Confessions (Pt. 1)

Here we go… we’ll revisit the whole “my dad died unexpectedly, and I didn’t know just how much it would affect me until I realized I’m smoking too much weed and eating too much every single day” another time. In the meantime, I have a story I’ve only told my partner. Even then, it was a very brief confession. Only I really know what was going through my mind at the time.

I’ll set the scene: I had just turned 7 years old, and my stepmom at the time (my dad was married 4 times, 3 of those being after I was born) threw me a pool party at her father’s VERY bougie house. This must have been only a few months after she and my dad got married because I remember thinking about how I didn’t know anyone there. She had a (13 or 14 year old) son who in hindsight seemed like a good kid. From my knowledge Chris didn’t get into much trouble, had good grades, nice friends, and played on the soccer/football teams. I’m not sure why, but I had not taken a liking to him. Who know’s why? I was a young girl that hadn’t really known any teenage boys at the time. I’m an only child and barely had any friends my age in the first place. At some point during the pool party, I thought he was laughing at me in the pool as I swam past him. I didn’t know how to swim at that age, and I was the only one with pool floaties on there. He most definitely wasn’t laughing at me. That was just a sample of how bad my anxiety and body insecurities would get once I became a teenager. Either way, I kicked him in the stomach in the pool and walked out of the pool as if nothing had ever happened, like I didn’t even notice he was there. I never did get in trouble for it.

For whatever reason the pool party was Strawberry Shortcake themed. I don’t think I had ever even seen Strawberry Shortcake at that age, so I’m not sure why that was the theme. I know they were probably just trying their best, though. She didn’t know me, and my dad didn’t really know me either. Of the many gifts I received, the three I remember the most were my Parent Trap DVD–I watched that movie nearly every day that summer, my Strawberry Shortcake diary with lock and key, and my Password Journal. As soon as I hopped in my grandparents’ car to take the hour and a half drive back home, I grabbed that Password Journal and just started writing. And what was the first thing I ever wrote in it? “Chris is my worst enemy.” For whatever reason, I didn’t want to keep it in my journal so I balled up the piece of paper and put it in the side door of the car. We’ll revisit this. Just keep it in mind.

Some time goes by at home, and I start writing incessantly writing in the other lock-and-key journal. Who knows what I wrote in it, but I decided to write again, “Chris is my worst enemy.” I asked my mom and grandma from across the house how to spell the word, “enemy” which just launched a whole snowball effect. When they realized I was writing in my journal, they got concerned and wanted to read what I had written and most importantly why.

It must have been at least 10 o’ clock when all of this started, and I don’t think I was allowed to go to bed that night until I gave them a satisfactory answer as to why I had written that. I tried telling them that I just didn’t like him. No rhyme or reason to it. Then I came out and told them it was because he had laughed at me in the pool. That was the truth. It wasn’t enough, though. During this time they called my other grandparents and told them the situation which is when the note I had left in the car came up. They had found it a few days before when they were cleaning out the car.

I remember crying so much because I thought I was in trouble. They all wanted to know why I wasn’t telling the truth, why I wouldn’t tell them what really happened. I didn’t understand. I had told them what happened. Then they started asking me whether he had touched me. I can’t tell you how many times I told them “No, he didn’t. No, he just made fun of me. No. No. No. No. No.”

Eventually I caved and said, “Yes.” After them asking me and pushing me to give this false confession for hours upon hours, I said yes just so I could go to bed and stop crying. My grandma and my mom acted shocked about it, but what do you expect a kid to say when you’re pressuring them so harshly? I think the phenomena of “Overzealous Intervenors” explains this perfectly. I enjoy learning about cults as well as various other religious things, probably a way of coping with my own religious trauma. When learning about the Satanic Panic, it was found that most confessions given by children in that era were false. They were simply convinced and rewarded by law enforcement interviewers who told them they had been victims of ritual abuse.

Not long after, my mom called my grandparents and told them the “news” who then called my dad and told him as well. I can’t say what immediately happened after this, but I think I had only seen Chris maybe twice after that until my dad got a divorce. I didn’t see my dad very much during that time anyways, so it was almost unnoticeable. I assume this was something my mom had arranged with my dad, but I don’t know for sure. From what I can remember, this event never came up ever again. I don’t know if they had figured out I was lying, or if it was literally impossible that he could have been alone with me at all that day. I don’t know.

