Honest things I’d like to do in 2019:
Curse out so-called friends that were shit to me this year. The ones that refused to take responsibility for their actions; so instead I took responsibility for both of us, and internalized my anger when really I should’ve just told them they were shit.
Take a picture of myself, underarms exposed, and post it on Instagram. Wearing a sleeveless top and shorts outside this summer. Swimming. I haven’t worn a bathing suit in three years—not even when I traveled to Brazil—because I’ve been afraid of reactions to my body hair.
Tell my mom that I’m gay, and that she and her bible-thumping siblings can fuck off if they don’t like it; and that her comedic use of the word f*ggot was never funny to me.
Block certain older folks from my social media because c’mon, I think it’s weird that you’re, like, twice my age and all up in my shit, you know? Go helicopter your own kid. (Or alternatively, post whatever I want with no shame as to who comes across it.)
And lastly: share this journal entry on my blog…precisely because I’m afraid to, but also because any substitute posts will feel comparatively shallow until I finally confront the thoughts I’ve been hiding from.
If it hasn’t clicked already, my deepest intention for 2019 is to stop prioritizing everyone else’s opinions above my own. Stop hiding, stop compartmentalizing; stop biting my tongue, waiting until later, playing it small…
In other words, stop giving a fuck. That would make 2019 great.
Happy New Year, everyone.