Let's try a real takeover. What Ashlee is actually like. Fuck the facade.
Typically with these kinds of things you have to start at the beginning. You have to fill your audience into where you are starting. It can be super awkward. This isn’t that.
I am writing for myself, because of a million reasons. But, still... knowing that I will make the decision to share this with a few of my people.. I want to lay down some groundwork.
1. If you are reading this, you probably think you know me. Maybe over the years, maybe since birth, either way... I’m a chameleon. I can fit in to any group of people. I can scan and read and know how to blend. I like blending in. I can go from environment to environment without upsetting the balance. I know how to make you like me, I know when to be quiet and when to speak up. So I want you to know, that as you read and perhaps think I am a stranger -- know this: I’m a stranger to me too. That’s what blending in, not rocking the boat, and submitting to anything that doesn’t draw attention to yourself does. You get so caught up in figuring out what kind of eggs your partner likes to eat, that you forget what your true preference was. (For me, it’s over easy with crispy whites)
2. I'm going to share a lot of not pretty things here. Fuck pretty. I don't need the pretty that I have been so guilty of seeking. I need raw beauty. I need to learn what my truth is and to be okay to walk into it. My life has been filled with a lot of love, but there is darkness too. I am going through some tough shit right now on multiple levels and what I want more then anything is to find my peace, even if that requires me to let the waves of pain wash over me. “I wrote you those nice poems only because the honest ones would frighten you” - Jewel Kilcher… that is how I feel about my life. That for the last 36 years, I’ve been so focused on outwardly being the nice poem. Sure there are parts of me that are that, but there is so much storyline under the surface that I am terrified to share. The honest stories may frighten you -- they do me. More on this to come. I have a lot to say.
I am writing for myself, because of a million reasons. But, still... knowing that I will make the decision to share this with a few of my people.. I want to lay down some groundwork.
1. If you are reading this, you probably think you know me. Maybe over the years, maybe since birth, either way... I’m a chameleon. I can fit in to any group of people. I can scan and read and know how to blend. I like blending in. I can go from environment to environment without upsetting the balance. I know how to make you like me, I know when to be quiet and when to speak up. So I want you to know, that as you read and perhaps think I am a stranger -- know this: I’m a stranger to me too. That’s what blending in, not rocking the boat, and submitting to anything that doesn’t draw attention to yourself does. You get so caught up in figuring out what kind of eggs your partner likes to eat, that you forget what your true preference was. (For me, it’s over easy with crispy whites)
2. I'm going to share a lot of not pretty things here. Fuck pretty. I don't need the pretty that I have been so guilty of seeking. I need raw beauty. I need to learn what my truth is and to be okay to walk into it. My life has been filled with a lot of love, but there is darkness too. I am going through some tough shit right now on multiple levels and what I want more then anything is to find my peace, even if that requires me to let the waves of pain wash over me. “I wrote you those nice poems only because the honest ones would frighten you” - Jewel Kilcher… that is how I feel about my life. That for the last 36 years, I’ve been so focused on outwardly being the nice poem. Sure there are parts of me that are that, but there is so much storyline under the surface that I am terrified to share. The honest stories may frighten you -- they do me. More on this to come. I have a lot to say.
3. I have a bookshelf of journals. It’s always a great go to gift for me because I write in them. I rarely finish them.. In fact they rarely get half finished. (Which, you should know, is a running theme in my life) In them are thoughts, poems, letters I never intended to send. I’ve written stories and songs and poems and to do lists in them. So why another on, and why online. What is the purpose? What is the goal? I’m not sure why here and now. Maybe because I need something fresh… because the life I had in each of those journals isn’t the one I have no. Maybe because I find it easier, when it comes to thoughts, to type them out. When i’m writing poems, or quotes or songs I like to physically write. But in sharing my thoughts, typing feels right.
4. I need help. I need help in the way that a child can’t reach the cup on the counter, in the way that an addict needs a fix. I need help like i’m dyslexic and all the letters are jumbled. I need help deciphering the codes of my brain and my heart. And because I’m a sucker for a good puzzle, I’ve created a super-encrypted, ten million piece puzzle over the last 36 years. Well, that doesn’t seem overwhelming at all.
So that’s the plan. Rescue the girl, save the world and all the other bullshit in between.
Cheers.
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