I’m sorry, Chris. I don’t know how you’re doing, but if it was never brought up again on my end, I hope it wasn’t for you either. I sincerely hope your name was cleared and your innocence proven immediately after hearing word of this. You have no idea how much I regret this even though I know that there was nothing I could do as a child.

-Hannah

Time May Change Me (But I Can’t Trace Time)

Well, I wish I knew back in June when I revisited this blog just how much my life would be flipped on its head beginning on August 14. Buckle in because we have a lot more to talk about than we would have ever imagined. If anyone else other than my future self happens to stumble upon this blog, I think it’s important for you to know that this post will be about grief, the loss of a loved one, and topics of that nature. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Long story short, my dad passed away due to Covid-19. Ten days later, my stepmom ended up in the hospital with blood clots in her lung and her legs (also due to Covid-19). She’s recovered since, at least physically. About a week or two later, my wife’s grandmother passed away unexpectedly. Three weeks after that, my wife moved away to Seattle for a job offer which we both agreed that she should accept. It’s been about a month and a half since she first moved up there, and here we are now. I saw a therapist for the first time on Monday. She didn’t mention that I should keep a journal or blog about my experience, but it’s been lingering in my mind lately. I feel like this space is an old friend of mine that will listen to me without judgment. Someone I can talk to once every few years and still pick up where we left off.

For now, I’ll end this post since I have dinner plans. When I come back, though, we have a lot to catch up on. Get ready for tears and laughter, but mostly tears. Let’s be honest here, this blog has never really been all that funny.

Love you,

Hannah ❤

Getting Out of Town

Sometimes on my lunch break I like to drive across the bridge to Pensacola just to see the water. It’s not the prettiest water I’ve ever seen, but the feeling of open air is the only escape I have from beige cubicle walls. I usually only get a few exits down before I have to turn around and go back. Seeing the Mobile skyline tends to always be a disappointment. The only exception to that is coming home from a vacation and wanting to sleep in your own bed. That’s all my hometown feels to me right now, though. A place to sleep.

I hope I look back on my hometown fondly, and I think I will. At least for the most part. I have a lot of great memories of this city, and I feel like once I’m further away from it that I’ll remember things I thought I had forgotten. This is a tangent, but if Heaven is real, I hope that it’s something like what they showed in Supernatural. Like it’s a collection of your favorite memories with your favorite people. If that’s not the case, I’d at least like to be reincarnated as a laid back animal.

As I sit on a bench in Bienville square beside the water fountain that’s been there since my grandma was a child, I feel…indifferent I guess. I would be sad if Mobile suddenly didn’t exist anymore, but it’s really a matter of the people here. I feel like the whole reason I’m still here is for the people. That, and I’m scared. Tricia and I want to move before our lease is up next May. I worry about how we can afford it, but we’ve always made a way. So what’s actually so scary to me?

I feel more ready than I’ve ever been to leave Mobile. So many of my friends and family members and former co-workers have been long gone. Taking the steps to leave is the hardest part though. If someone told me tomorrow, Hey, I’ve got it all covered! Your bags are packed, I found you a place to live, and I told all of your friends and family that you’re leaving!, I would hop on a plane in an instant. Life isn’t usually that straight forward though.

I just want to be one of the fat squirrels in Bienville Square, munching on Spanish peanuts without a care in the world. Is that too much to ask?

-Hannah 💜

A Post for My Loving Wife

Good afternoon and welcome to your 3PM scheduled programming of “I fucked up and I know I did!” I’m your host, Depressed Debby! Let’s get right to the show!

Alright, seriously though. I’ve made a lot of fuck-ups in my life and in my relationships. Part of me feels like I over exaggerate the small things that come back to haunt me at 2AM. The other part of my brain wants to turn itself off before I self-destruct and spiral from my mistakes.

