It feels daunting to reflect on three years packed with experiences which shaped me as a student, friend, artist and person. But all good stories start at the beginning, so I’m sitting here reminiscing on my first days at The Spectrum.
How do I say goodbye to the first home I made for myself? The friends I loved, lost and kept between Aug. 23, 2018, when I moved into Governors Complex, and May 22, 2022, when I will walk across the stage? All I can say is thank you.
At the end of the day, you are your own person. And if you don’t want to explain your sexuality or identity for whatever reason, you don’t owe anyone an explanation.
It is a relentless and exhausting battle. I live in a pendulum, swinging back and forth between feeling devastatingly numb and debilitatingly depressed. Joy is a fleeting feeling whose glimpses only seem to push me further down the hole, reminding myself that I have not earned happiness.
After years of being “open” with my emotions, I still feel like the same confused 12-year-old, even if I don’t always show it. This isn’t a cry for help; I’m not depressed. I just don’t always know what to do with whatever it is I’m feeling.
I’m not always a good person who does good things. I certainly haven’t been in the past. No one can be a perfect person, I know that. But for many years I’m not sure I was even a good one — I’m working to change that. I’m working every day to do better — to be better.