Who Knows What I Am?

May of 2023. Just a few months from year 35 on this orbital rock; metal, gas and moisture coated planet. I had a startling fact bloom in front of my heart and grip it like a pitcher. Baseball in hand and needing one last strike out to win the championship. Bases loaded and the batter with a full count. Bottom of the 9th and everything is riding on the pitch.

I had been wearing a mask. Not a Halloween mask meant to temporarily scare off terrifying spirits trying to enter me while the veil is thin. Not a face mask meant to soften my skin after being traumatized by Ohio winter winds.

The mask was born of decades of trying to not stand out. Not to be too different on the outside where you become a target. Just different enough to take one step outside of the normal shuffling body’s milling to and from.

In recent years, we have many laying claims and to gender identity and sexuality. Even, resurrecting ones that history forgot or giving names to ones with less clear distinction.

At 15, I suspected that other sexes also appealed to me. It was not just “boys” as they were known in 2004. Women could catch my eye and I would visually appreciate their wares. Beautiful curves, soft sloping shoulders and vulpine smiles.

But I wasn’t out and I wasn’t sure. Was it an appreciation of what my own figure didn't hold? Was it a recognition of features in a collective that made this person attractive? I was confused.

Over fifteen years later, I find my self on a dating application geared towards woman and previous AFAB (assigned female at birth) folks in search of similar parties.

I met this woman that was intriguing to me. She was smart in streets and on paper. A rarity I'm finding in recent years. She was tall, not much when you consider my meager five foot, three and ¾ inches. She was a full six feet and three inches. She made me blush at her attention and bite my lip as I considered if she wanted to get to know me better.

A faithful, hateful day in May made me reconsider everything I knew about me. She told me that it felt like I was telling her what she wanted to hear and not what was really me. She felt I was just wearing a mask.

It was at that moment, that simple grain of sand in my hourglass became a singular stretch into an infinity of confusion. I was baffled because I knew who I am. Who I came from and who I was growing up to be. So I thought…

So I had foolishly perceived.

I stopped messaging her. Ghosted her fully and doubled down on me. Spent time trying to reconnect to my inner most self. That person that made me who I was. What I had not considered was how much time I spent trying to pass in a society that didn't think young girls could present with mental health disruptions like ADHD. Many would wonder “what does ADHD have to do with your sexuality, let alone your Identity?” Absolutely everything.

I have spent 20 years trying to just pass as a woman that is a bit quirky, a lot nerdy with a deep love of anime and Japanese culture. I appreciated many body types, but never touched out of trying to not draw attention to me. Wanting to fade into the background like a shade loving plant forced into full sun. I’m not thriving, I’m barely surviving but, I’m too damn stubborn to consider being unalive. That is not who I was. I don't believe that's who I am.

Years spent trying to focus on homework after school just to not understand what my notes were telling me. Years of taking detailed notes and copying examples verbatim only to look at them hours later and they look like alphabet soup. No order, jumbled like a word search or tiles in a Scrabble game.

Time spent trying to clean a space but either being met with crippling anxiety. The fear of not accomplishing this one seemingly simple task that is a part of normal people’s lives. A criteria to be an adult sufficient in adulting.

Or, if the anxiety doesn't lay me out flat, the executive dysfunction chimes in. Time spent having my brain screaming and planning what I need to do in order to accomplish a simple goal- clean my room or do my homework. Simple tasks but the body is not complying with the requests. The brain is reading the daily To-Do list but, the body is hiding under the covers and refusing to take action at being productive. Brain is busy, body is not and neither are happy with it.

Hearing the various murmurs of how “you’re so smart, don't waste it. You should go back to college.” Or the comments of “Just because you don't want to do it, it's got to be done,” when it refers to chores. Constant statements with various verbiage of “She is really bright and she will go far if she would apply herself,” or “She is so gifted but she has to get over her laziness if she wants to succeed.” Statements meant to boost morale and rally the troops, but packs me down with the tastes of failure and the reminders that I’m not enough.

Then this delves into the more personal depths.

Is this keeping me from meaningful relationships?

Are these flaws too much for anyone to voluntarily take on and embrace?