I know couples get into arguments or disagreements. I know that at some point or another they’re going to hurt each other’s feelings. That’s inevitable. But damn, it really fucks with you when you’re the one to blame, right? I can forgive my wife for anything within a day or an hour, but I can’t forgive myself for making those similar mistakes because I don’t know how she feels. Whenever she does or says something that upsets me, I know the exact moment when I let it go and heal from it. Unless you have psychic powers, you’ll never truly know when someone forgives you for what you’ve done.

I think it’s safe to say that I could explain what made her upset here, but I feel like it would be leaving out a lot of context and her perspective, so I’ll leave it to the reader’s imagination (assuming I’m not the only one here). Before we move on, I’d like to clarify that no cheating, yelling, or physical harm was done. I’m not that kind of person and neither is she. If I read this post back in 5 years I seriously doubt I’ll even remember what I’m talking about.

Now, a letter/post/essay in appreciation of my wife…

My wife is one of the most loving, kind, understanding people you will ever meet. She’ll jump on an opportunity to lend an ear young LGBTQ+ kids. She volunteers to make flyers and banners and social media posts for businesses that she thinks could use a bit more help. I don’t know how she has enough time in the day for it all on top of loving me too.

She’ll be your rock when you need her to be, whether it’s for me or for a friend. She’s sensitive to other’s emotions and knows if somethings amiss. She’ll make sure you’re having a great time before she even begins to think of herself.

She’s intriguing and wild and always looking for something new to try. She’ll tell you when you don’t look good for your own sake, and she’ll hype you up when you need it.

She takes short showers and likes her towels warm when she gets out. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve run up the stairs to bring her one before she saw me.

She’s patient when I take too long to tell a story. She’s scatter brained sometimes too, but she always comes up with a plan A, B, and C.

She takes time to watch shows with me and always picks what we both like. I don’t mind watching Naruto or Handmaids Tale with her. I love when she recaps things that I’ve missed. The two or three sentence summaries never quite tell me all that I’ve missed, but I like her version of the story better.

She encourages me to love myself even when I’m at my lowest. She sees the best in me when all I can see is the worst.

I owe everything to her and more. If she asked me to jump, I’d ask how high. If she said she wanted to visit Madrid tomorrow, I’d book a plane ticket. If she wants the world, I’ll have it for her on a string.

I could go on for pages about her, so this is one post of many.

I love you, Goose.

-Hannah 💜

Anorexia as an “Average” sized woman

Let’s go back in time. Way back to 2004. I was in the first grade without a care in the world playing on the monkey bars with my best friend Katie. The night before, my mom was using the house phone to talk with someone (probably my aunt). She told her about how she was going on a diet or something along those lines. My mom never knew that I heard her conversation from the other landline. During recess the next morning I talked to Katie about “going on a diet,” as if I even knew what that really meant. I was always a chubby kid. Never morbidly obese, but enough for a parent to be concerned about possible diabetes. That may just be my mind distorting things with body dysmorphia though.

From the age of 7 to about 11 or so, I was in size 16-20 depending on what type of clothing it was. I loved going to Justice (formerly Limited Too) to try on clothes. All of the sparkles and bright colors always drew me in. I didn’t think much of the sizes. I was still a kid.

When I was in fifth grade I asked a classmate if she thought I should lose weight. I don’t know what I expected her to say, but of course she said “yes.” At that age, I maybe had 2 friends at the most, but she wasn’t really one of them. I’ll never understand why I decided to ask the sort of class bully instead of someone I was actually close to.

I started middle school at a private Christian academy. I never did want to go there, wanting to go to a prep school that some of my friends were going to instead, or even the public school nearby. My religious grandparents volunteered to pay tuition though, so my mom couldn’t say no to it. The torment that I went through at that school feels like a fever dream now. I have some great memories with friends there, but the bad memories almost always overshadow the good ones.

During my first month at school there I was immediately bullied and picked on. I’m not sure if it was because I was new compared to those who attended since preschool; or if my baby fat leftover from my summer growth spurt made me a target; or even if I just looked like an easy target. I never saw myself as one of the “weird kids” in school, but looking back on it now, I probably looked like one to them. My skirts were too long from having to buy the next to largest size, going down past my knees to my mid-calves. My shirts always felt just a bit too tight like I couldn’t breathe out all the way without showing my stomach rolls. My hair was bushy, and still is a good bit of the time, and I was only 5 foot tall. I never grew much after that age. Even now I stand at 5’2” on my best days.

