Boston, a Love Letter to Home.

It's been a while since I've posted, over a month actually. Whoops.

The intersection of my narcissism and my nostalgia can be found at the Facebook feature "On this day." And as I've gone back the last two or so week, I am constantly reminded of one fact:

This kid, wanted to fucking die. Not like edgy humor wanted to die, but regularly had thoughts that it might be better to just not exist.

And that's a really hard memory to come to terms with. It's one thing to kind of objectively talk about it, but to be reminded and to see photos reminding you how depressed and how much you screamed for love and attention on the internet it kind of disturbing. It upsets me in a very specific way. I'd run through the woods to try and free myself from this turmoil. I'd spend hundreds of dollars over the course of months to get out of the house because there was this manic frenzy in me that wouldn't let me stay home. I had to keep running, running from myself. And I tried to write it away, I tried to justify it. "I am a chaotic being. I thrive on change and movement. I find my rhythms in the live syncopation of the world." And that's still true, to an extent. But it was me trying to justify, trying to run from a deeper truth, I wasn't happy. And I tried to hard to be happy, and I'd never let myself get there. I was so afraid of other people, I was so bricked into my space into the wall that the idea of moving and perhaps collapsing the metaphorical wall paralyzed me with fear. So I ran, I ran from myself.

The whole year I kept running. I ruined a relationship because I couldn't be happy in the moment, I kept having to create a perfect future for us, and I pushed her away. Then I started another relationship that almost entirely existed in running away from the last one that had such a imagined future we barely knew ourselves in the present. I kept running, and kept overlooking my mistakes. I ran so much that weeks later entire things would come crashing down on me, I didn't fully break down from my second to last relationship until I was in my last one. And that was so stupid of me, I never would let myself stop long enough to feel. I kept running myself ragged. At one point I was so bad over the summer I worked myself until I literally collapsed from exhaustion. I was scaring myself, but I didn't know how to stop. I ran and I ran and I ran. And I kept trying to justify it to myself and to the world.

And that stemmed from this insecurity, this inability to be alone.

I would spend way too much time worried about what to wear, or how I looked, or how I sounded, or how I acted. There were so many layers between me and the world. And I preached emotional honesty and expression to my friends but I didn't even know how to open up to them for help. The help I needed. It would only come out in these breakdowns that were erratic. And this all was only a year ago. I wrote these posts about fear and my break up and my pain, only a year ago. And I spent so much of that time repeating my mistakes and hurting people. I've pushed away people who I love so much out of fear and impulsiveness and bad choices. And I've tried to right my wrongs, but people are still hurt, and people have that right to be hurt, because I fucked up. And here I am, for the upteenth time writing about it. And at one point, it doesn't matter what I write anymore, because I say the same shit.

So why am I doing it then?

Because in Boston, things are different. I wear my glasses regularly, most of the time now. Something I was too self conscious to do back home. I've worn outfits that would put last year's Bailey in a panic attack. I spend time around my friends in pajamas, which sounds banal but its something I couldn't do before. I'm taking active steps to produce my work. I'm sharing and talking about my writing, I'm auditioning for everything I can, I'm making new friends, I'm standing up for myself, I'm taking new risks, and I'm living in the moment. I'm expressing my feelings and taking steps to coexist with them, I'm trying to be a better person, I'm trying to be someone who stands up for himself and what he believes in. I'm trying to do all those things I kept swearing I would do. I'm going out and seeing the city, I'm chasing my dreams with ferocity, I'm failing with glory, I'm trying my hardest. I'm doing my best to make my family proud, but I'm doing it for me. I'm doing this because a year ago, that boy, screaming and sobbing hysterically in his father's car because he wanted to die. That boy who took a chance and stayed around and put himself out there, I'm doing this for him. I'm doing this so what I preach to my friends isn't empty rhetoric. I'm doing this so that boy who took a chance and decided to hold out a little longer, I'm doing this all so it was worth it.

I'm writing this and doing this for everyone who has doubted if it's worth it. Because a year ago I had nothing. I hated myself, I wanted to die, all my friendships were floundering. But I fixed them, I made new close friends, I met new people and let myself love and be loved and take risks, and I fucked up, so grandly, but I did it, and now I'm trying to do this right, I'm learning from my mistakes. I'm living my life and making the risk worth it. I'm trying to show people that the risk is worth it, because it does get better, it does improve, life is worth it.

I'm doing it for this kid.

Who would go home that night and cry himself to sleep.

I'm doing it for my family and for my friends who believed in me when I couldn't believe in me. For every fight and screaming match, I'm doing it for those. 

I'm doing this because that kid, would in just a short time meet so many people who would help him learn, and help him relearn, time and time again, that it was worth it. 

This post isn't me admonishing home, or praising Boston. Because Boston would not, could not, be what it is without all the lessons I learned from home, I had to do everything I did, and learn everything I did, and go through all that shit, for Boston to be able to be the amazing opportunity it is for me. My work and life in Boston, is a love letter to home.

I know this is a very personal post, and maybe even too personal for some, but I'm writing it so people know, that someone has gone through it, and come out the other end of it stronger and better for it. 

I'm doing it.

Thank you for reading.

I love you all.

It's worth it. Don't forget that.

<3

Bailey S. Fox