My life, I realize suddenly, is July. Childhood is June, and old age is August, but here it is, July, and my life, this year, is July inside of July.
– Rick Bass
July is over. I am 19, my room is mostly in three suitcases bulging at the seams, and I have a plane to catch in five days. July was my last full month in South Africa, and here we are at the end of it, as we would be at the end of any other month. July inside of July; here we go.
I’m taking out my twists as I’m writing this, so to say my hands are a bit full as an understatement. This July, I grappled. While I mostly grappled with grasping the reality of leaving a home (this only hit midway through my speech at my farewell), I spent the month under Kylie’s curse, constantly realising things.I grappled with having no internet at my house for most of the month for a reason I still haven’t been able to find out. This was…how you say…awful. Most of my life is working on the internet or not working on the internet, and having the common factor of the two removed entirely set me up for a month of laziness, and behind deadlines-ness, and all the other nesses that come with no internet.
I grappled with not being able to be the person I knew myself to be because of my brain. Oh man, that brain – she’s a handful. In short, I got very (read: did not move from bed for three days at one point), very depressed. I couldn’t get up because I didn’t take my meds because I couldn’t get up, and lemme tell you guys: that shit is awful. I had a hell night where I was more dangerously suicidal that I’d been in probably two or three years, but I got through that too with the help of some pals over the ocean and one lovely one here at home. I’m still here though.
This month I had a farewell party! It’s mad – before this past weekend, I’d only ever had one party at my house because contrary to popular belief, I don’t like parties a ton. However, the spirit of my farewell was just…so good. Just pure, concentrated good, and love and enough niceness to wipe the suicidal ideation of the week before, the stress of the few hours before the party, and the disappointment at the 30 people who said they’d come, but didn’t. It’s a funny thing. I was extremely sad when I realised that all the people who said they wanted to see me and “make plans” and RSVP’d in the definite just didn’t show up, and I wondered why they would bother with the pretence. Now, I’m not talking about those who were ill, or who were away — just people who decided not to come. I wanted to cry about it, and then I thought about them all and realised that I’d rather they didn’t come. I’m grateful for intentions being made plain, and Saturday was a whole buncha that. In the end, I got to have an evening where nobody I didn’t want to see was there, where I loved on everyone who loved me through the nightmares of high schools and universities past so hard, and where I played The 1975 all night because I could. It was good.
tunes n vidz
coming in at number one, no surprise to anybody…
i got back into the 1975’s first record this month really hard. it conjures memories of 14 year old shalom lying on the floor listening to head.cars.bending and wondering about being lorde. a good time.
fall down, write another song about your friends
danger in our consequence
this song is just cute as hell. also kermit singing? sign me the heck UP
- this post by maxine, because i noticed and i love her and i love it
- two fanfictions that i will not link but am having the time of my LIFE reading
snippets of internal monologue
- you’re leaving the country, and we’re never gonna see you again!
- sharon is always that guy. george washington, jerry — it’s always sharon.
- but surely…surely if i can’t speak i can’t sing?
- bloody hell i just got into bad man shalom you better sort this out
July is over. Whooooosh. South Africa time is mostly over. Crying whoooooosh. Thanks for being home, you all.
love and light,