One of the first weeks of 6th grade, a boy called me fat while we were saying the pledge of allegiance. I’m not sure what provoked him since I hadn’t ever even talked to him before. He continued to do this 3 or 4 times throughout the next year or so. A sweet classmate of mine tried to comfort me after I told my group of girl friends about it, saying he meant “phat.” That was a stretch at best, but at least she tried. Not long after, all but her in my group of girl friends also started insulting my appearance. Asking why I didn’t straighten my hair, why my skirts were so long; teasing me about the fat on my arms and the squishiness of my belly.

I get it now that I’m older of course. Everyone at that age is trying to take the attention off of themselves and their own insecurities. Kids are mean when they reach puberty. That still doesn’t make it okay though.

A couple of months into middle school I started straightening my hair just like the girls suggested. I listened to the new singer Justin Bieber just like them too even though I never really liked his music. I rolled my skirt so that it would be shorter like the other girls’. I did everything I could possibly think of to make myself fit in, but it never did work. I was established as the weird girl, and I would remain the weird girl. Some of the most genuine and kind friends I had back in high school were part of the “weird” crowd. My best friend to this day was part of the weird ones even though by the time we graduated, the only thing that made us strange was we didn’t hunt every weekend or listen to country music.

When I realized that it was too late to be one of the popular kids, I started embracing my “weirdness.” Twilight was popular at the time, and one kid said I was so pale that I looked like Bella. I wasn’t allowed to watch the movies, so I didn’t realize that wasn’t a complement. They called me Vampire Girl for the rest of the year. I never took my hoodie off past that point.

Lunch would come around 11:30, and it was always the worst part of the school day. I was so anxious and my stomach was so knotted up that I couldn’t eat most days despite all of my “friends” asking me why I never ate my lunch. It genuinely all started as being too nervous to eat, but it started to become a whole other monster of its own.

Starting mid-October in 2010, I stopped eating lunch for the most part. I never ate breakfast either, so I only ate a bite or two of food at school so as to not make my teachers worry. Any time the class would have cupcakes for birthdays or donuts, I always ate them because I felt like it would be rude not to even though everyone’s eyes were on me (or so I thought).

During the summer of 2011 I started self-harming. I’m not going to go into detail of what I used to do. I don’t have scars like many other people do, but I think it would be counterproductive to talk about that here.

From the age of 11 to 14, basically the whole time I was in middle school, I developed an eating disorder. I had it down to a routine by the time I turned 13. For lunch I would have a water, a strawberry yogurt, and a bag of cheddar sunchips. My mom would give me lunch money so I had to buy something. Sometimes I would pay for my friends’ lunches so it looked like I ate something that day. Other times I hid money in random containers that would never be found again amongst the hoard piles in my grandmother’s back den. I probably could have bought something nice with all of the money I saved over the years. Once I got home I would pick around at my dinner and move it around on my plate, something I learned from Degrassi. If I ate in my room, I would throw it all away in my bathroom trash.

From a combination of puberty and anorexia, I lost my baby fat. I’m not sure how much I lost because the scales in the house were always unleveled from the slanted old hardwood floors. I was at my lowest weight when I was 14 or 15. I look at those pictures of myself even now and think “wow, I was so skinny. I wish I could be that small again.” Meanwhile at the time I thought so poorly of myself and had awful body dysmorphia. That’s what happens though. You look back at your lowest weight nostalgically, missing that empty feeling in your belly.

I never thought I deserved help during that time. I was never emaciated. My bones never showed. I still had a bit of a tummy, and I could only fit a size 6 at the lowest. My hips were wide so I couldn’t fit anything smaller past my thighs.

When I go clothes shopping as an adult and nothing fits me, I always say to my wife, “Well, I’ve always struggled with my body. You know that. It’s alright. I have clothes at home anyways.” All the while thinking about the number on the scale or the sizes that never make sense in the women’s section of H&M. I guess some things never change.

