are you happy?

This is it. This is what I've been waiting three years to do. This is my final blog post.

You can actually see if you go back, not that you should, but you can see me start to think about ending the blog as early as 2015. But I didn't and I think it was good because I still had a lot to say. But now, I think I'm done.

It's not so much that I have nothing left to say. I have plenty still to say, but this is no longer the platform for it. And I've got to stop doing these to myself.

I think for a while I got so caught up in writing this and being a person as filtered through this blog that I forgot how to be a person. And since the whole point of this blog was to become a better person, a more me person, the fact that it's getting in the way of that, shows it's time to stop.

I think there was a period of time where I only cared about being me and being better for me for the sake of a new blog post. All I thought about were new blog posts. I would cut myself open and rip myself a part for the fucking sake of a new blog post. And I'm so proud of what I've done, and what I've created, but it's time to stop.

The theme of the blog has been "I Bailey S. Fox want to be a better person," and now it's time to do that, beyond what I can write.

But before I go, I want to give you some updates.

I've been working out. For the first time in my life I am approaching something that might be an actual appreciation for my body. I don't always hate being undressed. It's not an end result, I still have a lot of work to accomplish, but it's progress. And I'm very happy to have been making it.

I've been making better choices for myself. I've been eating healthier and I've been trying to take care of myself emotionally. I've started seeing a therapist, I've started working on my communication skills, I've started a record of things that make my happy every day. I'm slowly no longer becoming a self destructive person trapped in his own constant cycle. Maybe I can break out of this.

And also, I'm currently working to try and discover myself outside the context of a relationship. Because spoiler, I'm not in one. So now, and I'm really going to try my damnedest, I want to discover who I am without the context of another. I want to give my life meaning and purpose outside of another person. I want to do this for me. I'm ending this blog, for me, I'm working out, for me. I'm making better choices, for me. I'm going to therapy, for me.

I want to be a better me, for me.

I've watched artists I admire step away from work in such graceful ways. Bo Burnham with "Are you Happy?" at the end of "Make Happy" or the Epilogue at the end of "The Tempest." And while I'm nowhere near as important or relevant as those artists, I step away from this blog now. There is more for me. It's time to stop analyzing what I'm doing and just do the damn thing.

Thank you all for reading the last three years. The nearly 20,000 views, for reading each and every last one of the 84 blog posts I've made. Thank you for the love and support you have given me. I can never thank you all enough for this, all of this. It's meant the world to me.

I will be happy, it's time to move forward. It's time to find myself, and the world outside of me.

For the last time,

thanks for reading.

Love,

Bailey Olmstead
<3

Hero Complexities

In two days, it will be the three year anniversary of a very arrogant 15 year old trying to explain his thoughts on things like humanity and also The Planet of the Apes remake that helped foster his deep hatred of Mark Wahlberg

And I've changed a lot since then. Something that hasn't changed (as much as it probably should have) is my hero complex. I've been confronted by everyone who has ever known me with the fact that I have one. And right now, (AKA the last six months,) in an attempt to rid myself of it, I've kind of become the worst.

Or I haven't.

I can't tell.

I can tell you a lot of shitty things I've done in the last six months, christ, everyone who knows my name could as well, but I've probably always done shitty things in the same frequency, so why am I suddenly so burdened by it now?

I've been thinking a lot about it, and I think it's because what has always made my past transgressions more acceptable has been the clear visibility of my intentions behind it, but the choices I have made in the last six months have been ones of a more selfish nature. I wasn't doing things to better myself that might have had consequences, I've been making a lot of selfish and cowardly choices, and then trying to write the narrative around those to comfort myself, but I stand here in the muck of the narrative, and I can either let it pull me down, or I can pick up my feet. and free myself of my own lies and self-deception.

