that is cluttering my brain capsule. I am a silly girl who talks a lot of shit but just gets angry a lot at the greed and intentional inequality and injustice in a world which frankly terrifies the shit out of me right now.
Having been the kind of person who has spent her entire life assuring that everyone else was happy to minimize conflict and the possibility of being perceived as weird or autistic, I don't really know for sure if I know who I am anymore. My outlook on life has been incredibly bleak for the past few years, so I suppose I owe myself an opportunity to deconstruct the masks and mechanisms that I've had to put in place to function in a neurotypical world, but which have sapped me of the fun, and playfulness, and creativity, and sense of wonder I had as a child. The things which annoyed my parents and were discouraged. I want that back, or at least some of it. So I suppose this is me announcing my intention to go on a cliche journey of self-discovery (“Live, Laugh, Love!”), not just to regain some of the happiness of my childhood, but the authenticity as well.