Is my mental health the real reason I’m lonely?

Am I’m too hyper fixated on things that don't strengthen a relationship?

Or is the academic and relationship failures symptomatic to my brain scattering everywhere; a doom rave for the squirrels partying instead of steering my nut house in and out of self-depricating harm?

This was the moment I had to really sit down through the tears and think hard.

At one time, identifying as bisexual seemed right. Seemed to make sense… until other gender identities became a topic. I found myself asking one of my sisters “What is the difference between bisexuality and pansexuality?” At the time, one was showing a preference to both sexes where as the other was not so much the sex, but the person themselves. For a period, that made the most sense. It seemed that pansexuality gave me the fluidity to love who may love me no matter what sex or gender identity they lived as.

Keep in mind, these sexuality questions have been weighing heavy on me since at least 2018 with the best that I could say is, I'm bi curious or heterosexual with gay tendencies. It has evolved into a response of “I'm not straight.” But as to what I am, that was still at the development stage. As time went on, the words still didn't fit. The shoe length was good but the width is a bit snug.

If I'm being honest with myself, I'm trying to still work out the education side of this equation too. I want more but I’m scared to fail in college, especially after I fought to take classes and even failed one of the two I attempted. Stunned that my native language could show me just how much I couldn't possibly gather; how much I didn't understand. Yet, my course in Japanese awarded me with a B. Not too shabby for this little crabby.

Even with the time I sat down and started figuring out my love language, I learned something new still. I love physical touch. I like being hugged or given head pats as a sign of affection. And I love quality time being spent with me. Recognizing that I want to share space with someone I care about makes me warm and gooey like a fudgy, chocolate brownie hot out the oven.

So, after only twenty years, I think my identity is a fluid path like a new river carving out its space in rugged terrain.

I’m a cisgendered, black woman with Afro coily hair. A rich, natural dark brown with many fairy lights shimmering a wise silver. Lightened ends and mid lengths colored a raspberry plum to catch the eye.

I am a nerdy girl that loves Japanese animation and young adult fiction. I have been called a book dragon because I hoard books. They are neat on the shelf and remain there until I find time to read them all. P.s… if someone finds a way to donate me time to read my books, I'll greatly appreciate it 😁.

I am an amateur writer that is trying to rework another book in progress while trying to flesh out another testing my synapses.

I'm an extroverted introvert whose social battery never charged above 17%. I can socialize with others wearing my trusty mask until I'm home. There, I shuck it off like the husk on an ear of corn and expose my softness. Sit calm in the quiet while the repetitive clicks of my nails tap on my phone screen. Tapping made from the feedback of my fingers pressing buttons, my chunky frame curled up with my treasured plushies, and video game contently.

I am a feral gremlin when stressed and no eye of the storm can be found. Fueled by caffeine, determination and pure spite, I weather the storm because I have to. I am the mast the sails hold on to as we push on to the end because there is no turning back. My spirit and bodily crew have no choice but to press forward, the thought of failing again is more crippling than the potential damage.

I hold the title of Aunty BB to kids that I love as if they were my own. Kids that may be my cousins, but in my eyes and heart, will always be identified as my nieces and nephews.

I identify as a work in progress, kissed by time and touched by higher spirits. Every step I take is a new path I carve out like a work of art waiting in a block of marble. Each word I speak is the beginning of a new chapter to a book unfinished, heavily being revised as new information is uploaded. Each breath I breathe inhales new opportunities and expels unanswered doubts taking up precious space.

I am a poly sexual woman that hopes 2024 comes in with wisdom, grace and mercy.

Wisdom for the older fool that waited to live their youth. Exploring each facet of this barely cut ruby in the rough. Many faces to see the world through and perspectives to entertain.

Grace to know that I'm a work in progress and that everything I start may not go to my plan. It's not for me to determine in the grand scheme of things. I have to learn how to recognize when bowing out is the better decision.

And lastly, Mercy. I need to show mercy to myself. Extend that kindness to myself when my internal monologue goes from a running checklist of things to do, shifting into a recount of things I failed. A gentle hand on my own shoulder or back to offer comfort when the inadequacies line up to cast their judgement.