Despite your grand attempts the chips are set to fall

And all the stories you might weave cannot negotiate them all

And I'm making it all sound worse that it probably is. It's not like I've killed anyone. But I've become selfish, I've become more closed off, I've become less tender, less soft, I've let myself grow hard and blame the world around me and the people around me instead of accepting and owning up to the fact that I've grown scared. I have, the worst thing that could happen to me is me losing the people in my life, but all I do is I keep them at arms length with a brusque sense of humor, strong silences, and snappy moments. I said it before, but I've let myself grow hard. I've let myself write excuses for why I am how I am instead of just taking control and writing my own story. I've lost the plot. I'm tired of making excuses. I want to be good enough, not for other people, but for myself.

I'm tired of being such a way that I constantly question my actions. The careless remarks I make in front of the wrong people, the jokes that are too close to crossing the line for comfort, I'm tired ob being afraid and hiding.

I can't tell you exactly when it started. I can't pinpoint the day and say that's when I became the victim. Because any guess I made you could probably find and earlier example of it.

I need to come to terms to what I've done and how I've been, and then I need to let it go.

No one wants to hear constantly about how I've been shitty. They want to hear about me growing. Not me slowly learning that I've been regressing. And regressing is a misnomer. I've made a lot of growth as a person in some areas. I've taken good care of myself and I've started doing a lot of good for me. But I've let that progress hide the shitty things I've been doing from myself. Because it's too easy to write selfish behavior off as just growing up when every damn movie about selfish adults has the moral that they need to grow soft again, and that becoming a dick isn't a part of growing up inherently. For fuck's sake, the moral of the movie I wrote is that you shouldn't grow up to be a selfish dick.

I think I've let myself run for too long. It's time, not to stand still, but to stand tall. It's time to grow up and take responsibility for who I've been, and to be a better me. I know that if 15 year old me were to look at me now, he'd be proud overall. He'd be awed. But 15 year old me had low standards. (Higher than Marky Mark and his shitty Planet of the Apes movie, but not that high.) 15 year old me thought very lowly of himself, and by extension 18 year old Bailey is better in every way. But it's not all that hard to be better than yourself at 15. The goals I should be setting should be better than that. Maybe the hero complex got me into trouble, but I'd rather be in trouble for trying to help than being in trouble for being shitty.

Maybe the next person I have to try and save, is myself.

Thank you for reading, for the last three years. Holy shit that's crazy people have been reading this for three years. Also, like 1,400 people read my last post and that's absolutely bonkers. You guys indulge me and love and support me and for that I'm so thankful. I wouldn't be able to be better without you guys. Thank you.

Love,
Bailey S. Fox

What I learned in 2016 is...

WHAT I LEARNED IN 2016 IS... IS... IS IIIIIIISSSS

Man, what a year, right? It's sucked, a lot. So much. But thinking back, I'm pretty sure I said that at the end of 2014 too, and 2015. Maybe as far back as 2012 and 2013, but I tend to not think about those years too hard. But the point is, was this year any worse, really?

Me thinking about 2016

And like, yeah, kinda. It really sucked. I mean, we lost Bowie, PRINCE, Carrie Fisher, Alan Rickman, Leonard Cohen. George Michael, on Christmas of all days, the day when he is most significant. The day after we lost Carrie Fisher, her mother, Debbie Reynolds passed away. Gene Wilder! For fuck's sake we lost Gene Wilder! Like, how do you continue. And not to mention all the other shit that happened this year, Brexit, Trump, countless shootings, I don't really want to go on, you were there, you know what happened and who we lost.

But I'm not content to just wallow in the filth of this year, I want to pull something from this year, I want to make it better, maybe just for me, but maybe for you too.

WHAT I LEARNED IN 2016 IS:

Carrie Fisher taught me to be proud of my mental illness, and advocate for myself. She taught me that I can still kick ass and kill space slugs while struggling with inner demons. Most importantly she taught me that I can go out on a high note, such as revealing I had sex with Harrison Ford and then blissing out like a champ.

David Bowie taught me there's no right way to be a man, and there is no right way to be proud of my body. He taught me that makeup can still be just as masculine as a beard. He taught me that being beautiful doesn't make my dick any smaller. 