What prompted the writing of this post was a triggering moment for me two nights ago. Megan sent everyone a link to her wedding pictures so we could all see them. I was so excited to see the candid reception pictures of all of us. I feel so selfish for only looking at myself in the photos. It was her wedding, it’s not about me at all! I couldn’t get past even the posed pictures of all of us bridesmaids together though. I wish I was joking when I say that I said out loud, “Oh my god, do I really look like that? I look like that all the time? I look so fat. I’m so fat. My face is so fat. I don’t even have a chin in these photos.” Thankfully my wife was out walking the dog so I ran upstairs to start the shower water so I could cry by myself before she came back in. Crying in the shower always feels so pathetic. It’s my own house. I don’t need to hide from anyone or anything. I can cry wherever I want. Of course I body checked before I got in the tub, looking at my stomach and my arms, my nose and my chest. It’s like I was back in 6th grade again.

I guess I was sobbing so loudly even with the door closed my wife heard me. She knocked out of courtesy, but when I didn’t answer she just came in. She did all that she knew how to do: to get in the shower and hold me. I explained to her what I’ve told you for the last few minutes. She comforted me, reassured me that the pictures probably weren’t even that bad. Things you would expect a loving partner to do. I’m thankful for her and all that she does for me. She told me I as beautiful despite my protests and made me promise if I had those thoughts again in the future that I would tell her.

The next day I ate breakfast, skipped lunch, and ate dinner despite my plans to skip it altogether that day. I would go back to my old ways if I didn’t have someone who would be hurt by my actions.

Even still, when I eat “healthy” and go to the gym, in the back of my mind I always think, “Wouldn’t it be so much easier to skip some meals? You could lose the weight so much quicker if you only ate 200 calories a day.” It’s a thought that’s always looming in the back of my brain, catering to me at my most vulnerable.

#anorexia #eatingdisorder #ed #selfharm #bullying #bodychecking #bodydysmorphia

-Hannah

Bursting Green Bubbles

Okay, here’s a dark post, but I feel that it’s necessary to close the “coming out to my family” chapter.

Well, here’s the moment 17 year old, 18 year old, and 19 year old me has been waiting in anticipation for: how I came out to my mom (and by default, grandmother).

To be completely honest, I don’t remember specifics of what happened when I came out. I know the gist, but I’m pretty sure my mind deliberately blacked out some of the moments because I have to think really hard to remember some things.

Starting from the beginning, I came out to my mom as gay, not bisexual. During the time period that I was with Tricia before I came out, I realized that I was solely attracted to women. Around October of 2016 my mom texted me while Tricia and I were hanging out with my cousin and straight out asked me over text if I was gay because she figured out within 2 minutes of Tricia being in my grandmas house that she was a lesbian. I wasn’t ready to tell her yet, though. I didn’t have a license, a car, or a place to go if they were to kick me out or try to send me to conversion therapy. So I waited.

I sent her a text message that I drafted about 2 weeks after the last hiatus post I made back in 2017. I wrote it while sitting in the cafe of the Starbucks I worked at the time, probably still wearing my apron with a large water in front of me on the table. During that shift I asked a coworker and brief friend, Crystal for advice on coming out. Crystal is a trans woman who came out to her family. It didn’t turn out well for her either. By now you’ve probably guessed that coming out to my mom didn’t go so well. Something that I had been mentally preparing myself for years for.

I texted my closest friends that I was going to come out to her that day in July. It was about 2 weeks or so before my and Tricia’s anniversary. I didn’t want that looming overhead while we were trying to celebrate. It was getting close to the time I was going to move out anyways. We signed a lease together for an apartment back in December, but our move in date was August 5, so it was only a matter of time before I absolutely had to tell her or cut things off with Tricia. Cutting Tricia off was never an option though, and I’m glad I didn’t do something I would regret for my entire life.

Megan agreed that I should be around all of my friends for this crazy, intense, life changing moment. I’m so glad that I had their support. I sat in Megan’s upstairs bedroom surrounded by Tricia, Megan, and Kenzie (my cousin who I don’t speak to much anymore). Megan asked what music I wanted to listen to on her record player, and I told her the Pink Floyd album Dark Side of the Moon. I’m not sure why I picked that one since I’m not even a Pink Floyd fan. I don’t even think I listed to the album at all other than the title track 6 years later. Megan pointed out that I picked the “one with the rainbow, of course” without even meaning to.

