Identity

DISCLAIMER: MY IDENTITY HAS CHANGED A LOT SINCE I WROTE THIS IN MAY OF 2014 BUT I STILL LOVE THE PIECE AND HAVE DECIDED TO INCLUDE IT HERE. 

Every night as I crawl into my bed, conveniently sandwiched between my two best friends, I think about the person I was when I moved here in August. A picture of me the day I left, standing in front of the suitcases in my kitchen back home in Blackwood, showcases a certain fear and distinct self-loathing that can be sniffed out from miles away. A picture of me on an April afternoon in Amsterdam, sunglasses encasing my eyes and blocking out the secret to the smile on my face as I sit rooted on a carnival ride next to my best friend, shows a freedom and confidence I’ve never felt before.  

This has been one hell of a year and honestly, I don’t know how I’ve managed it all. I never thought I could pack up my entire life into two rolling suitcases, hop on a plane half-way around the world, and start a new life at the age of 18. And yet, that’s exactly what I did in a nutshell, with a few hundred hours of bullshit paperwork shoved in between. I said goodbye to my friends and siblings and parents, and most terrifyingly, my boyfriend and planted myself down in a strange city in a strange country amongst all strangers.  

I was 15 when Shane and I started dating and I poured my everything into him. I loved the way he called me Bear and always kept an arm wrapped around my waist letting everyone know I was his girl. I basked in the beauty of being loved and began to think of myself as Bear. I defined myself entirely as being Shane’s girlfriend. Everyone knew. Shanica. It’s who we were. Who I was. 

But there’s something a bit earth shattering about uprooting your life and replanting it nearly 4,000 miles away from the one thing that keeps you rooted to the earth. Coming to NYU in August was devastating for me. For the first time in three years I had to be me without relying on my other half to show the type of person I was. It was this moment of “oh shit, who am I again?” Because the kids at Highland cared that I was Shane’s girlfriend, but the kids at NYU? Not so much. They wanted to share stories of drama and tension. Stories of travel and adventure and that time junior year when they were on vacation in Aspen and tried coke for the first time or whatever the hell it is that these rich NYU kids seemed to be doing while I was curled up in a ball on a futon in a basement somewhere in Jersey.  

My mom used to sing “Champagne Supernova” to me on Friday nights as I’d lie around on the couch waiting for Shane to show up so that we could close ourselves off from the world in the comfort of my bed. “You’re who the song is aimed at, Er,” she’d say to me, a bit disgusted by how much I was able to resemble our blue couch when I made no significant leap away from it on any given day. “Where were you while we were getting high?” She’d say it almost jokingly, but also pleading with me to experience anything beyond our front door, anything beyond Shane’s fingertips. I wasn’t concerned because I believed there was nothing beyond Shane’s fingertips. To walk further than his nail bits was to fall off the edge of the earth, absorbed by a black hole. 

When he left for Pitt and I for London, I assumed I’d get here and quickly thrive and he’d be the one struggling. I thought I’d grow out of him, which scared me, and intrigued me. But I didn’t. I shut down realizing the reason I was so comfortable and outgoing back home was because I’d known everyone since kindergarten. I wasn’t such a bright and shining star around kids a thousand times more interesting than I. Meanwhile, Shane was making friends, going to parties, and having a blast. I wanted to be happy for him, but mostly I just wanted to feel like I belonged again. Preferably in the comfort of Shane’s arms somewhere in a dorm in Pittsburgh. Much of first semester I wondered why I chose to move 4,000 miles away instead of just accompanying Shane to Pitt and genuinely considered transferring for the spring semester. Was I really about to run halfway across the world just to be with a boy? Was I genuinely that girl? No. 

But I still couldn’t shake this feeling of misplacement. Christmas break only made it worse when I went to visit Shane at Pitt and met all of his awesome friends. I felt instantly like I fit in with them. One of them, Isaac, even came and sat and talked with me while Shane went to class so I wouldn’t be bored out of my mind trapped in a dorm room in -30 degree weather. (Fahrenheit that is, I still haven’t gotten around to learning Celsius.) The guys tried to take me to parties and smoke with me, but I was very much stuck in my “good girl” mentality that I’d picked up somewhere in my schooling career. It made sense, really. Here’s a chubby, nerdy girl who has had glasses since she was six. Obviously, I was the good girl. I was born for the role. It came naturally. Get good grades, join a lot of clubs, don’t do drugs. But inside, I think we were all wondering how long I could continue being this miserable in one of the greatest cities in the world. 

Coming back to London, I tried desperately to connect, but I still couldn’t make myself go to the parties here despite my roommates begging me to go out with them. I’d get dressed up, act like I planned on going, and then at the last minute, decide to stay home and Skype Shane and the guys at Pitt.  

It wasn’t until one night in February when a very drunk Shane told me he’d been lying to me for a few months about something that now seems quite dumb. Destroyed, I wondered how I’d ever be able to move past it. I found myself cutting again for the first time since sophomore year and I knew I needed to find some help again. The scars used to seem delicate and beautiful. A reminder of how easily I could end it if I wanted to. But now they seemed hideous, mocking. I didn’t want suicide to be an option anymore. It was wrong. It was just all wrong.  

I didn’t know it then, but there was a revolution sparking in the galaxies within me. A part of me craving to let go of the good girl persona I’d been clinging to for safety. And surprisingly, when I looked up from my feet, which I hadn’t even realized I’d been staring at for the past six months, there were four girls standing there waiting to help me.  

I thought that all my depression and anxiety could do was cut people out and prevent them from getting to the real me, but somehow I’d managed to build a few short bridges in my time here. And in a rush, everything changed. 

They came like thunderstorms at midnight. Slipped right into my dreams and filled me with a sense of uneasy excitement as my innocent head stayed pressed to my pillow. Summer on their breath and freedom in their whispers, I followed them. And in their tender footprints, I placed my feet and found my home. 

I had spent so long hating myself and resenting Shane, I was physically making myself ill. But my four best friends made sure I got help and then taught me how to let go and relax. They have made me able to appreciate the beauty in my life. The night I found out I was accepted into the Dramatic Writing program, they took me out and we celebrated. Later, as I lay on the floor of another bedroom in a swarm of brown hair and few purple strands here and there, my best friends laughing aloud, their youth framed by a Star Wars poster, I knew I’d finally found what I was supposed to. An identity outside of Shane. Or, in other words, I found myself.  

I am watching my dreams come true. I made it to Paris. I fell in love with Big Ben and my best friends and myself. For the first time since I was nine, I can genuinely say I love myself. I can finally look myself in the eye without crying.  

My identity is a mix of every person I have loved. The list is endless because I fall in love with nearly everyone in my life. I am a pu pu platter of people, my personalities and abilities endless. 

The scars on my wrists are fading and I dream of covering them up with ink that whispers of the strength I have compiled through my battles against utter self hatred and a quiet eating disorder only a handful of people know I’ve struggled with. 

I am still Shane’s girl and likely always will be, but now I know who I am beyond that. I used to believe that he was my best feature, but now, I don’t know. I hear I have nice eyes. 

I am not my scars or my tears. I am not my boyfriend or my friends. I am not my mother or my sister. I am not my acting or my writing. I’m not my glasses or the ring on my left hand. I am not the country I was born in or those I’ve visited. I am a universe, filled to the brim with galaxies. I am infinite and eternal. The world, though sufficient, is miniscule in comparison to the universe I am. My identity is complicated and ephemeral. But I suppose if you had to pin me to the corkboard, the Word Art title would read: limitless.