The First Post (or The Preface).

This is the third time that I have written and posted this preface–so technically it’s not the first post anymore, but it's the first one listed in a series of posts, which I'm deciding still justifies it as the beginning of whatever this blog will turn out to be. A Rusted Crown is meant to be an expression of who I am, and I’m not the same person who poured grapefruit vodka into her red wine while she wrote the last preface.  ​

 This blog is not something that will tell you how to bake cheesecake with a praline crust and caramel drizzle–I don't even know how to make regular cheesecake.  I'm also not going to be able to give you advice on how to decorate your bedroom in a way that perfectly matches your personality without looking like you're trying too hard.  This blog won't help you revolutionize your life on a spiritual level.  It won't help you revolutionize your life on any level, but it will make you feel less alone.  I want you to read this blog because you want to hear the experiences of a girl who has been through some really difficult things and has had to work really hard to get her shit together.  I will say, I've been moderately successful at the getting-my-shit-together part, but I still have a long way to go. My writing is a reflection of life through my eyes and with a brain that often tells me I'm a way worse human than I actually am. 

The year after I graduated college was what I like to call "a really fucking bad year".  Nothing happened, I just hated myself and used whatever I could to not feel that way. Hating yourself is a really lonely experience.  It causes you to feel like you're not good enough for anyone to want to be friends with, and so you isolate yourself to avoid going through the imaginary rejection you're so certain will happen if you try to make human connections.  It was during this time that I came across a tv show called “Girls”. Watching this show was the first time in my life that I heard my thoughts come out of someone else's mouth. It made me feel just a little bit better to know there are other people in the world who are messy and not doing a great job at figuring out this life thing.  That show holds a special place in my heart because of the fictional characters that made me feel less alone. It is what inspired me to start this blog. I want to give a sense of connection and comfort to people in the way that Lena Dunham gave to me. I want people who are sitting on their bed at night eating an entire Little Caesars pizza to themselves while watching the Katy Perry documentary to know that whatever they’re feeling– whatever is making them isolate, and feel not good enough, and eat more pizza than a person can comfortably eat–it is not a unique feeling.  I wish someone had told me that; luckily, I was able to figure it out eventually.  Self-help books and television shows are great, but what I’ve found most helpful is for someone to say “I’ve felt that way too and this was my experience”.  I’ve gone to enough therapy and support groups, and I’ve messed up enough to have some suggestions to offer as to what worked for me. I can also tell you what for sure didn’t work and instead made everything worse until I was in enough pain to do the things I know I’m supposed to do to not hate myself and function like a normal human.

Every since I began this blog a handful of years ago, the amount of times I write has slowly decreased.  I went from posting one essay a week to today, where the last time I posted something was over a year ago.  Although my life has become slightly less chaotic, I still have a lot of things to say. I just found myself not wanting to say them.  You see, all the joy that writing had brought me slowly stopped being there. I became so consumed with creating the most beautiful, genius, poetic, heartfelt, honest, well-written essays that writing began to coexist with an enormous amount of pressure.  It was no longer fun because it had to be perfect. Perfect for what reason–I don’t know, but those were the unrealistic expectations that I developed around my writing. Even though I knew I loved writing, I never wanted to do it.  

My therapist is having me work on doing things imperfectly.  It’s really uncomfortable and I kind of hate it, but I know it will open me up to a world where everything isn’t black or white.  I am trying to change my relationship around writing. I want to do it because there is a part of me that needs to write to feel whole.  Afterall, writing a little bit is better than not writing at all, which is what happens when I throw perfection into the mix. Maybe one day I’ll get to a place where sitting down to write isn’t a dramatic act of contrary action.  But for today, I’ll force myself to put my thoughts down on paper and let them look as imperfectly as my life does.  
 
Because a preface is just the beginning, I don’t feel the need to wrap this passage up with a neat bow.  I will finish by saying thank you for taking the time to read my words. I hope within whatever comes out there is something you’re able to connect with. 

​