Alan Rickman taught me it's never too late to chase my dreams. Alan Rickman's first film was at age 41! And that was Die Hard as Hans Gruber. How badass is that? To not be in a film until you're 40 and then be one of the most iconic movie villains of all time. It's never to late to start doing what you're passionate about, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Gene Wilder taught me how important it is to make people laugh. And how strong of a tool comedy could be, Gene Wilder died my first day in Boston, and I resolved myself to make more people laugh, in the absence that he created.

Leonard Cohen taught me that it's okay to be beautiful, poetic, and even sappy, as long as there is sincerity behind it. What has made songs like Hallelujah, Chelsea Hotel No. 2, Anthem, and countless other Cohen songs so immortal is the sincerity behind them, and to have that sincerity in my own life.

Donald Trump taught me that what I do is important. Haha, no, not with anything he's ever said or done. But with the fact that people need to work and stop him. People need to call him out, and fight against him. Speak out. And as a writer, as an actor, as a person with a fucking soul, I can do that.

In 2016, I learned where I am meant to be, the type of people I'm supposed to surround myself with, the things I am meant to be doing, and who I want to be.

2016 wasn't a banner year for me. I hit some of my lowest points, I did some pretty terrible and lousy things, but you know what? You fucking no what? None of this "New Year, New Me" Thing. I want to just be a better me. There are people who love me, so I shouldn't become a new person and risk losing them, what I need to do is become a better me, to thank them for being loyal and standing by my side. For being with me, I should be better, not just for them, but for me. Because I have to live with me, and I plan on living with me for a long ass time.

I want to better myself, in honor of those we lost, for the people who love and stand by me, and most importantly, for myself. I think I've said that a lot on the 80 something posts I've made on this blog, and I mean it every damn time. Just know that I am always working to better myself. I am always trying to be a better me and make better choices. 2016 may not showcase that perfectly, but know if I hurt you this year, I am deeply sorry. I am, and I will do anything I can to make that better in 2017. 

My New Year's Resolution is just to be a better dude. Be someone that would be missed if I suddenly and tragically perished in 2017. I want to do justice to all my friends and family, who love me, even though I am a problematic mess, know that I am your problematic mess. 

I learned this year that I'm allowed to be a work in progress, I learned that I don't have to be perfect, but I can try and be better. I'm only 18, I'm not meant to be a complete human being yet, and the best thing I can do for myself is to love myself and to keep trying to be better, and to forgive myself.

I am lucky enough to have so many strong and supportive role models in my day to day life. Good men who are caring and loving and strong. And powerful women, who teach me to love myself and others. I am lucky to love and be loved back. And I will continue to do so until the day I die. 

Thank you for reading, everyone. It means so much, everytime.

Happy New Year.

Love,

Bailey S. Fox

Die Snake, Die

When I was a boy, I remember going looking for snakes and other reptiles with my father. My father is a man who vastly enjoys finding and protecting reptiles and amphibians. I was never the enthusiast, I've always been more of an indoors kid anyway, but there was something always deeply unsettling to me about snakes. And this discomfort would well up every time I was around them.

But I wasn't afraid.

I couldn't be afraid. 

How could I be afraid of something my father so clearly loved?

 So I would hold the snakes and I would search for the snakes. The hunt for the snakes continued, even with my apprehension.

Now I could never tell my dad that I was uncomfortable, he loved snakes. I didn't want to dissapoint him. And I wanted to love snakes too, even though every time I saw one I suddenly became deeply uncomfortable. And I was a scared kid, heights, new food, breaking rules, other people, girls, boys, being late, being wrong. But not of snakes, no, never of snakes.

As I grew up two things happened, I got over a lot of my fears: I rode zip lines high above the ground, ate new foods, broke countless rules, met new people, dated girls, kissed boys, I became a very late person, I spend a lot of my time being wrong, I stopped being so afraid. The second thing that happened, was I saw way less snakes.

I still was afraid of things, needles, spiders, death, but everyone has phobias.

But not as many as before. And I wasn't was not in no way afraid of snakes.

As I grew older I would find my own interests, new interests, and not accompany my father on his snake hunts.

Do you ever go a long time without really thinking about things? 

