A Memoir in a Thousand Words

14947930_790470848522_8482761485652171247_nAssuming I’m capable of prescience and therefore know what it is that click-happy individuals such as yourself might wish to know about me, allow me the pleasure of crafting blatant lies introducing myself.

I’m Myka, a genderqueer writer living in the PNW. And because what everyone who clicks an about link is really looking for is a picture of the individual in question, here you go you cretins.

The only thing you really need to know about me is that Mass Effect ruined my life.

And because I promised a memoir in a thousand words…

I was three when I found out you can’t just climb into a tub where kids with different genitals were taking a bath. Even if that bath tub was in the kitchen where there was zero expectation of privacy, nevermind that we were all kids.

I was four when my heart was first broken by the twelve year old neighbor who simply misunderstood my undying affections for him and his rock throwing capabilities.

Climbing trees was a favored past time, as was taunting my younger brother relentlessly. I lived to dirty myself, as any day that ended in clean clothes was a day without adventure, and what is life if not one big, meandering adventure?

I was ten when I first experienced the terrifyingly insidious nature of sexism. For the first time I realized that adults could feel just as powerless as children. That feeling has never really left.

Tracking through the multitudes of embarrassing poems and confessions squirreled away in journals where the only prying eyes I had to fear were those of my future self, I’ve realized that depression was something I’ve always struggled with. Self-acceptance is no easy task when your body is given a brain that actively works against your benefit. Self-forgiveness is even harder. Even when you know you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just the way you’re constructed.

When I was a child, I first wanted to be an astronomer. When I discovered that you could combine that with math, which was unfailingly cool, I wanted to be an astrophysicist. Understanding the world through numbers was terribly appealing, especially as my immediate world was so unknowable.

Unfortunately, I’m terrible at math and have no patience with numbers.

I spent thousands of dollars getting a degree I don’t use, while ignoring the thousands of hours I spent doing the thing I love, because it was ingrained in me to get a Real Career.

I still not-so-secretly love astrophysics, even if I have no patience for it. But the universe as a whole terrifies me, so perhaps it was for the best that we parted ways as friends instead of living to become estranged and bitter partners.

I spend entirely too much time thinking about nihilism and that story of the guy who dies and realizes while talking to God that he’s everyone who ever lived. All his abusers were him. All the people he abused were him. He hated and loved himself, had no tolerance and an abundance of tolerance for himself. All so he could learn something.

Too many times a day, I find myself thinking, “what if THAT killed me? Or THAT?” before spending the next several hours ruminating on how I could avoid these seemingly INEVITABLE disasters that are ABSOLUTELY GOING TO HAPPEN UNLESS I THINK ABOUT THEM AND MAKE EXHAUSTIVE PLANS.

Anxiety is the single most exhausting thing I’ve ever ‘done’ while appearing to do nothing at all.

When I was fifteen I wanted to be a veterinarian. At sixteen I learned that veterinarian’s also put down animals, and I noped out of that career choice faster than a photon jettisoning away from the sun. Animals are my greatest weakness. One of the greatest loves of my life was my cat Pixel, who I think about every day. She died of bladder cancer, which was terribly painful, but because she was such a sweet cat with an even sweeter disposition, she rarely vocalized her pain. There’s not a day I don’t wish there was something else I could have done for her.

When I was ten I knew I wanted to live in a house surrounded by books. This wish has not changed, and landing a job in a bookstore has brought me fifty steps closer to realizing this goal.

Mass Effect really did ruin my life, but in the most amazing way. Two of my greatest friends are wonderful people I’d never have met were it not for this ridiculous space opera romance adventure story. Mass Effect will probably be engraved on my tombstone. Unless my ultimate wish is realized and I’m shot into space to float for eons, in which case it will be engraved on my rocket-coffin.

When I was fourteen I turned down a date because a new episode of Star Trek was on and it was WAY MORE IMPORTANT than eating ice cream at Baskin Robins. Judging from his reaction to that perfectly reasonably explanation, I dodged a bullet.

I knew I wasn’t straight at the age of twelve when I first kissed a girl. For years I denied these kisses as “real” kisses because so much of the media I watched portrayed girls kissing each other as No Big Deal, just something friends did. I was never sure if the girls I kissed were really into me or just doing the thing Movie Girls did.

Every day, I write as if my life depends on it. Sometimes, it does.

I still think Star Trek is more important than ice cream.