Thursday, September 17, 2015

A Dented Denial

Y'all, some things bring me straight to my knees.

Sometimes they're overwhelmingly marvelous things, and sometimes they're marvelously overwhelming things, so to speak.

I'm surrounded by warriors every day. People who endlessly advocate for everyone else and are learning how to advocate for themselves. I'm learning how to do these things, too.

But right now, I'm kind of faced with the glaring reality that there's nothing I can do right now but to take a goddamn seat. Sit myself down and pick up Symone and move that energy, but otherwise, do nothing. 


The healing process is a process, and I've done the things. I've found the communities and I've found my voice and I've been angry and joyful and sorrowful and radiant and I've been in love with this process and I've almost been killed by this process...all the things. But, now what?

Having all of this time for the first time in my life has some major pros but also some pretty considerable cons. It means that I have time to think about the things that I keep repressing, sometimes subconsciously. Things such as the fact that I am still so nasty to myself...and I don't even realize it while I'm doing it.

But it's so easy, isn't it? So easy and logical to be the one who isn't entitled to the space she occupies. That makes sense, doesn't it? That's my default. The one who embraces the adversity she's given as a gift; I'm entitled to the burden but not to the release. When in the world did that kind of thinking begin? And why? And how do I make it stop?

Simple things. Simple, simple things like brushing it off when a stranger backs into my car because, until days later, I only noticed the dents that I had put there myself. I told him that I wasn't worried about it. I pointed at the dents that I recognized and owned, failing to see the one he left there because I legitimately didn't let myself look long enough to see it, or I never had eyes to see it in the first place. It was as if he and his back bumper were the driving force necessary to restore balance to the universe, like I was getting a little too comfortable and a little too lucky and I needed to be put back into place. You shouldn't be apologizing, sir...it was my fault for existing. I must have been in your space; rather I shouldn't have been taking up any space at all. In fact, I'm so grateful that it was only a gentle reminder this time...I'll stay out of the way next time. I'm not entitled to even the simplest justice.

But I am, though.

Except I don't act like it. I'm still the one who will drive around, masochistically wearing and owning dents that somebody else put there. And that metaphor is just a little too strong for me right now.

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