A Bookmark for Sera

I realized this morning that I've been homeless most of my life.

A few years ago, I was homeless for about a year and a half, in the common definition. I didn't have a fixed address, I couldn't receive mail. I had no landline telephone. For a little while, I had no phone at all, actually. I lived in a tiny, run-down RV in a church parking lot. I hated it there. It was a constant reminder of how badly I'd failed everyone, including my girlfriend at the time, #myfavoritemistake; she lived there, too.

I spent as little time there as possible. Pulling 25-credit quarters at a 4.0 invited questions. People would ask me how I did it. I said, "well, I'm homeless." They'd be shocked and confused, so I'd explain. "When I'm done with classes for the day, I can go back to my beat-up RV in a parking lot in Marysville, with a slanty floor, with cats and trash everywhere, with a girlfriend who can't stand me, or I can be in the library, with level floors, and running water, and climate control, and people who don't touch me because there's room to move around me. You have no idea how awful it is to live on a slanted floor. I can't think there."

I wasn't a naturally stellar student. I was just another girl who was never happy where she was. I had no other way to distract myself from how awful my life was, so I dove into my classes, and I went overboard with it. I spent every waking moment as focused on school as possible, because I couldn't bear to let my awareness rest where I was. I wasn't even planning for the future. I was just taking every class I could, just to take them. Whenever I managed to get a shower, at the school or at the YMCA about a mile down the hill from the RV, I'd run lines in my head, rehearsing French or singing or acting. I never just ate, I ate while doing other things. I was never where I was.

I moved into this house I live in now. It's my friend #GingerAl's place. I hated it, but I hated it less than the parking lot. It was far from everyone and everything, it was also somewhat run-down, it needed work that I had no idea how to even begin to go about doing. There were bugs and spiders everywhere, dust and grime from years gone by. The room I moved into had cut cables dangling from the ceiling in several places, pieces of a broken drum set and other assorted trash. I knew I was supposed to be grateful, that gratitude was all anyone would want to see. I mouthed the words, and tried to pretend I wasn't steeping in bitterness. I used to have a nice place to live. I used to have things.

I moved my computer into the house. I set it back up and patched the games I used to live in: League of Legends, Champions Online, The Lord of the Rings Online. My computer was set up in the living room, because I thought the living room had grounded wiring, and I didn't want to lose my computer while I couldn't afford to replace it. I didn't play my games too much, because there were usually people around, and I didn't want to seem rude. As soon as I realized none of the wiring in the house was grounded, I set my computer up in my room. I returned to my game worlds like a hero coming home. Like a junkie who'd been clean for a year, and then found an old stash. I shut my door, and left.

I tried to clean the place up, sometimes. When some of #GingerAl's friends came over, they remarked that the place looked cleaner than they'd seen it in years. I thought it was still filthy. I mostly gave up trying to get it clean. I started focusing on getting just my room clean. But eventually, I gave up on that, too.

At some point, I realized that I was a girl. It wasn't long before I understood that I always had been. I looked around at the house I lived in, and I felt real gratitude. For a moment. Then, I lost myself in something new: me. I learned how to relax and move without inhibitions. I watched a few youtube tutorials to teach myself how to do my own makeup. I got excited about putting outfits together each day. I looked forward to seeing people. I participated in my classes, I did things.

I thought, "this must be what living is like."

Then, I went home, and I got on the Internet, and I played video games. I could deal with the real world as long as I was doing a thing, like driving somewhere, or working on something, or writing a song... or playing video games. But I couldn't deal with the real world as it was, as I was. And so I'd arrived in the real world, but not really. I was never where I was.

I met a girl on the Internet, which surprised exactly no one, as I'd always met my girls on the Internet. #FKAgirlfriend taught me more about my sexual self than every previous partner had, combined. That's not to say my previous partners were terrible, or even not good — it's that I wasn't there, Before. With #FKAgirlfriend, in sex, I came as close as I ever had to real sustained periods of being present. I didn't know what would come next. I was on high alert, but in pleasure, not terror. I learned what I liked and did not like in bed, and I started learning how to talk with a partner about it all.

Yet even then, I was doing a thing. I was learning sex, and I was present for my own sensations. My girlfriend could see me, but I could not see her. She would touch me, but I would rarely touch her. I was just on the other side of my skin. There, but not there. The ultimate sex toy. But not a partner.

