I have a website. I have two in fact. There is this site, where I am one hundred and ten percent me, where I let it all hang out, and there is another site where I hold back, a site which is about my family, not me and my ego. Not everyone who knows me is prepared for the contents of the Bastad. A lot of people know me as the quiet kid who sat in the corner, who roamed around his yard talking to himself, who was afraid to speak up in class. I ask them, did you think I could be quiet forever? Did you think I could hold it all in until the day I died? I’d be dead already. Every person needs release and this website is mine.
Dad used to say to John when he would beat the piss out of me physically or emotionally that one day I wasn’t going to take it anymore, that I was going to snap. I took everything people dished out to me. I hated confrontation. And I was a writer. I was training myself to take it all in so I would have material for my stories.
There came a point, during my freshman year of college I think, where it finally began to happen. Away from my family for the first time, and from the people who had stifled me for twelve years of elementary and secondary education, I began to break out of the shell I’d constructed for myself. It was hard. It was painful. It still is. But I had to do it. I knew that and I pressed through.
I spent most of the first semester of Freshman year locked in my room when I wasn’t in class. Tori made many noteworthy attempts to drag me out of there but never really succeeded. I was still holding back. They wouldn’t let me take writing classes, the sole reason I’d been looking forward to college. I had to wait till I was a sophomore the writing chair, Perry told me. I just stayed inside when I didn’t have to go out.
By the second semester I started to break out big time, through my radio show, through my association with the campus literary magazine. Spurned by Rachael, my first big college crush, who decided to date my roommate over me, I finally decided I’d had enough and the bitter, angry Chris that had been lurking inside for so long made his presence known.
My college friends saw the real me and that was the only me they ever knew and when they come to my site they are (or at least they tell me they are) pleased to see my honesty, my passion for my work. There are some high school friends who understand, who have stuck by me through my metamorphosis, through it all. There are some family members who get it.
In fact, probably the majority of people I know get it. They know that what they see here is me… pure, unadulterated me. They know that I refuse to make disclaimers for my life, for my thoughts. They know that if they’re bothered by what they see here they can close their browser.
But there are some, and this is not to say that I don’t love them, don’t respect them… there are some who just don’t get it, who can’t understand why the Chris they see here differs so vastly from the Chris they know.
I’m sorry I hid in my shell for so long but there comes a time when the caterpillar must spring forth from the cocoon, even if he isn’t a butterfly yet, even if he is malformed, ugly, and unpleasant at times. I’ve broken through the veils I put up in front of me.
And you know what… I like me.
I love me. And that’s the hardest thing in the world for me to say.
Why can’t you love me too?