I don’t remember specifics of what I sent her other than that I loved her and that I’ve known for a long time that I was gay. And that this wasn’t her fault. And that she shouldn’t blame herself. And that I hoped she would still want to be in my life.

After I sent her that heart wrenching, nausea inducing, sicker feeling in my stomach than I’ve ever felt in my life text, I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited for what felt like hours and days and years. All that I had been afraid of since I was 13 years old was finally out in the open. I had nothing left to hide. Nothing left to say. I only had to wait for her to respond. To say something. Anything. Then my phone finally chimed. No call, just a text. In a way I’m glad she didn’t call me. I don’t think I could handle such hateful words coming straight from my mother’s mouth.

I’m not going to write what she told me. Not because I’m afraid to anymore. Not because I’m ashamed of myself. I’m not going to write those text messages because they’ve been said too many times by other hateful people trying to justify their hatred through religion and Bible verses taken out of context. Even as I write this 4 years later, I get choked up, and my mind won’t let me remember the exact words from that phone screen. I only remember the capital letters and the giant yellow-green Android text bubbles coming at rapid speed on my screen.

I didn’t cry at all the day that I came out to her. It’s like I was so paralyzed with fear of what could happen that I couldn’t think about anything else. A few days or weeks later though, sitting on the air mattress of my and Tricia’s temporary room, I bursted into tears. I think I cried more that night than I had on any of the nights I laid awake wondering what would happen.

I turned my phone off after the 10th or 15th message. I don’t remember how many she sent, but it doesn’t matter. I may have replied to the first two, but they just kept coming in. The only thing I remember specifically is that my grandma wasn’t going to kick me out of the house. I never lived another day there after that text, though.

My friends and I went to a bubble tea place shortly after across town. It was a 30+ minute drive, but I appreciated it. Anything to get my mind of the piece of plastic yelling at me. Before we all left Megan’s house, her mom gave me the kindest, most loving hug I’ve ever received. She still plays an important role in my life, and I’m so thankful to have her as a mom, even if I don’t call her that explicitly. She was there with my step mom and my dad when I got married. I even got ready with my bridal party at her house that day. Tricia and I go to her house on thanksgiving. She’s done what my mom never did: support me and love me for who I am.

I didn’t talk to my mom a few days after telling her. I don’t think I even turned my phone back on til sometime the next day. I was too afraid of getting more messages so I blocked her. If she needed me she could call my dad or my work or something. I just know that during the aftermath, I told her I wouldn’t be coming home. She told me that I could come get my stuff from my grandma’s house. They both left the house during that time. I guess they didn’t want to see me just as much as I didn’t want to see them. It would have been too painful.

Four years later, and my mom still won’t acknowledge my relationship with Tricia. We aren’t allowed to come to holiday dinners together or have birthdays with them. My mom and grandma didn’t come to our wedding either, not that I invited them. It was obvious they weren’t going to come either way. I sent my grandma a Christmas card of us with my new last name on it this past Christmas. I never saw it in her house or on her fridge. It must have ended up in the trash. I love them, but I wish they would change. For now, all I can do is set boundaries. I’m sure down the line they’ll regret not having a bigger part in my life. We’ll see I guess.

Until next time

-Hannah

Bitch, You’re Funny Sometimes

I’ve gotta say, that “Dogs, Jokes, and whatever the third thing was“ post made me laugh for the first time since revisiting this page. So much so, that this one is going to be lighthearted. I don’t think every post should be serious here. We’re looking fondly at the past (for the most part) and looking with hope to the future.

As far as mom and boys go, that post just showed me how blatantly obvious I was about not being interested in guys. I thought mom would have been way more shocked when I came out to her, but in hindsight I may has well written “LESBIAN” on my forehead.

By the way, no, she didn’t ex-communicate you. I think you knew that was never a possibility, but part of me I think was hoping for the worst so I wouldn’t have to deal with the shadow of homophobic family the rest of my life. Alright, that’s enough darkness for a lighthearted post. See ya.

