Another country

They say the past is another country. Somewhere once visited and hard to return to. That’s true enough. It is something that defines us, something that moulds us, creates us, breaks us, destroys us.

My past is variably public. My web presence is distributed, and often only available in archive format. Some of it is more obviously me than others.

məƝŦ@L cŕαϨН is somewhere I used to write a lot. It was an outlet where I could write things and get them out into the world without having the pressure of knowing people would read it. Talking to strangers is quite freeing; that’s something I discovered in my therapy sessions – that I often find it easier to talk to a stranger about things than someone I’ve known a long time. I’ve often been quite reticent about opening up to people, which has probably led to greater isolation rather than any resolution of problems.

I went onto məƝŦ@L cŕαϨН to find a particular thing, something I have shared publicly before. What I found first was a lot of posts from 2011 which describe a me which hasn’t changed much. Someone seeking their identity, someone feeling alone, someone depressed, someone who struggles to feel like people want them around. To find that I haven’t changed much in that time is both disturbing and somewhat comforting. I haven’t gotten worse but I haven’t really improved either.

On the other hand, there are posts on there which don’t resonate with me any more. Largely ones relating to former relationships. Those are something I have been able to leave in the past, for which I am grateful.

But still, I went looking for a particular thing, something I wanted to re-share and make public once again. The story of that time I was abused. I don’t know why I felt I should bring it back up. I’m not quite sure why that can’t be left in another country like my past relationships. It doesn’t affect me, doesn’t disturb me, but somehow it is more important to keep around than stories of my biggest relationships – the ones that broke me apart and affected me for years afterwards.

To a degree, I suspect it is a trauma which sits with me today, that determines why any homo-romantic relationship will probably remain largely platonic, that determines why I can’t form meaningful connections with people, some of why I’m ace…

It is a part of me whether I want it to be or not. But it is in another country, one I have no intention of re-visiting. What is left is to acknowledge it and move on; to be stronger and better with every passing day. Maybe.

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