Agility. Flexibilty. Posture. Poise.
When I was a freshman in college, I cut all my hair off because I wanted to be a lesbian.
I failed at that.
But, having short hair certainly was less threatening to the women I was with. That, and being fat.
You lift your gaze, hopeful. And I keep walking.
When I was in the 6th grade, there was this little boy at the afterschool daycare program I had long outgrown. I liked being there, but then again, the supervisors could never decide how old I was. They never could treat me like a 40 year old AND an 12 year old. Another time, maybe.
But this little second grade boy spoke pure gibberish. His family had just immigrated to the United States from Turkey. Because he was upset sometimes, I would often listen to him. I nodded, and I quickly found out that if I nodded and said “Cool!” energetically, he would smile and gibberish happily.
One time, he said in mostly English sounding not-gibberish, “No, it’s not cool! I got grounded!”
I will always remember that moment.
I nod because I’m listening. If you only listen when you agree, well then, I hope to see you nod someday.
Yesterday, there was a heavier woman I saw in the elevator, as I limped towards a band aid. Shy, she complimented me on my curly hair, and for having worn it just as it was; curly. I said that it is very similar to hers, with a small smile. She wilted away from the compliment, sheepishly.
We are the same.
I found today that I have become addicted to endorphins. Thank God that finally happened. I push myself up the stairs because screw all those people who said I couldn’t. I love the stairs. I want to be able to do even more than you can. I dare you to race me. If I lose, it will only keep me going.
Symptom + Cause + Treatment = “Disorder”?
My professors are kind of weird, but I like them. They seem like nice people.
If I can’t barely feel, and the over-sensationalized places of the internet (Buzzfeed) keep me less numb as I work out my stress load, given time, is it fair to condemn me for my self-medication? So long as I live fully, should I not supplement my reality in a way that enhances it, in a structure that encourages it? Alcohol vs. porn vs. pot vs. crack vs. inspirational stories that have been cooked into fabrication.
A drug is in the eye of its beholder.