I want to be done performing for you. Bending in all the ways I don’t fit inside of myself just to be palatable for your preferences. You should have preferences and know the kinds of people who you want to be around and you should find those people and invest in those relationships, but asking me to be your surrogate scape goat of comfort isn’t fair to either of us. To any of us. I’ve gone rigid in my defiance to stand tall near you, unmoving, unable to waver. And I want to be able to dance again, to move my body and manage myself in a room without worrying whether or not you approve.
So I’m done. Right now, this moment, I declare myself capable.
You will feel neglect and shock and anger at my unwinding from your tightly coiled hold on my agency and you will want to fix this. But I am not for fixing.
I am for living. I am for loving. I am for leaving all of you behind.