For instance, as a writer who lives in Boston, snakes aren't a big priority on my mind. And so it was a really long time before I ever thought about snakes. I would think about grades, I would think about boys, and girls, I would think about rock music, I would think about how Michael Bublé is just the straight man's Rufus Wainright. I would think about new stories, but not snakes, and I didn't have to, again, I live in a city. The closest thing I see to a snake is a rat's tail when I'm on the train too late at night. So snakes never grazed my mind, and I never had to think about my totally-non-existent-fear-of snakes-that-I-was-in-no-way-afraid-of.

But one day we had to give presentations in my speech class, and a girl Ana gave a speech on why snakes shouldn't be killed as much as they are and feared as much as they are.

And I began to panic, and feel fear.

Holy shit: I'm afraid of snakes.

I've spent my whole life ignoring the fact that I am fucking terrified of snakes. 

And it's not my dad's fault, I just wanted to impress him, but holy shit snakes make me so afraid and uncomfortable.

And I know what you're thinking. "No shit Bailey, you're afraid of snakes. Why am I reading this?"

But hold with me, I promise there is a point here.

And it fucked with me, it rattled me (pun intended) because I have been able to repress for so long that the idea that snakes terrify me out of sheer stubbornness, and how long we're able to lie to ourselves and put off self-confrontation. And it also shook me that I felt so ashamed suddenly that I was afraid of snakes. I'd watch my younger siblings go after them with such zeal and I'd always move too slow to catch them. I'd always be caught off guard, I'd always jump- just a little. But I'd never admit I was afraid. 

Now repression is nothing new to this blog, I talked about it last year with my David Bowie post and the tale of losing my virginity. But this isn't trauma, this is just me lying to myself for so many years, and for what point? Did I feel that this is where I needed to be manly? Is this what I needed to be masculine about? Why? I've never been the most masculine of people, so why is it that I still felt the need to be masculine then? Why did I feel the need at that moment to be false and strong?

Masculinity, specifically toxic masculinity has been something I've railed against for such a long time. This idea that men can't and aren't allowed to express emotions without being labeled as weak or wimpy has been such a disgusting idea to me for so long. And there are so many things that "men aren't allowed to do" It's so weird to people that I want to learn to knit, or I think there are better songs for women in musical theater for women. I like Ke$ha and Taylor Swift, I cry, a lot. I love clothes shopping, I like talking about how I feel. I think that traditional men's clothing should be more interesting like women's clothing. As a cis-male I have three choices in underwear style. I couldn't even name all of the cis-female underwear styles. I love Gilmore Girls and rom-coms. 

But I'm still sometimes trapped in this box of not being able to self-express. Even with all my fucking forward thinking and free will I still get caught up in toxic masculinity. I'm at times really afraid to tell people how I feel, or be vulnerable. Sometimes I'm afraid to be affectionate.

For instance I have a friend who I kinda had a falling out with, who I really want to reconnect with, but I'm so afraid of the vulnerability in asking to talk again and hanging out, that I still haven't done it. I have hard times telling my parents things (like the fact I have a new girlfriend, surprise!) And I shouldn't, I don't want to live trapped by this fear of expression and vulnerability. 

The fist time the idea of being a feminist was introduced to me was when I was a junior in high school, and I realized that it was something for me too. Being a feminist not only meant fighting for women's equality, but also against toxic masculinity. It meant I don't have to fit into any sort of strict category to be considered a "man." And that was a really important lesson to me.

Being in Boston made me a little freer from that fear, because people are so expressive and accepting and varied there. It's not like back in Newfield where I was called "faggot" for the one time I talked about liking "Love Actually." And that's not even a super feminine thing! Love Actually is just a really good movie. And I liked penis long before I saw that movie. But I digress, I'm freer in Boston than I was at home, but I'm still not totally free. I still struggle with the things I've been taught in society.

