On birthdays and rebirths

A week ago was my birthday. I turned 32 and had been dumped a few days earlier. Life happens very quickly around here and I think I hold a lot of space for transformation because I don’t consider myself to be anything except energy in motion/reality embodied (reality that is always changing). Said my dad on my birthday, “Can I give you some unsolicited advice? Maybe don’t share on the internet that you guys broke up.” I think I understand him: it was my first lesbian relationship and that is probably a lot to handle for someone insecure about their daughter’s sexuality.

So to be honest publicly that it didn’t work out is another blow to those who cast judgment easily - those who live in the shadows.

Sometimes I worry what others think but mostly I’m just interested in forward motion and expressing my own shadows so they don’t become extra weight.

I booked a trip to Big Bear and then, fuck it, to Portland, and remembered another side of myself. I like that side, and I think the world responds positively to it, too. It felt good to step into a space of expression and adventure once more.

With expression and change in mind, I am going by my middle name now, which is Marie.

I’ve experienced nominal dysphoria most all my life (a fancy term I just made up to mean I’ve never felt like my name).

In the fifth grade I started going by Katy: some Freudian attempt to be close to my mother, who had been institutionalized and whom I hadn’t any contact with besides incoming letters for about a year. Her nickname was Katie.

The “y” was to mimic my brother, who’d changed his name from Justin to Justyn, and who I considered a god during the time my mom was away.

I am grateful for my mother. She is the portal through which I came into the world. When she named me she was a 21-year old former cheerleader recovering from meth addiction and alcoholism. She was what I’d consider “basic” and honestly the fact that I developed past a life of drugs, Target, and top 40 radio is a miracle in itself.

I am also grateful for Justyn. He taught me lessons I am still trying to understand. Two days ago was his birthday. He was last spotted on the streets of Sherman Oaks. Last I spoke to anyone in the family, he had been kicked out after turning their home into a trap house. “I don’t care if he lives or dies,” said Aunt Susie.

All this is to say, I no longer desire to remain trapped in an homage to these figures that I decided upon when I was 10.

The freer I become; the more I express my deepest truths; the more I love myself - the greater ripples of change I can extend into the world. And lucky me to be free to change things around as I see fit.

It’s trying times, trying times, and here I am trying like anyone else.

I am 32 years old and I’m also Marie.