-Hannah

Hugh Laurie? Really? (& Becoming an Adult)

Hannah, Hannah, Hannah…. where do I even start? I was initially going to skip this one, but that post really summed up my 17 year old self perfectly. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve still got so much growing up to do at 23 years old. I just love that amongst all of the sad and closeted posts on this blog there’s a single homage to my apparent love for Hugh Laurie.

Thanks to the one guy that liked my last blog response. I wasn’t expecting that at all. Unless you’re a bot, in which case, eh. Whatever. But I digress…

Going in order this time: I’m not quite sure why I loved Hugh Laurie so much for a short amount of time? Now the only celebrity guy I’m remotely attracted to is Harry Styles. I would say it’s because he can rock a dress, but I think my subconscious diverts back to being a Harry girl in my One Direction phase in middle school.

Onto the bulk of this blog post though: becoming an adult and responsibilities. Not long after the 4-5 year hiatus I moved in with Tricia, my girlfriend at the time. She’s now my wife, and we’re celebrating a year of marriage next month. Don’t worry, I’ll have a blog post or two of our whole story. It’s probably just going to be me crushing on her the whole time so if there’s anyone other than me reading these, you may want to skip those. You’ll throw up from how cheesy they’ll be.

Here’s a list of things that I wish 17-22 year old me knew:

• Having roommates is fucking awful. Take it from me, you’ll spend most of your time tiptoeing to the kitchen or cleaning up other peoples messes. 0/10 would not recommend. I’ve got a few roommates stories too that I’ll tell in the future. What can I say? We’ve got a lot to catch up on.
• I know you didn’t have a job at the time you wrote the first blog posts. Unless you have to work for bills, don’t work during high school. Coming from people I know that did work, a lot of them regret putting that much more stress on themselves for such shitty jobs. No shade to those who worked during school though. I worked 40 hours a week up until my senior year of college, and even then I still did enough schoolwork to equate to that.
• Don’t get too many pets all at once. I know, it’s a weird piece of advice. But you don’t want to have 5 pets that can’t interact with each other spread out in a one bedroom townhouse apartment. Looking ahead to my own future, I don’t even know how we’re going to move out of my hometown with all of them. We’ll make it work though. We always have.
• Make time for family even if you don’t enjoy seeing them. That’s some advice for current 23 year old me too. It sounds awful, but it’s really hard on my mental health to see my relatives on my dads side and even my dad. That’s a stark contrast from how it was when I was 17, but things change. People change. We’ll go over all of that later too.
• Keep a folder of all of your important papers. Your social, your old licenses, your birth certificate. You’ll eventually need those papers, and you don’t want to go scrambling for them the night before a trip.
• Go out even if you don’t really want to. I know you’re a homebody at heart, and that’s okay. Spend time with your friends, though. You never know when the next time you’ll see them will be, especially during this important life transition where everyone is getting stable jobs and moving away.
• Don’t tie yourself to one thing. I mean that I’m many ways. Your job, hobbies, interests, places. Life moves and changes around you regardless of whether you go with it or not. So be fluid. Go with the flow. Do what makes you happy.

And to conclude, I’d like to ask my future self some questions that I’d like to know.

1. How many tattoos do you have now? You currently have 3, the most recent being the Rocky Horror Picture Show one.

2. Are you still in your hometown? Why? If you’ve moved, where? Do you like it there? Tell me all about it.

3. How are you and Tricia doing? I don’t have any doubts about us being together, but what stage of your lives are you in right now?

4. What are your friendships and relationships like? Do you still talk to Megan? How’s the family?

5. Do you have kids? I can’t even imagine having kids right now.

6. Where do you work? Do you like it? What do you do?

7. Where is the best place you’ve ever traveled?

I guess that’s all for now. These aren’t so structured and trying so hard as the ones I wrote back in high school. I just wanna do this for fun. I can’t wait to hear back from you though, Hannah. I hope you’re doing well and that you’re happy wherever you are with whatever you’re doing. Take care. 💜

Old Strangers

This post is in response to my second blog post entitled “Stating the Obvious” or something that I thought was clever at the time. You know. The one about Megan’s pool party

First of all, I want to say that I’m still the best of friends with Megan. I see her nearly every weekend, go to the gym with her from time to time, and we were even maids of honor in each other’s weddings. Actually, she even officiated my wedding. Regarding the one sentence about “being afraid that Megan will forget me,” I hope to God that never happens, but she has ADHD so I think that she’s just a bit scattered at times; An irrational fear just like that wisdom teeth post I’ll address in the future.

