Statement 1. 3/17/23

Statement begins.

So I had a trauma nightmare about my freshman year. I don't know how to feel about that. I didn't really think I was over it or anything-I'm not stupid-but that's a new one. I think it was because I was looking at the accounts of people from that time before I went to bed. I don't know why I do that, what I get out of it. I swear to god I've heard a friend admit to doing it, just to upset himself, that insane masochistic urge that comes with mental illness. So I'd guess that's why I do it too. Stupid. Teaches me to stop doing stupid shit like that, if only I'd ever learn.

I'm always so scared to admit it. I think there's always some resentment in me about the fact that I still don't know all of the details. And it feels like everyone is too scared to give them to me. I learned something new about that whole debacle about a month ago, a new accusation that I hadn't heard of before, mentioned like it was something we all remembered-and someone else clearly seemed to, adding, "Yeah, we still don't know where that came from." But I wasn't told that. Why was I told that? Do you know how much false information that you could have about me that I can't even refute? Do I? I keep asking what it was all about and everyone shrugs. Tells me something I already know. But then later they say something that suggests they do remember more than that, something someone mentioned about me, fucking anything, they're just scared to say it to me.

I was talking about all of it with a friend a few months ago and she piped up, "Oh, were you The Mole?" And I didn't know how to answer that. I didn't know there was a mole. I could think of one other person that might be it, but ultimately I know that, well... if I didn't know there was a mole, there's a significant chance that it was because I was the mole. I did do some shady shit. Upperclassmen had me do some weird shit. One of my friends now still admit that she's glad I did, because she still thought it was entertaining. I don't really know how to feel about it. I have a feeling that the people I may have harmed totally forgot about me, I wasn't really a big player or anything and it's been years, so I don't really feel bad about any of it.

Sometimes I look back on all of it through the lense of me being autistic. It makes more sense that way, almost. God, I just didn't get it. I just couldn't catch that they didn't like me. I just believed them when they said they didn't have a problem with me. I just didn't fucking catch it. And I was so, so desperate for friends that were in my community. So desperate to get closer to this kid I idolized because he was everything I wanted to be. Trans, and passing already, and accepted, and good at what he did, and seemingly confident in his identity. And hey, fuck it, yknow? I got that, eventually, and the main person that was spreading shit about me doesn't have that anymore, so I fucking win. I don't know if we would've gotten SO close had everything not fallen apart the way it did. Maybe, maybe not. And I really kind of think that if I was given the choice, the option between staying a little bit closer to everyone else involved in that, or to get really close just to him, I would make the same choice. God, that's embarrassing to admit. It's honestly Mostly because most of the other people there were just like, bad people.

Anyway. It's just... frustrating, that I don't have all of the information there. My memory of it all is so shit, too. One time someone said that maybe that's better for me. And maybe it was, for a while, maybe I was safer that way but now it's 3 years in the past and so far removed that I just want to know all of it so I can heal properly. So I can sit with it. Whatever, they probably don't even remember all of it anyway.

I'm glad I've given myself this space. I think I really needed it. Statement ends.