My greatest fear is becoming as callous and mediocre as a capital W White man person.
I try so hard to be kind and exceptional but in reality I am the physical embodiment of spiteful rage and boundless mediocrity. The only thing I am not is White. So maybe it’s time I start embracing the inevitable. I no longer want to combat these lukewarm monsters with graciousness and an overwhelming need to show them they were wrong about me.
I will no longer attempt to be the bigger and better person. I will be so small I fit in their pockets and so awful they mistake me for a mirror. I will be ok at best and a living nightmare at worst. I will celebrate myself even when the only thing I’ve done all day is avoid becoming a featured story on an episode of Snapped, a show about women who kill their husbands. I will sleep for 23 hours and then, after being asleep more hours than I was awake, I will stomp through the world furious for no discernible reason. I will be the biggest, whiniest king baby to ever grace these city streets.
I will wear my sustained trauma proudly and scream about it in every conference room from sea to shining sea. I will miss their deadlines because I’ll be too busy splashing around in my heavy handed feelings.
I will ignore the fact that my anger makes me fear I’m losing those valued parts of myself and will most likely never amount to anything. I will be the monster I was destined to become without a purpose or a goal, an amorphous terror blob!
And then when I’m done I’ll take a trip to me. Those places I go so that I may keep the parts of myself that are being so willfully destroyed. So what if that means plopping down in an empty bathtub, climbing into a bottle of vinho verde mixed with my own tears and drinking my way out.
I hope you’ll join me. I promise they are not invited. And I will have saved my kindness, empathy and any semblance of an effort for you.