Introducing the Introduction
Truthfully, the "about me" section has never been problematic for me on any website. I can get lost in the maze of my own mind for hours, and so I feel nothing short of interesting and love writing new descriptions by and large every time. It's the journey so far of my existence here on Earth that seems too daunting of a task, brimming with bad memories and ugly truths. It would benefit a curious audience more to understand my degree of intensity more than to learn I am an INFJ according to Myers-Briggs. But can anyone understand my degree of intensity? This is one major reason I skip the introductions.
I go by V, as in V for Vendetta, as a slight accident. Those who watched me grow up or grew up with me nickname me differently, but I've learned people get "Veronica" and "Victoria" entangled like a viscous web, and it is entirely too tiring to explain "It's okay, both are correct" than just saying, "Hey, I'm V." The fact that V in the comics (and movie) also has a heightened intensity means nothing. Nothing at all. It really was an accident.
I could tell you anything about myself with great ferocity, like what happened in tenth grade years upon years ago (on this day) with a cafeteria chair and my fierce loyal INFJ sense of justice or how I used to save earthworms from drowning or how I love the color red, but we'll keep this short(ish).
I've kept many blogs over the years on various sites, but nothing ever "stuck." Many of my blogs can be attributed to phases, such as my "autumn blogger" phase or my aspiration to genuine gothness (spoiler alert: I feel there's no such thing) or periods in which I was devastatingly ill. I've learned after all of my years of hard trying-to-fit-into-something--anything!--at-all work, I don't fit into any box, however dark-hearted, lighthearted, arrhythmic, or faint. I am the one and only whoever I am, and I voice it proudly. And often. With a lot of words.
There are a few "bodies" of people I do personally identify with, however. I identify being in a woman's body (despite feeling genderless); I identify as being [diagnosed] both mentally ill and physically ill to the point of at least temporary disability; I identify as a sufferer of abuse and sexual assault ("survivor" has never made sense to me); and I identify as someone who is attracted to a human being regardless of their gender. Also, I am godless. Not in this order, but hopefully you understand. I identify with these concepts through stigma, as opposed to viscerally personal identification. As a woman, although already diagnosed with fibromyalgia, trauma, and other psychiatric issues, I am largely ignored by both medical and psychiatric healthcare teams; as an atheist, mentally ill to the point of at least temporary disability, and not heterosexual, I am largely misunderstood, judged, feared, and hated. But I am also envied. I recognize I have privilege, such as being able to "pass" as a fully white American, (despite being born in Mexico and being half-Mexican), having been well-educated and having access to said education, and having enough money to survive with shelter, food, clean water, and art supplies. Definitely not all bad.
I blog now mostly about how I get through things, how I've gotten through things, how I will get through things, and how I've witnessed other people get through things. This seems to be my most honest and productive approach to blogging, and I obviously I talk/type way too much to have a large circle of friends who enjoy indulging in my verbosity.
What you can expect to read from me then is smorgasbord of perspective, mental health, and psych ward stories. I do write fiction sometimes but wrapped in a neat little "this is mostly made-up horror" wrapper as opposed to the messy "this is actually real horror" wrappers I put everything else in. I also take photographs, make jewelry and bath & body stuff, paint, and do everything under the sun in terms of the arts, including not making enough money to someday buy a spacious and haunted Victorian home in New England (but fingers crossed!) I pride myself in making dark and sometimes inappropriately (or too appropriately) timed jokes, provoking thought, being unapologetically me, and talking a lot. I used to hate my talkative drive, but I can fight it no more to save a situation than for a shiny new nickel, as my mother eventually learned.
So, cheers! and cheers to the talkative impulse so immune to bribery there is no five minutes of silence (ever),
Published by Veronica V. Hough