I wish I could express with language what I’m feeling. On my best day, my words reflect only a third of my thoughts. There’s far too much rattling around up here — buzzes and whistles and noises and wind and heat and revving and words and music and doom spirals and worries and self-doubt. I want my corporeal form to take up as much space as my thoughts do. I want to soak my brain in an ice bath. I want to unzip my skin suit and step out and let my soul breathe. I want to liquefy and seep through the floorboards and soak into the earth beneath me. I want to be sprayed out of an aerosol can and dissipate into the atmosphere. I want to be everywhere and nowhere.
I didn’t ask for any of this. I was thrust into an advocacy role that allowed me to voice my innermost thoughts and find community with like-minded souls. I’ve been taking it all in stride ever since. I know this is what I’m supposed to be doing, but no one told me it’d be this fucking hard. Placing myself on the front lines to bear the brunt of the blows takes enormous tolls on my spirit. My body frequently shuts down from the pressure. My knees often buckle out of exhaustion. When I lose my grip and drop it on my feet, I nurse my wounds and hoist it back onto my aching shoulders. I’m headstrong, outspoken, unapologetic, and passionate. I’m strong out of necessity. I’m resilient out of survival. And I’m soft in spite of it all.
I no longer apologize for existing. I’m sensitive and I honor it. I cry often and I own it. I tell my truth no matter how much my voice trembles. I voice my boundaries and stand by them. I advocate for what I believe in. I tap into my rage and use it to embolden me. To suppress my full spectrum of emotions is to deny my humanity.
I wish I could physically detach various body parts at night so I could get better rest. I spend all my time from the chin up and my neck is bowing from the weight. My body feels separate from my mind. I was conditioned to despise my physical appearance and people don’t like when I embrace it or even express neutrality. My self-worth is finally no longer up for debate. I stir up strong emotions in others simply by existing, and then their feelings are made to be my problem. I’m through diluting myself for the comfort of others. I’m no longer pre-chewing my self to make it more digestible for people who aren’t even hungry.
We are a species meant to be diverse. We’re forcibly assimilating into sameness for the sake of manufactured constructs that do not serve us. We’re all made to strive for the same goal and we’re not allowed to ask why. People are afraid to ask because of what they might discover. They bank their entire identities on what they’ve been told instead of forging an identity of their own. For them, diverting from the norm isn’t an option.
By default, divergent is how I’ve always shown up. It’s easier for me to exist as one weirdo unit. Group projects always gave me The Ick. I never understood the need to be forced into groups who never wanted me there. I’ve been shown the seedy underbelly of humanity’s true feelings about anyone who’s different, and speaking from a lifetime of being Othered, I can say with full confidence that I’m not interested in fitting in. I want to exist for me. I want to spend my time as I see fit. I want to honor my needs and rest when necessary. I want to just be. Why has that answer never been good enough?
I’m tired of people dismissing my experiences. I’m sick of having to advocate for myself so fiercely. It’s exhausting to speak up until I’m blue in the face, only to not be believed. I wish empathy wasn’t seen as a weakness. I want to voice my frustrations without being ridiculed. My experiences are valid, too. My voice matters, too. My pain, my hardships, my victories, my joys, my opinions, my words matter.
I matter.