I struggle with opening up at times, and talking about my feelings when there are consequences to how I feel. For instance, in class we could be looking at a picture of a man and I could go, "That man is hot!" But if I sat next to a man I found attractive I'd have a much harder time telling him. When you add stakes to feelings, then I'm shit out of luck. I don't want to be like that anymore. If I can ride ziplines nearly a mile long or cliff dive or risk my life with little worry, I should be able to tell people how I feel. And I'll start now:

 Dad, I'm afraid of snakes. I always have been, I'm sorry

I guess what I'm saying is that the expectations of others, be it my father expecting me to be okay with snakes, or society expecting men to be tough and emotionless, is a toxic cycle. If the snake represents the idea of masculinity in this drawn out metaphor, then sorry Ana, and I'm sorry dad, but I say:

Die snake, Die.

<3

Love,

Bailey S. Fox

(In no way do I endorse the actual killing of real snakes)

All in all, You're Just Another Brick in the Wall

I was going to put the blog on hiatus, work on other projects, and take some time for myself, but now is not the time for that. I want to, I need to say something.

Those of you who are friends with me on social media have seen me talking about it all night/day. But I feel the need to just write this, even if it's just for myself. Even if this helps not a single person other than myself, I will write it.

This is an incredibly frightening time, I cried this morning for my sister. A young girl in a conservative town who is gay. And I'm sorry Cam if I'm not supposed to talk about it, but I'm doing it right now. I cried this morning thinking about her, and the world she now lives in. The people who would oppose her now have had their vileness reaffirmed. But I so desperately pray we go past that. We don't do that. But we see the wrongness that has been exposed in our country, that we as people, not, as a government or as parties, but we as a collective people can join together and make this world a better, kinder, and more accepting place to live.

I know that Donald Trump is a symbol of everything that frightens and hurts so many people I love, and myself. But I promise you are not alone. I promise you deeply, from the bottom of my heart, you are not alone.

I've seen people I idolize crumble in the face of this new world we live in. I talked to my father as if one of us were dying. I watched Stephen Colbert lose the will to make jokes and light of this situation. I felt myself be swallowed by hopelessness as the numbers rolled in. And even when I finally went to bed 12 hours ago at around 3:30, I saw that Donald Trump had won, and I didn't believe it. I hoped that if I went to bed I could wake up in a slightly new reality, that the moment where I read the words was a dream, brought on by the stress of the night, but it was not. And as I awoke the next morning, that was confirmed.

Now I am not here to spread hate, or anger. I refuse to hate the people I know who voted for what they believe in. I can't do that. And maybe that comes from a place of privilege and if so I am so sorry, I do not mean to perpetuate that. What I want to perpetuate is love, and understanding and forgiveness. I've watched hell erupt on Earth the last 24 hours. I woke up yesterday having a panic attack about the election. And I refuse to push that on to others.

I can't promise everything will be okay, and I refuse to send out empty promises. But I know that I still believe that this isn't over yet. The race maybe over, but the world, it is not. We will persist. We will move on, we will fucking survive. We will find love and compassion. We will protect the people we love, we will still find a way to be on the right side of history.

There will be people who want to come out as their true selves. As gay, or trans, or bi, or pan, or asexual, or anything else, and they are now in a society that has leaders who are against that. And I just need everyone to know who reads this, you are not alone. You are never alone, you will never be alone. There will always be someone to love and accept you, I promise. Even if you are now in a world that doesn't seem like it, I promise this hell will pass. This fucking hell will pass.

We can do better, America. This isn't who we are. This isn't what we stand for. I promise you that it is not. And I'm so sad, and sad isn't even the right word, I'm so disenchanted to see that this is who and what we have representing us as a nation, but I hold on to hope that we will be better, that we can be better. That this isn't over yet. Tomorrow the sun will rise, the sun will always rise, and one day, the sun will once more rise on a world that I can be proud of.

The city of Boston is quiet today, strangely quiet for this city. But the city is in mourning. Maybe we as a city aren't perfect, but this isn't fucking what we stand for. Maybe Hillary Clinton wasn't perfect, but that woman has been shit on too much by the American people to be as evil as she has been made out to be. I just can't believe it, maybe I'm wrong but I need to believe that there is good in her. Because the man in fucking charge is not a man I can find good in.

