tavie.com

I think it actively gives me the creeps now when people call me Octavia.

What is wrong with me?

Something... about... names and identities. They're important. They mean something. Octavia's someone I have no control over. She's someone I'm forced to be. Tavie's who I really am. Octavia is formal and uptight. Tavie is relatively comfortable. It's important. It means something. It's not a split personality; they're both the same person. But they're also not. Octavia is like pants that don't fit. It's a high, stiff, starched collar. It's itchy. I don't like it.

Everyone says: Oh but it's so pretty.

So I guess Tavie's not pretty. Big news.

It wasn't always like this. I didn't really notice one way or another until 5th grade or so. There was a marked transition when I started mentioning it to my teachers at school, and I would fall in love with the teachers who actually remembered to call me Tavie. It was a gift they'd give me. I don't have a single friend that calls me Octavia. Octavia doesn't have friends. Octavia only has colleagues, teachers and strangers.

Girls in high school used to purposefully call me Octavia in snotty, sing-song tones, turning my name into an insult. I don't know. Maybe that's when I started to care too much. I don't know. Maybe.

Poor Octavia. I should let her have some fun, too.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:32 PM | shower me with attention