It's been a minute since I've written anything here. It's been a while since I've written anything meaningful if I'm being honest. The last several months have been a whirlwind of ups and downs, but through it all, thanks to a stable friend group and people I can call family, I haven't had to walk the hard paths alone and that makes all the difference.

I've started posting more on Instagram, on an account that I meant for promoting my work, in a kind of exposure therapy, to counter the artifice that tries to work its way into my sense of self, the thought that I was built and not created. Some people have been very kind. Some have been consistent with the nature of the Internet. Some have called me artificial, which feels like a huge step back. You can call me anything you like and I'll take it without flinching but to be told I'm not real... that's hard.

My obsession with AI, a back road on the journey of self discovery, has probably worked against me in that effort. I can produce a two dimensional simulacrum that almost resembles the person I see in the mirror, but the more I try for authenticity the more false the results, and so I fall back on cartoons and stylized renders, a pass at an ideal version that perhaps lives its hypersaturated existence in some alternate dimension.

In person I have no hangups and few fears. In the digital world I'm a child in front of the camera. Don't cry. Sit up straight. Stand still. Give me a real smile. A REAL ONE! I didn't pay for this so you could look like an idiot! Perfect, finally! Hang me on the wall. Keep me in your purse. It's the only version strangers get to see.

It took years to process that, to understand a little of why I can ham it up for photos but break into a cold sweat under the threat of people seeing them. I don't really blame anyone for it, but the that child's fear remains in the adult, tangled like stubborn tree roots around an old water pipe. There's no way to fix it without breaking both.

I doubt it would have been a problem if family life hadn't ended so abruptly, and I think that's a dynamic most people don't consider. My trauma responses don't stem from my youth but from the stupid decisions I made when life got hard. Life is a process of breaking and healing, but sometimes you set the bones badly. Blaming other people for decisions you make only gives power to the pain... your pride may thrive, but pride is a weak spirit when measured against proper, genuine humility. A real, accurate view of yourself is the only secure footing available when you're trying to climb out of the shit.