I’ve got to give Megan at least one more paragraph because she’s the closest friend I’ve ever had and also the longest friend I’ve had. Also, she’s one of the only people from high school I still talk to. Megan and Kenneth got married. I know, it’s a shocker (kidding, I’m being sarcastic here). Tricia and I recently went on our first camping trip and with them last weekend. It was super fun and I hope we’ll do it again soon. I could spend ages talking about our friendship, but I think it’ll come up in my posts as I go. I’ve got hundreds of stories to tell, and I’m sure I’ll have hundreds more. Lastly, Happy birthday, Megan! You’ll never read this, but I love you so very much and I hope you have the best 24th birthday ever.

Okay, now onto the people that I have no clue what’s going on in their lives now.

Let’s start with Abby because I know that’s who 17 year old Hannah would want to know the most about. You and Abby had a sort of falling out within a year of writing that post. I can’t quite remember what it was about, but I think it was regarding how she just dropped everyone. You ended up texting her and being super confrontational which was kind of a dick thing to do. I know you still had feelings for her that you were getting over and that you were salty about it, but I still don’t think that’s an excuse to come at someone like that. About a year or so later, you messaged her and apologized and you guys made up. Kind of. Abby just wanted to move on with her life I think, and I can’t blame her. You talked to her again after she messaged you on Instagram a year or two after that, and she talked about how great she was doing. She had a boyfriend, she was traveling the world, and she was set to move to the, in her words, “safe Middle East.” Her boyfriend was from Kuwait I think, so she assuming my moved over there. I haven’t heard from her since even though I reached out again about a year and a half ago before the pandemic hit. The pandemic is a whole post of its own though. I still think about her from time to time. I don’t blame her for not replying to me. We had a weird kind of relationship after I admitted I had feelings for her and she didn’t feel the same way. I’m surprised she even stayed friends with me after that, but I genuinely don’t think she was a bad person. She was just going through some tough times.

Interesting story about Caitlin that I bet you never saw coming though. You actually still see her every month or two as well. One of your old coworkers from Starbucks who turned into a good friend, Connor, is dating her. They just bought a house together and he’s going to be proposing probably within the next year. I’m very happy for them, and I’m glad Connor is in a healthy relationship where he feels appreciated. He really is a great guy.

Christian! Whenever I read that name I had to think for a minute on who you were talking about since we only used to call him by his last name. He’s probably doing good I guess? I think he graduated from the University of Mississippi last year, but I don’t even know what he majored in. The last thing I heard about him was a few years ago when he sent Megan a weirdly sexual Snapchat of him laying in bed even though he knew she was with Kenneth. (Because why wouldn’t she be with him? They’ve been together since 9th grade.)

Last, but certainly not least, I’ve got to address the CatchPhrase incident I talked about in the blog post. Man, oh, man. You know Kenneth still brings that up from time to time when I raise my eyebrows just a little too high? I’m not offended by it when he brings it up because it’s all in good fun, though. It’s just so funny reading that from such a recent perspective of that incident. I guess I do still get a little fed up with people. Oops.

Alright, on to the next response. See you there.

-Hannah 😅

A Recap (and a Revival?)

Hello hello hello, Hannah. You’re probably reading this a few years from the time I’m posting it. Let’s be fair here, you’ve never been one to commit to a journal or anything like that. Don’t be too hard on yourself. For now, I’m going to go over some things that my 16 year old self would want to know about her future. Then maybe we’ll move on to the present

At this current moment, you’re sitting at your office job in your hometown. You’re supposed to be working on forms and tests, but you’re too distracted by old blog posts from before you were out of the closet and married.

After revisiting this draft 10 minutes later, I thought it would make more sense to respond in some way to each of the blog posts instead of a 4 page essay on everything that’s happened. Because it’s been a lot. See you in the next one.

-Hannah 💜