I Am Me

Tonight, I realized I needed to write. I was – and still am – unsure about what I need to say, what I need to convey, and in what ways I need to connect to the outside world; but, I know I need to write.

The thoughts running through my head have roots in my identity. They are tied to the black community, feminism (or womanism if you will), the LGBTQ community, and the mental ill. I still cannot put my finger on what exactly I need to articulate, but I do know that I need to be heard.

I’ve found myself reading a number of inspirational womanists tonight: bell hooks, Audre Lorde, and Sojourner Truth. To say I feel inspired would be an understatement, but inspired to do what – I just cannot formulate, I just cannot say.

But if I had to guess, I would say I’m inspired to speak of who I am, of how I identify, of who I aspire to be, one day, if not today.

I am a black, bisexual, bipolar woman. Those four identifiers most capture who I am and how I identify with and navigate through the world. Those four identifiers are what, at the end of the day, I can come back to, read about, think about and re-orient myself to when I feel lost, othered, or detached from myself and the world around me. Those four identifiers are – not exclusively – but majorly a part of who I am. Yet still, they are a part of who I am that I am encouraged, subtly and obviously, not to be – or at least not to be openly, honestly, and proudly.

Tonight I possess the bravery to be defiant of that fact. Tonight I possess the will to be unabashedly and unapologetically myself. Tonight I possess the power to defy those who wish to stifle or silence me. If this feeling of defiance will last until tomorrow remains unknown, at least for now, but at the moment I am proud to be me. I admit this feeling is, unfortunately, rather foreign. Though still I wish it be an experience of everyone. Even if only a few times, it’s validating in a manner that all should be validated, all should experience, all should feel for themselves.

We all should have the experience of being unapologetically ourselves. Whatever that means to each and every one of us. We all should have the right to proudly declare and live out who we feel we are meant to be. We all should have the right to be truly and authentically ourselves, despite who society says we should be, despite what others claim us to be.

While words have poured through me onto this page, I still cannot quite put my finger on what it is exactly my heart needs to declare, but I feel satisfied in saying that it is that I am me. I am who I am meant to be. I am proud of myself, of where and who I am today, and of where and who I will be tomorrow, and of where, who, and what I will be, eventually.

White lies and pointless secrets

Sometimes I have amazing thoughts. Like this one! They just become so magnified in my mind. You know, like right here, right now. I’m moments from finally being done with my (probably) poorly applied make-up; but these words introduced themselves and offered an image so compelling that it felt like a crime to not share them. But, last time others met them with hesitation. It went against a cultural norm that’s so ingrained we don’t even recognize that it’s just an idea that we didn’t even come up with ourselves. So I’m going to voice them. I’m going to push concern over the way they’re received by others to the back of my mind. For every person who doubts, there is someone, somewhere who agrees.

I don’t want to continue addressing things as irrelevant as make up with white lies. Why do I automatically lean on responses such as: when it comes down to it do you want to sleep an extra ten minutes or put make up on? For that to be true I’d have to wake up and consider the extra time I could divulge in the land of dreams. But I don’t do that. The thought of make up doesn’t even cross my mind. I don’t decide to opt out of applying it. I don’t take the time to acknowledge it’s a thing I should even think about.

So there’s my first deep dark secret: I don’t understand make up. Sorry?

Regis

My way or the highway

For as long as I could remember I had maintained a firm grasp onto the illusion of control. By the sixth grade I decided my high school and college schedules, the college I would attend, my major, and my career. Hour by hour I would write out my activities and work for the day. I practiced conversations before hand to predict what people would say and how they would respond to what I say. I figured if I had everything planned and kept to the plan my life would be under my control.

Fast-forward to my sophomore year in high school. With things still going my way control laid comfortably in my hand. It was a good time; I could see the end of the long road to an improved smile. The plan was to combine the next two steps into one: they were going to remove all four of my wisdom teeth and transfer their bone to the locations of my missing teeth so the implants would be secure. With every passing day my excitement built; until the night before the procedure.

I did not want to be put to sleep. My stomach clenched at the idea of being forced to shut down. What would happen when I was asleep? What if I did or said something strange? How long will it last? What if I don’t wake up? There wasn’t a satisfying answer I could offer myself. I tossed and turned the whole night, curled around my churning stomach. My breathing refused to calm and my eyes shed tears on their own accord. The next morning I felt sick. I hadn’t slept and my nerves had multiplied. I kept quiet the entire ride to the hospital.

Here’s how the next few hours unfolded: I arrived, they put me under, they performed the procedure, I woke up, and I went home.

It was as if nothing had ever happened, but it had. There was a period of time where I had no control over my life. I surrendered my life, my wellbeing to my doctor. I let him take control.

And just like that, my fingers loosened and control slipped free.