If you Google me, you will find page after page of what the Internet has declared is my “footprint.” Some of it I built myself; putting each metaphorical brick together until it created something that was entirely my own. Some of it is simply the shadow a person who no longer exists. Some of it is made up of words that were said about me when I wasn’t around to defend myself.
If you Google, me you will find hundreds of thousands of words that I have written. You will find stories that I sat down to pen without ever knowing that it would be accessible with simply the click of a trackpad, the tap of a thumb on a smartphone. You will read the jokes that I chuckled out loud after forming, and hear all of the ways I have attempted to immortalize heartbreak. You will find the struggle of building a brand that is solely centered around my voice, even if you have no point of reference for what that voice audibly sounds like. But you will read my words, and imagine the inflection that I intended on a particular sentence, and at least of part of you will think you understand a part of me.
If you Google me, you will find pictures of a girl, smiling with different boys and friends, oblivious to what her future will hold. You will see the naïveté behind her eyes and see that she really believes in “friends forever” and “soulmates.” You will click through selfie after selfie and wonder if she’s actually that into her own face or if she’s just desperate for attention. And I wish I had the answer for you, but it honestly depends on the day. More than I wish I had the answers, I wish I still had a touch of that naïve spirit and ability to believe in good intentions. I wish that the innocent girl in those pictures was still around a little bit, instead of just being a memory.
If you Google me, you will find videos of a past life. You’ll see a me being a total fucking attention whore and making figurative love to a microphone and songs by Jonathon Larson. You’ll see a version of me that used to be more concerned with sticking the triple on a pirouette than any number of any pageview. You watch me dramatically Lea Michele-style close my eyes before the high note and we’ll both wonder where that passion went.
And honestly I don’t think we’ll ever totally know.
If you Google me, you’ll see a girl who has had every hair color imaginable. Blonde, brunette, redhead, pink, rose gold, teal. Every shade has graced this mop on top of my head and each hue represents a different turning point in my life. Short and dark for when college was starting and I thought I was so mature and untouchable. Straight and red for when I was an ~artist~ and spent the entire summer reading Klosterman. Teal when I thought I was such a badass and wanted everyone to know how brave I was. Pink when I lost the love of my life. Blonde for now when even at 26, I’m still not sure who I am or who I want to be.
If you Google me, you will see my heartbreak splayed across your computer screen. You will see my pleas to be loved and my acceptance of change and my mourning of people who are gone. You will read all about the break ups and the failed attempts at happiness and wonder if I’m really this damaged, or if I simply have a flair for the dramatic. You will form opinions based on 900 words of a lifetime of trying to love and be loved and you will decide you know whose side to take.
If you Google me, you’ll see over ten plus pages of my history. You’ll see the things I had control over like scholarships, and dot coms, and comments I should have kept to myself. You’ll also see the things that I didn’t do but my name was attached to like blogs I’m unaffiliated with, comments from people with nothing better to do, and work I no longer identify with. You’ll see building blocks leading to a complete person, and you’ll come up with an idea of who you would find on the other side of the computer screen.
And, in a way, all of it is me.
And also, in a way, none of it is me.