Feeling.
I wish I didn't have to do it anymore. I feel like I've felt way more in the past year than a normal human should be allowed to feel. Angry, trapped, stuck in my own skin, rotting away with my heart that keeps feeling too many things but doesn't have the energy to release it through her work and art. My perfectionism has been an on going battle. We began with simple wrestling maneuvers and it's turned into a bloody fucking war. I keep losing every time. It's like it knows exactly where my weak spots are. My legs are never in the right stance, the one that's supposed to keep your feet grounded. Mine continue to fly from beneath me. My perfectionism relishes in this move, raises her chin the air, and spits in my face. She's pretty aggressive. Envy is how I feel when I see women feeling their feelings in that type of way where you know that it isn't going to hurt anyone else. Their ability to be supported, to be affirmed in their foundations as if their entire being was meant for that moment. The fates were aligned for them, and they knew it. They prepared for this because they knew they wouldn't allow others to take that power away from them. The consistency of caution I have with whatever I do, whatever I say... it has consumed me. I don't feel my identity the way these women feel theirs. I don't feel it's strength within my chest or it's power within my ribs. Not as much as I did before. Instead I feel the intensity of others, of the closest beings around me, whispering the patterns and directions I must pass through in order to keep the storm at bay. I have felt many things in the past year. Envy is the strongest one. During late nights, when my thoughts are turned towards the "adult swim" setting, my filter is diminished. This makes the voices quieter. I find myself being my being again. And quickly, in a moment nearly unrecognizable, it is shut down. I have done something. Something alarming. It's as if the ones I'm closest to can't handle my entire entity, and so I'm stuck, censoring my thoughts. Censoring the feelings that deserve to be felt. The night is the hardest time for me. I want to feel the feelings that allow you to be a complete person. Love, support, freedom, succession, passion. But I'm left with scraps, leftovers that someone else has managed to conjure up, back from the time their filters were drawn back. To a time where they were allowed to just be. I don't remember being able to feel these on my own. It terrifies me every day that I'm living through other people's hearts and minds. Because if I don't feel like an entire entity, and I only feel the things worth feeling through someone else, what's the point in being? Through a year of being misguided and filled with suspicion, the mistrust being placed upon my shoulders like a heaping sack of sand, weighing down every conversation, every look, every action, I have learned to never trust my feelings. My own judgement falters. The internalization began when someone's insecurities tested my own firm foundation. At least what I thought and knew to be firm. I don't know if I had any roots to begin with. I have been stuck for months, every opportunity surrounding me. Waving its arms in the air screaming, "Here. Take me on. Just give me a try. It's okay if you think that you're going to fail, you couldn't possibly be doing worse than you were before." I can't seem to get a grip of my feelings anymore. I've lost every sense of my being. I've been able to execute things the way that my past self would execute things and I still don't feel the feelings that I was meant to have. My feelings have been diminished. My entire being has been diminished. Unhealthy patterns with myself and the love of my life, constant and cycling change threatening the existence of what was thought to be my firm planted frame, everything has brought me to a place of hate. Hate is the only thing I feel strongly. Instead of feeling the feelings that make me want to be whole, I have been a walking piece-by-piece pile, feeling everything at once. Never absorbing it. Just letting it move through me.
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Women.
Women are a god sent. Don't even argue with me, women are the reason this earth has existed and we are the reason it will continue to exist. Even through oppression, through boots being pushed against our necks by men who spit and sneer, "No,". We rise. Through prodding and plucking of our essential needs to live, being examined and torn apart as if we are not only objects but specimens left here after the dust and debris. As if we are anyone's to save. We are not. I used to read essay after essay from a woman who made my head spin with her words and sentences. Her life was a literal and metaphorical mess and she owned every bit of it, never letting any one, any man, tell her to clean it up. She seemed like a woman who would go and do as she pleased, and if anyone dared to defy to her, she would simply breathe smoke in their face and saunter off. I wanna be that woman. I want to be undefined, unwritten, and uncommon out of everything in this world. Writing women are the best. They speak for every the women who have lost their voices after the dust and debris. They know when to say, "That's unfair," or "Don't talk above me," and they are able to do it in a way that the superior can't understand. Because no one but women can understand the struggle with femininity. How when you are weak, you are a woman. How poverty has been feminized, as if a higher power themselves bestowed it upon us. They did not. No one is born lucky. No on is born and meant to be in a higher place and women will continue to testify their "natural" unluckiness until we are granted the same power of those who prosper. To the women in my life; Thank you. Without you I wouldn't know what it means to be woman. I wouldn't be as proud as I am today. I love you all. From the word's of a great Becca Batman's blog, "I present to you, a “list” I’ve procrastinated on." I have indeed procrastinated and failed to get my life together, and it is all spiraling out of control on *wait for it* FINALS WEEK. So I now commemorate a short list of things I wish were never uttered by yours truly.
- Accidentally calling Hamilton "Hamlet", not just once... but three times (I'm so sorry Trey and Lenore, I hope we can still be friends). - "I hate her," to my neighbor about my mom because she wouldn't let me stay over and eat at a sh*tty barbecue. Even though my spoiled a** was going out to a 4 star meal with my grandmother (I was a terrible ungrateful child). - Every song lyric I have ever sung incorrectly in front of an audience or by my lonesome in my crappy Subaru. - "Yes," when my boss asks me if I want to pick up an extra shift on my days off. They always end up being the longest shifts in history and don't even pay the bills. The metaphorical bills that are hypothetically swarming my life. - Every phrase I've tried to utter over someone else as if my words are more important. As if someone will stop talking so that voice can be undeservedly heard. - Anything I've said that has offended someone because of my lack of knowledge and overcompensation of (again, undeserved) privilege. - Everything I said about Hillary Clinton freshman year. I didn't even know what an indirect voting system was. Who did I think I was? - "I hate you, I want you to leave my life," to my cat when she is in heat. I don't mean it, kitty. I promise. - Any careless joke I remark, not thinking ahead of my mouth and saying something completely unnecessary. Something completely hurtful. I'm so sorry. - My silence towards injustice. - My silence when an apology was needed. |
AuthorGrace Willcox. High school student. Likes to think of herself as cunning & witty. Probably isn't. Enjoy. Archives
March 2017
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