I believe in you America, you fucked up, but this isn't who you have to be. You can rise above this, you can be more than this. You can move past this and become the ideal you so tightly cling to. You can be a haven and a utopia for all peoples. I believe in the greater good, and the basic good in all people. And after last night, that's hard. But I believe we're more than this. As a country, as a people, I believe despite our differences, we can be more than this.

I believe in a better tomorrow, I want you to know, whoever is reading this, that I believe it will be okay, and that someday, we will be able to look back and be proud of who we were and what we did when the world went to shit.

I don't have the answers, but I do have hope. And for now, that will have to suffice.

I love you America, you let me down but I still love you.

You're more than this.

Fuck Hate.

Love.

Stay strong

<3

Love,

Bailey S. Fox

The Bisexual Agenda

I've been debating how to write this post for the last six months, but I feel maybe it's finally time seeing as it is national coming out day.

For those of you who have missed the memo, I'm bisexual.

I know, crazy. The guy with 18 exes is also into dudes, and that's hard to swallow (heh) but bear with me, and I'll tell you my tale.

I started questioning my sexuality the November of my junior year. And I told two people, and then spent the greater part of a year trying to repress it. I'd make jokes about how hot the Avengers were, but for the most part, I was unable to come to terms with my sexuality. It took a lot of alcohol (ahh, underaged drinking) and a willing gay friend on a warm summer night for me to finally come to terms with something I had been battling for a year. I was overjoyed, and very drunk. I texted my two best friends and I told my girlfriend.

She was less enthused.

Not that she wasn't supportive, but it's hard to hear that your boyfriend got drunk and kissed a dude. I'm sorry about that.

But it was nice to finally be able to come to terms with a part of myself that I had been in turmoil over for a long time. But then there was the challenge of coming out. Something that frightened me to no end. I teased it on the blog a little,I told my friends, I told my sister, I told my new at the time girlfriend, I told my dad when he asked, he told my mom. Finally, December 28th, 2015 I came out on my blog. It was a hard thing to admit, because in my head, I was defined by my girlfriends. Coming out meant letting go of a part of me I had so long defined myself by. But I've been glad about it ever since.

At my graduation party I kissed a guy I had been flirting with for lord knows how long. But for thsoe of you who follow along at home, that was right after the big break up, and I was emotionally unstable. Too unstable at the time for a relationship. He was willing to hook up, and part of me really wanted to, but a larger part of me was afraid. I didn't want my first time with a guy to go like my first time with a girl, and end up hurting me. I didn't want to have it be a hook up, but I wasn't in the place for a relationship. And then I ended up in one anyway. Whoops.

A lot of my summer was me using my emotional instability as an excuse to hurt people, and I really regret that. But I've done my best to make amends, and I've finally said the things that I lacked the ability to say at the time, so I move past it.

Being bisexual is in itself a new problem. It's not really understood, and it's seen by some as a fad. It's seem by some as a phase. Some people try to quantify it or split it into being part straight and part gay. But it's not, it's being attracted to two genders. It's not part straight part gay, it's not a percentage, it's bisexual. I have a type for guys and a type for girls. And it's not something I want really commented on. It's a very personal subject that I'm still understanding myself. There's no real guidebook for being straight, and there is less of one for being bi. While that does not excuse the mistakes I've made, I hope it will give some people cause for patients and compassion.

I'm young, I'm still figuring it out.

I'm Bailey S. Fox, I'm 18 years old, and I'm bisexual and proud. Every day I wear my bracelet with the bi colors. I mourned the gay men shot in Orlando this summer. I mourn the gay men killed in the middle east. I am hurt every time more anti-lgbtq laws are passed. I am hurt when being bisexual is removed from lgtbq causes. I am hurt when tv shows can't admit characters are bi, or when being bi is a punchline.

Happy coming out day, everyone.

And for those of you reading who are still in the closet, you are loved. You are strong. Do not feel fear to be who you are, but do not feel shame for staying in the closet. Just know the people who truly love you, will always love you, no matter what.

Thank you for reading.

Love,
Bailey S. Fox

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