I, the no-needs female. I, the stream-lined individual. I know that linear is more efficient than weaving-loom round, that agreeing is smoother than saying ‘No’, that people like me better when I take care of them.
I pretend to not know my mind, that I have no opinion. I close-my-eyes blind, to protect, to hide. I’m desperate to be safe, fear hounds, relentless, I put my self away. At times, the pain of pretending, denying, agreeing, and ‘yes-ing’ to all the bullshit bursts ahead of my fear, and I speak, I explode.
I apologize. I soothe. I polish. I tuck away, I put away this messy Janae. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
I hide, I fight to be thin, an impossible me that does not take up space. Heaven forbid I have hips, they betray me woman, not girl. They betray me strong, capable, full to round with sex-appeal. I live to mold my body straight, to be hidden behind the cliche so that no one will notice me or blame me for filling-out my seat.
I consolidate, negate, ignore, exile. I secure one-dimension living. I find the safe, the sound, the benign, the bland. Outside I could not be more commendable, approve-able, like-able. Inside I am all starve, silence, and be-little. I hide away my self, my many screaming, needing, begging, feeling, selves.
I need neat and I need tidy, because I want safety, I want sure.
I am accustomed to this tiny existence. Me, scurrying around the edges of my life. Me, apologizing for taking up space.
Now, I’m being pulled into more. Now, I’m being grown into, thrown into, more. An expansion, an upheaval, a frightening, take it back, I-don’t-want-this-much-freedom, more. I lament this overhaul. It is all I have ever wanted, it has been my greatest fear. Within this paradox, as I fight and ask for a return to small, I am tasting Larger.
I say again, it is all I’ve ever wanted. I am angry. I am confused. I am terrified.