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There was a time when I would tilt my head back to Conor Oberst, as over the fuzzy drone of old speakers he wailed a sweet, single line; the line that summed up so many of my troubles, and in it's pronunciation would fill my entire being with an enticing, sad dark:
"I know not who I am."
It's taken me awhile. Well, five months, of both physical and emotional labor, and a lot relationship-shaping. It seems like, this time forced me to delve into some aspects of myself that I never before realized, in all their ragged simplicity.
And I now know I don't have to.
I'm Natalie. I'm now, at present, nineteen years young. I've gone by Nihil, and Null.
I'm more than my skin and inheritance. I'm strange, blessed, and crave things like chai tea and mint ice cream with the intensity of a pregnant woman.
A blue eyed boy came around and told me I have beauty, and slowly, I got to believing him.