(no subject)
I've been having these thoughts a lot lately, and I thought I would try to sort them out here, so much as I can:
People assume so much about others. It makes me wonder how much someone has to hide.
We are born with things that separate us, things we can't change. But nevertheless, things we will be judged for.
Whosets the standard for normal, physically or mentally? For some reason, the idea of physical deformities is on my mind constantly. Because unlike my own problems, they are blatant and undeniable. But does society accomodate these things? Stores sell hats that are one-size-fits-all, assuming that our heads are all within a certain size range. Shirts have two symmetrical arm holes, which imply that we all have two symmetrical arms. How would the large-headed adult with an arm stunted by polio feel among these uniform garments and people?
I gaze upon my own anatomy. No abnormal flaws? So the casual observer might conclude. Assuming I was wearing close-toed shoes. Upon the simple exposure of my left foot, this observation would prove incorrect. My second two toes are webbed.
But I have no qualms with this. I like my webbed toes. They are quite charming as far as deformities go.
I have two thin, slightly muscled arms that connect to small shoulders, framing a torso that curves with the aid of an S-shaped spine, wide hips and C-cups. I am supported by two well-shaped and defined long legs- mens' favorite feature of mine. I am 5 feet, 6 inches and 116 pounds. I have a nice body. This is automatically a determining factor when meeting people, and I know I will be judged for it. But it's one of the few things I'm not ashamed of.
What am I ashamed of? I always had it buried not far below the surface that I should be ashamed of things I couldn't change. Like OCD ticks or obsessions with certain words. Or my tendency to explode on someone who is calm or happy for a reason that they don't understand. Talking to myself, reciting familiar dialogue or invented conversation unconsciously, often in the prescence of others. My enormous and injustifiable capacity for resentment. My gawky, awkward, and often clueless manner. My instinct to cling with an iron grip to those I care about, yet with the expectation that I should be allowed large amounts of privacy whenever I deem it necessary. My ever-present fear that these things make me inferior or unworthy.
Stupidly, I never considered that someone else might face the same thought patterns. Maybe if I really believed this I could reach a sense of inner-peace.
People assume so much about others. It makes me wonder how much someone has to hide.
We are born with things that separate us, things we can't change. But nevertheless, things we will be judged for.
Whosets the standard for normal, physically or mentally? For some reason, the idea of physical deformities is on my mind constantly. Because unlike my own problems, they are blatant and undeniable. But does society accomodate these things? Stores sell hats that are one-size-fits-all, assuming that our heads are all within a certain size range. Shirts have two symmetrical arm holes, which imply that we all have two symmetrical arms. How would the large-headed adult with an arm stunted by polio feel among these uniform garments and people?
I gaze upon my own anatomy. No abnormal flaws? So the casual observer might conclude. Assuming I was wearing close-toed shoes. Upon the simple exposure of my left foot, this observation would prove incorrect. My second two toes are webbed.
But I have no qualms with this. I like my webbed toes. They are quite charming as far as deformities go.
I have two thin, slightly muscled arms that connect to small shoulders, framing a torso that curves with the aid of an S-shaped spine, wide hips and C-cups. I am supported by two well-shaped and defined long legs- mens' favorite feature of mine. I am 5 feet, 6 inches and 116 pounds. I have a nice body. This is automatically a determining factor when meeting people, and I know I will be judged for it. But it's one of the few things I'm not ashamed of.
What am I ashamed of? I always had it buried not far below the surface that I should be ashamed of things I couldn't change. Like OCD ticks or obsessions with certain words. Or my tendency to explode on someone who is calm or happy for a reason that they don't understand. Talking to myself, reciting familiar dialogue or invented conversation unconsciously, often in the prescence of others. My enormous and injustifiable capacity for resentment. My gawky, awkward, and often clueless manner. My instinct to cling with an iron grip to those I care about, yet with the expectation that I should be allowed large amounts of privacy whenever I deem it necessary. My ever-present fear that these things make me inferior or unworthy.
Stupidly, I never considered that someone else might face the same thought patterns. Maybe if I really believed this I could reach a sense of inner-peace.