don't forget the l-theanine

note: this post was originally from our stillness, a now defunct blogging project.

Another sleepless night—I switched from melatonin to magnesium, but it can only do so much. It's 6 am.

Last month strung a lot of loose ends. I kept running into people from my high school—and people who look like people from my high school. May has my abuser's birthday. I hate that my body remembers to be on edge when that day approaches.

I have a habit of vocally snubbing any ties to my hometown. I think it's the only source of vengeance I have over how it affected my upbringing. There's an addicting source of righteousness that comes from cutting all ties from everyone and moving on. Most of the queer people from our school did so. It's not a coincidence that we remained in touch with only each other.

I tend to associate consistency with stagnation. That retaining any ties to a difficult past indicates resignation and a desire to re-engage. I think that's why I removed over 300 people from my social media after high school and over 50 after college. I think that's why I check to see if people noticed.

Conceitedly, it's almost like a declaration that whatever isolation and hardship that occurs from severing yourself is miles more preferable than the people you were with before. So why do I still say hi? Why do we still reach out even though we know we won't get what we want?

When I was in elementary school and frequented the public library, I found a book written by a former FBI agent explaining how to successfully disappear from civilization and go off the grid. I've been obsessed with scrubbing my footsteps since then. I wanted to be untraceable.

It's a new month now. There will be new people. I will be new again.