Seward, Alaska is a mile and a half long. It starts from the harbor, where the Sea Otters and Harbor Seals live, and the house boats overlooking the entrance to the fjord. The town’s end is proclaimed with a small cove to the left of the never ending road, and to the right a waterfall from the season’s snowmelt. There’s a white Mountain Goat that lives in the aftermath of a landslide from a few years back.
The first day I was here, I met a Killer Whale researcher. Sat in the steeple of the coffee shop thriving in an old church, we spent the morning leaning into his computer observing his work. He showed me pictures of some pod member’s fins, and how he knew them individually and their songs. Everyone is eager to talk here, they love meeting new people and making connections. I viewed this time in Alaska as a fresh start. A cold plunge, to cleanse me of what I’m stained with. Over the course of this last year, I have lost everything.
I feel peace coming into my body, slowly, with everything I do and see. I walked alongside the Bay to watch the white Mountain Goat and Bald Eagles on the cliffs. I want to be gentle again. With myself, my body, my heart and mind. With people who haven’t hurt me yet. I want to be kind and gentle and soft. I deserve it. I want to write again, maybe something good. I want to be outside, to feel like myself. I want to take pictures. Good pictures to go along with my writing. I have Bunny and my books next to me to remind me I’m not alone, they’re so good at it. I took a hot shower and turned on the heater. My hair is soft and wet against my back. 10:22pm. Outside I hear birds, it’s still blue.
I feel my age here, in a good way. I live on the edge of the coastal rainforest, a rugged and rough land full of bears and men. Alaska forces a genuinity out of you, with no choice but to be raw and real. I have a minimalist’s necessities of living. I love solitude. People often show discomfort or pity when I say I came here alone, saying it’s hard being away from family and friends. What steers them to never leave home, drives me away. I feel safe being alone. I am reliable and take care of myself. I wake up with peace knowing I don’t have to defend my existence, to fight for what I want and be ashamed of the people that say they love me and call me family.
I am myself when I write, when I drink coffee, when I’m by the ocean. There is no one else to mirror or reflect; only the ocean and what lives under the trees to keep me company. Only then I have just my thoughts. I can stop running from what has been hurting me for so long. I think I hate my family. I hate men, specific men, and specific women. I hate most people. I hate myself, too. I think that’s where most of my hate comes from. Except the men.
I can feel it coming back I feel myself breathing again I look like myself and can feel my feet hitting the ground I plan my days out: eat, coffee, ocean It’s so so quiet and I can hear my thoughts again I feel my body, my tears again, and it's me It’s all me
Over the course of this last year, I have lost everything.
Start, June.
The 1st Happy pride I hate my mom. I’ve been told that hate for mothers will turn into peace sometime down the road, in a few years. When will mine? I miss Lucy, I know he’s safe and happy. Am I abandoning my cat? Does this make me a bad person?
The 2nd Aialik Bay- KFT eight hour boat tour. With Sophia today, we’ve hung out everyday since she’s arrived in Seward. We’re very different- but it feels good. She’s from the east coast. This past week has been painful. I miss my family. I miss having sisters- I miss my sister. I regret cutting them off sometimes. But everytime I see them, I leave hurt. Two years ago I came out to my family, some willingly, some by force. I cut off my sister and brother in law. It’s painful hearing people talk about their nephews. It makes me angry but in a soft way. I wonder who I would be if I didn’t have so much anger in me. Would I be nicer? A better person.
The 8th Something I’ve always known about myself is that I only need one or two friends. Few things have stayed the same since my childhood. My lack of needing people is one of them. (All we do is fight. We’re in love.) Alaska is bringing me peace. I feel clearer. Words that have hurt me before now give me hope; redemption, born again, washed clean. I feel myself physically healing. One thing I don’t know what to do about is the pity I have for myself. I had a dream about my family dying. I’ll come back in a year or two, people will be older and there will be kids I don’t know who will have younger siblings. It will hurt, but it's for the right reasons
My dreams consist of my family dying, and phone calls that you call me crying begging to accept each others apology I blame the church
End, June.
July 11th
I don’t know my sister’s cowlick. I used to braid all my sisters hair. I knew the textures and length, what styles they liked and hated. I’ve done everything I can do and it’s still not enough. It never will be (I blame the church). I don’t know my sisters cowlicks. I feel the pain flowing through my veins, heavy in my chest and weighing on my shoulders. I am not supported, and I don’t know if I’m loved. If I have experienced being loved, it’s unknown to me. Maybe in their sick, twisted ways. I’m reading a book about our bodies holding trauma. Can she still feel the weight of younger me, the chest pains of anxiety and shame? I know love briefly: From my friends giving me a card for getting accepted into school- the only one I’ll get. I know love briefly: It’s my friends picking up the pieces others have left behind, healing things they have not caused, and do not even fully understand. I don’t know my sister’s cowlick If I do know love, it’s been brief: My friend’s mothers let me stay for weeks at a time, knowing I didn’t want to go home, without probing the why out of me. I want to feel the love that I give to others. I want my passion, letters and words. I’ll get myself to where I want to be, eventually. Standing alone, I’ll take myself to where I need to be. I believe in love because I feel it in my bones, weighing me down Like stones tied to my ankles I believe in love because I used to know my sisters cowlicks. η αγάπη είναι υπομονετική η αγάπη είναι ευγενική
Betsy Bauman 