I am writing to the world and it’s crazy to believe that this is actually nothing new. I’ve been using the internet since I was 11 and everything I did involved me being social with strangers—I wasn’t thinking about the dangers of that as a kid, but I digress.
I started off on kid sites then moved on to fanfiction sites then finally upgraded to Myspace. Myspace gave me a chance to connect with school friends outside of school, then Facebook became cool and I connected with my classmates and family members even more. Twitter and Tumblr entered my life as a pair, pulling me by one arm each, begging for my attention. Lately, there’s been Instagram and Snapchat—turning my words into photos. Sometimes a picture can say a thousand words but sometimes a thousand words alone will suffice.
I used Twitter as a place to vent, a place to sort through my thoughts—impulsively. Tumblr was more personal for me and I held nothing back. It was my first blog. It was for me. It was my safe place—or so I thought (a post for another time). I even used message boards to share my fantasies and alternate realities where my favorite celebrities were regular people falling in love, doing drugs and fucking each other silly. The internet has been my playground for nearly twelve years. I was carefree and excited to share everything, from my thoughts to my opinions to my fictional reality. It was a great time.
However, the more I grew up, the more I learned, the more knowledge I gained and applied. I am a lover of learning, a student of life and this will never change. I’ve discovered things about the world I wished I hadn’t, but I believe we learn everything for a reason. Nothing is for nothing. I even learned that people steal tweets and claim pictures to be theirs that aren’t. Some people even pretend to be other people. It only takes a few seconds for someone to take what’s yours and slap their name on it.
It’s crippled my creativity. I’ve been afraid to share certain things with the world for some time. It wasn’t like this when I was 11 and I didn’t think about the consequences of sharing pieces of myself on the internet. I am now more aware and quite frankly, annoyed with the concept that some people just refuse to remain true to themselves—even at the expense of others.
I’ve been a poet since I was twelve, maybe thirteen. I did it as another form of venting. Clearly I have a lot to say all the time, huh? But poetry was my way of turning everything I felt into art. It started off horrible, truly—if we’re being honest. I remember stumbling upon an old poem of mine and thinking, “Bitch, what the fuck are you even talking about?” I was a dictionary thumper. I loved learning new words and using them in sentences that I barely knew how to construct. Needless to say, I sounded like a jackass.
But sounding like a complete moron didn’t stop me. I fell in love with the craft. I love thinking of new ways to describe how I felt, then I began writing stories and loved describing how my characters felt. I mastered the art of expressing myself because of my love for writing and I am grateful for my talent, or skill, every day. Although the presence of talent can be subjective, I am in the place to say that I, Brittany Hughes, am fucking talented. So, shove it.
Anyway.
As free as writing made me feel, there was part of me that felt trapped. I wanted to share my work with the world but I was afraid the shitty thieves I learned about from years of surfing the internet would steal my work and profit from it. I was afraid that someone would steal my work then paint me as the thief. I was just afraid. I was also afraid that someone I knew would finally get a peek inside of my head and hold my feelings over it, shaming me for expressing myself. I was afraid that old lovers and ancient triggers would resurface and try to silence me again. I was afraid to be raw, I was afraid to be bare and I was afraid to be myself. I was afraid that people would see how I really felt, how I really thought and they would hate me for it.
I’ve been on a journey of self-love and self-acceptance. I finally understand that I can love myself and be myself unapologetically. I finally believe in me, wholeheartedly. I am not perfect and I have my off days, but I finally understand that how someone chooses to experience me has nothing to do with me. If someone has an opinion about me that I know does not reflect my spirit and heart, then that has nothing to do with me.
I am no longer attached to the outside opinions of others—especially if those opinions are not constructive or from a place of love.
I am no longer afraid. In fact, I am thirsty for adventure, trial and error and success. I cannot even taste success if I am not willing to step off the branch and free fall into the mystery. The journey is what I’m enjoying the most about my creative endeavors.
I finally have found the courage to share my work and put my journey through my words into the arms of the Universe. My intentions are to inspire, arouse, motivate, excite and move whoever stumbles across my words and my initials.
I am no longer afraid of who I am.
I am ready for the world to meet me.
In the words of Michael Scott, “Hi, I’m Brittany. Nice to meet me.”
With Love,
From Britt.