I'd check in sometimes, but not often enough. I didn't recognize my boredom for what it was. Not a lack of activity, but a lack of capacity to just be. So I would go to #FKAgirlfriend's place, and as long as I was doing a thing, I was okay. I'd read a book, or cook a meal for us, or watch a TV show or movie, or write a blog post about all the things I was doing. But I still wasn't there, in between things. I'd started showing up in the real world for activity time, but I still went home to nowhere.

The most horrible thing in each of those places was me.

Prior to figuring out that I was a girl, I was present as little as possible. I couldn't even deal with sitting around and socializing, I couldn't just be where I was. I had to be doing a thing, and as soon as that thing was over, I needed to be doing another thing. I was an actual waste of space — a person-sized nothing person. I was holding space for the person I'd ultimately find myself to be, though I didn't know it at the time. I was a placeholder, a bookmark for Sera. I was always doing a thing, or asleep. I didn't rest, because I didn't know how.

After figuring out that I was a girl, I was present for thing-doing, but still not in between. I could do things, and I could talk about the things I'd been doing, but I had a very, very hard time not doing anything at all. #FKAgirlfriend broke up with me, and literally as I am writing this now today, nearly five months later, I realize that that was probably why. How lonely it must have been for her. Kim, if you can see this, please know how sorry I am to have put you through that. I'm sure I was with you sometimes. And I'm sure it wasn't nearly often enough. I was always doing a thing, or asleep. I didn't rest, because I didn't know how.

I started yoga classes at the VA. Some of the poses were challenging, but the hardest thing to do was lie there and just breathe. Even with the difficult balance poses, and the particulars of form, I was still doing a thing. I was learning yoga, memorizing transitions and techniques. But those first and last five minutes are still the hardest parts of the whole routine. At the beginning, I want to hurry up and yoga. At the end, I want to hurry up and finish yoga so I can do other things. I want to be doing a thing, or asleep. I don't rest. Because I don't know how.

A few weeks ago, I made a new rule for myself: when I am eating, I am eating. Not reading, or playing a game, or even talking to anybody.

A few days ago, I started noticing that I hadn't been following my new rule. Last night, I noticed that it had been all day that I'd broken it. I was transferring some bulk candies I'd bought at Winco the other day from their plastic bags, into some of the little mason jars I'd bought to hold weed. I was about to eat a few of the curry candied cashews, because they were higher than the lid line, when I remembered my new rule. I shut my monitor off, and I put one in my mouth.

I felt the moment the thin, waxy coating broke, when the flavors really came alive. I felt juices going everywhere, which was impossible, of course. As I thought, "how like a grape this is!" I realized that it was my own saliva, my body making more in response to this food. Enough of the candy coating melted away that a little bit of the cashew was exposed to my tongue.  There was firmness that wouldn't give way like the coating had. It invited a bite. I bit down and a new flavor was added. It was nutty, roasted, but also creamy. I thought it would be wonderful with some coconut milk. I sat and chewed, content.

I looked at the jar, and saw a few deformed ones. They'd been partially melted, taking on the shape of the part of the bag that had been pressed against them by Wobblefoot, whose pillow I'd left the bag on. I checked the top and saw that it was still a tiny bit over. I recognized that I wasn't really hungry, but that I wouldn't mind another, so I put another one in my mouth. I smiled and let it dissolve a bit for a moment while I put the lid on the jar, and sat back with my eyes closed. I shifted my focus between my breath and the cashew until the cashew was gone. And then I noticed how very, very tired I was.

I turned my monitor on and checked the time. It was just after 8p. "So early!" I thought. And then I remembered that I worked in a confectionery, and that I had to get up at 3:30 each morning, Monday through Friday, to be able to get there on time. I turned my monitor off, brushed my teeth, and went to bed. I woke up at about 5:30 this morning.

I pet my cats. I played my guitar. I did some yoga (and those first and last five minutes are still really hard). I had some yogurt while doing nothing else. I smoked a bowl with #MyFirstBong, and sat on the porch. I looked out at the sky, partly cloudy, and I made a point of not mentally blocking out #GingerAl's car. I came back inside to find Something Black growling at Pokey. I led Pokey away and got him interested in a toy instead. And then I sat down to write.

I realized this morning that I'd been homeless most of my life.