The speech of Rocky Balboa plays over and over again in my head: "Life hits you harder than anything else. It's not about how hard you hit, but how much you can get hit and still keep on standing." I've been hit over and over again the past two years. And I took the blows, but did not move forward. As my nineteenth birthday draws near, I realize I've been repressing haunting memories, not acknowledging the blows I've been shirking from: the failure to land a date, the unrelenting aging of my family, the sex predator who traumatized me in 3rd grade, the bullying and isolation from peers throughout middle school and high school, the self-questioning of my sexuality, the realization that I will not grow any taller.
Repressing these facts gave me a numbed feeling, that along with it, came a sense of loneliness and hopelessness. I became prone to do things in which I felt I had control: eleven consecutive days of online computer games, eating ice cream and Doritos, sleeping until 1AM every morning, and not bothering to brush my teeth or take a shower. Real life caught up with me however. At the New Year's party, I slept on the couch in the basement instead of talking to the girls or even playing Wii. At the New Year's Eve party, Sean and the others animatedly played ping-pong and Wii while I napped to conserve energy. My dad's birthday is coming up in two days, and I head back to school in nineteen days. Facing these realizations is more exciting, more real than being in partial control on the internet. I'm ready to plow through the blows of life.
No comments:
Post a Comment