Deja Vu

[This post originally came with a picture of my bare breast. I've deleted the picture, because I'm sure my friends and family don't want to see that - seeing semi-nude "arty" photos is not quite the same as up close and personal.]

Three years ago - almost to the day, funnily enough - I sent my first ever current internet picture to a guy who I'd recently "met". This wasn't just my first A F F pic, it was the first non-childhood (and young childhood, at that) picture that I'd ever put up of myself, on any site. Before this, the one and only time that I'd sent any friend a picture of me was when I was fifteen, and I sent that through snail mail. None of my close online friends knew what I looked like.

I didn't want to. I did it because I had a lot of respect for him, and wanted the same, and I knew that fobbing him off with excuses about not having pics was one way to halt our friendship before it ever began. I was absolutely petrified, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would turn away from me in disgust when he saw what I looked like.

He didn't. He said I was pretty, in fact that I had a face that he'd be happy to look at on a regular basis. We're still good friends today. Yet somehow I expect this dear man to be the exception, rather than the rule - even when I know intellectually that this is horribly unfair to y'all.

In person, or at least until I get in the bedroom, I am fairly confident. I know that I make friends easily, and that I can rely on my charm and friendliness and genuine affection for people to compensate for any physical shortcomings I have. Online, this is not how things work. Online, I expect every pimple, every scar, every unplucked hair, every roll of fat to be a dealbreaker, just the way that (offline or on) I expect every moral and emotional and intellectual failure of mine to lead to tragedy.

Of course there are reasons why I am this way. We all have our reasons for being the ways we are. Some of them I have gone into in the past, and some of them I will probably never talk about. But they are still there, and copious amounts of time and self-reflection and therapy have only made me able to deal with them, rather than making them go away.

So fast-forward three years, and here I am again, sending my first topless picture to a friend - or friendly acquaintance - of mine. I hear, "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Oh, my dears, you have NO idea.

A month ago I promised you bare breast pics. I didn't deliver. Part of this wasn't my fault - I got kicked off the internet for two weeks, and public places like the library and Starbucks don't allow you on this site - but the last week, HAS been my fault. I've been dragging my heels, because of the hassle of downloading from my old phone to my old computer to a flash drive to my new computer, and because of real-life sadnesses that have made any sort of frivolity seem...well, frivolous (and not in a good way). And yes, because of the reasons outlined in this note.

I am already regretting sending the picture. I am certainly regretting telling you that I would, because once I give my word on something I find it very hard to go back on, even if I sometimes don't manage to keep to the schedule I set myself.

And do you know something? It feels really fucking awesome.

Yes, you heard me. Having regrets feels great. To understand that, though, you'd have to have lived a life for many years where you regret nothing, because you never do anything that you think you might change your mind on, never take a chance on something new and scary. Never step outside of your groove, even if you feel like your skin is now the wrong fit.

Five and a half years I've been living a rerun. Five and a half years I've been trying to fit myself into the life of a barely-grown child who died the day she was raped, and who was buried deep underground the day she miscarried the baby that either belonged to her rapist or the love of her life, and whose final shovel of dirt was thrown in the day she hit her head and lost all memories. I tried to make this life mine, with varying degrees of success. I gave up LOML, for the good of us both, and dated Oli. I joined this site - something that I will never, EVER regret. I came to terms - sometimes - with the fact that I will probably never grow any older mentally than 21. Sometimes it seemed a losing battle, trying to keep moving in a world that keeps turning, when your brain has stopped. But I did it.

The last couple of years I've got lazy, though. Or perhaps lazy is not the word as much as complacent. Changes come less and less naturally to me. I start out with good intentions, and then lose them in the comfortable monotony of my life. Yet I know this is not how a life should be, especially at my age - indeed, at either of my ages. A person should not sacrifice excitement in exchange for peace and calm, at least not all the time, not long-term. A person should not just consist of serenity and softness and a gentle smile, a person should also be sharp humor and giddy laughter and energy and a filthy mind and social skills and swirls of bright colors surrounding her. A person should. This person should.

And on that note, dearest of dear hearts, I am starting a new chapter in a fresh book, even if it is but a volume in the same story. This chapter will not be chronicled on A F F, but on a site where my blog is written in summery green, and decorated with daisies and narcissi, and things feel fresh again.

Anyone who asks for the link shall have it. You'll have to mail me, though, since I'm ball-less. If you can't mail me, my Facebook profile is always there, and links to new blog posts are on my live feed. I haven't yet worked out how to allow comments on there, and will miss the commenting here, but perhaps I'll sort it out soon.

I fully intend to keep reading your blogs on here, although perhaps not as often as I used to. I love the networking that we do on here, and would miss you dearly if I never saw you at all, even if this no longer feels like home to me. Perhaps I'll even post a blog here, once in a blue moon. And the old posts will stay where they are. After having my mental disk rebooted, deletion of any sort is not something that I can feel comfortable with.

My brightest blessings go out to all of you - particularly Bubbles and Kid, whose friendship online and in person has meant so much to me; Calmlys and Drunkat and Templar, who I've been reading almost since the beginning of my A F F journey; LuLu, whose friendship acted as a sort of nexus around which so much else of my blogging life has revolved, something that would not have been possible for me without her; Babs and Thom and InnerPeace, who I am overjoyed to be finally getting to know better elsewhere; AirForce, who's been a loyal commenter for a long time now; and Kel and MGC and Wordy and Annie and Arty and AspiringBo and Sasha, who stop in regularly or occasionally, but who always have something interesting to say, and who I truly hope will visit me in my new home.

Home is where the heart is, after all, and you guys all have a piece of my heart, and as such will always have a home with me.

Anyone who I haven't mentioned - watchers, lurkers, occasional visitors - each one of you enriched my experience here. Please feel free to continue to visit.

~ Sati - who will hopefully NOT be remembered as the girl with the giant hickey on her nipple ~