Ive written a lot about how lost ive felt the past few years. Ive walked the spiral staircase of the past three years over and over again. My thoughts are consumed by them — when did it all fall apart? When did I lose my sense of self? When did it all become so heavy and confusing? And as I thought in this circle of questions, I was still living in it. I couldn’t figure out when it fell apart, because all the broken pieces were still on the floor. I couldn’t pinpoint when I lost my sense of self because she was still nowhere to be found. I didn’t know when life became heavy because I was still short of breath. 

Then I came back to my parents house in October. Coming home is always a strange feeling. I instantly revert back to who I was when I lived here, like the person ive been after moving out doesn’t exist. Usually I revert back to who I was when I lived here last year. The grief feels fresh again, I’m lost in the surrounding dark, and I become a drunken mess all over again. Most of those feelings were still there during this trip, but they felt a little different this time. 

It wasn’t until I went to the bathroom while rewatching the hunger games that it registered why. After watching finnick die again and standing in the bathroom where I spent so many hours alone with myself, I was back in the body of iz who had just graduated high school. She was isolating in books and fantasy worlds, and in the brisk weather she was able to start finding little pieces of peace in the midst of her depression. Connecting with that past version of me has been the most “me” I’ve felt in the past three years. 

And after three years of wondering who I was, I looked in the mirror and said, 

“Oh, there you are. I remember now.” 

It was like I turned on a light switch on the spiral staircase in my head, and I saw all the books that surrounded it. Books about my odd personality thats deeply rooted into my actions. Books containing stories with the nostalgic yellow hue that remind me of how beautiful life has been. I felt refreshed, like my soul had suddenly had the life breathed back into it. 

When the movie finished, I immediately wrote everything I was feeling in my journal. The excitement of feeling like myself again, the hope that I suddenly had for the future. When I finished I laid down with my boy, and told him all about it. I explained how connected I felt to myself, all of my selves. I told him how suddenly I felt a spark to do everything I’ve loved doing that I stopped doing in the hardships of the past few years. He listened intently (which isn’t the first time he’s heard me explain how I “found myself” and unfortunately for him it won’t be the last time he hears it), then when I finished he asked, “what’s made it click this time?” 

I stopped for a second, and really thought about what made the stoplight turn green for me to be able to let go of the past three years and push my foot on the gas again. Then I understood that I hadn’t ever let go of the past three years, no matter how many past iz’s I connect with or how many blog posts I write rehashing the situations. But when that light turned green, I knew this time I was ready to pack my things, speed into the next chapter of life with the wind in my hair, and let go of the sorrowful town my mind had been broken down in for so long.  

Before I let my mind leave that place, I did one last drive through. and I was able to gain a little clarity on what really happened. I saw it all crumble when I dug my heels into a hill I was willing to die on, but the battle shouldn’t have been mine to fight. I gave away my accomplishments, and let other people place labels and definitions on me. I gave myself up, and realized I never had a chance of winning that war anyways. When I was collapsed on the hill, with a sword through ribs, I looked over and laying next to me was the other half of me. She was gone, and without her there, my soul was as good as dead on that hill. I then became a ghost, haunting the narrative of my future with the memories I begged to forget.  

As I replayed the fall of my being, I noticed all the things I couldn’t comprehend before. I could see the lessons being taught, even if some of them haven’t sank in yet. I could see the little accomplishments I’ve made when so often I consider myself a failure. I found little pieces of peace that kept me going. I saw movement behind the scenes that I couldn’t see before. I realized that I’ve been there the whole time, and even if I wasn’t able to see myself, other people could.

Because I was never gone. The girl in 2022, filled with foreboding she tried to stay ignorant to, who came home from work and laid with her cat while she rewatched normal people an unhealthy amount of times, was still me. In 2023, when everything felt like a grief coated blur and a nauseating sense of falsity, it was still me. When I spent 2024 digging my dirt coated nails into the darkest corners looking for myself, I was already me. 

In the depths of my despair as a girl freshly in her 20s, I had to create a version of myself that could handle it. And don’t get me wrong, it was fun. I’d drink my glasses of white wine, Olivia Rodrigo would echo off my bathroom walls, and I’d smear my mascara on my lower lashes and put on the bright red lip stain. I’d go out with my friends, I’d be loud and unforgiving of it, and if I was messy I could blame it on grieving. But I was also bordering mania and apathy at all times. I didn’t care what the people around me were experiencing because I couldn’t even face my own trials. I had no expectations for the future because I stayed up late and avoided having to start a new day.

Although that version of me did her job at the time, it’s not supposed to be who I always am. I’ve been aware of this, but I wasn’t in a position to question the version that was trying to protect me. I’ve been so scared that that part of me would be hurt and angry if I tried to erase her. But none of us are meant to be consumed by grief and hurt and confusion forever. That version of me that was trying to avoid and deflect any extra pain was never meant to be permanent. She knew it, and I know it.

So when asked, “what’s made it click this time?” It wasn’t a matter of connecting with past selves or finding myself again, it was about remembering. Remembering who I am, what makes my soul spark, and what brings me those little pieces of peace. And even if I couldn’t remember, that didn’t mean I was gone or lost. 

Its always said “you have to love yourself before someone can love you.” But wouldn’t the opposite be the ultimate testimonial for how unconditional someone’s love for you is? To love someone is to know them. other people still loved the version I had to be while giving me little reminders of who they knew me to be. And when my little conscious laid in a dark room to rot and wallow, and I questioned if I’d ever be able to figure myself out again, my friends kept little personality traits of mine safe, my mom held onto my potential I couldn’t see anymore, and my boy smoothed the jagged stones of my path I kept tripping over. 

All these people who I love so dearly were willing to still love me too, because they’re willing to remember who I am, what I’m going through, and who I want to become. Even Jordan, who met me in the midst of all my confusion, could still glimpse into all of me that lied beneath the weighted blanket that life had put on me. He held all the little pieces of me that I slowly gained memory of until I could recollect all of me that I had forgotten. In these conversations of the spiraling staircase in my mind and the sorrowful town I’ve felt stuck in in my mind, he made all my fears come to a screeching halt — proven false by the patience and understanding I was receiving. I’m not hard to deal with, I’m not always going to live a heavy life of solitude. 

And I’m not bad at healing. 

I can make a comeback again and again and again. I can stand on shaking ground and still build something on it. I can turn on the lights and dust off the furniture. I can remember who I am, who I may be in different moments, all while creating older and more mature versions. 

And with the pain, the loneliness, the uncertainty, the joy, the love, the nostalgia, and all the ups and downs that come with life,

I can remember the stories. Because those are worth remembering. 

They make me who I am. They make me understand what this life is all about. 

And after remembering me again, I was able to pinpoint who I was: a storyteller. 

I tell stories in my millions of snapchat vlogs I send. I tell stories on this blog. I write stories to share one day. And I show my story in the videos that I make, and the videos I’ve missed dearly. 

So heres the end of year video for 2024. And 2023. And 2022. 

Because all of it tells my story.