i compensate
*Instead of my workshop re-write this morning, I wrote this.
I hate my brain.
My spirit, I'm good with my spirit. Myself, me, whoever, whatever it is stuck inside all of this. I'm good with her, too. I like her.
But, my brain. I fucking hate my brain.
A wise woman once told me that twice exceptional means smart enough to know how fucked-up you are. Yeah, well. Plllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll. If I could choose, give me some physical impairment. Take my hearing. God, how peaceful it would be to have quiet. To not have to hear everything all at once, all the time. And need respond simultainiously to all of it? Take my hearing, please.
My brain hates repetition.
But, guess what?
Every time you eat, there are dishes. Dishes all day long. They never stop.
Wear clothes? There's always laundry. Even as you pull six clean loads from three industrial dryers, the clothes on your body are getting dirty. It never, never stops.
Eat food? Back to the grocery store. Eat the food. More dishes. The food is gone. The dishes are dirty again. More grocery store. On and on and on and on. It never fucking stops. Life in my head.
There is no break from life and the things it takes to power through it? All repetitive.
Specialist after specialist explains it to me, I'm not stupid. Thanks. Well, you know what? You can have twice exceptional. If I have to have a gigantic deficit in half of my brain, I'd rather just be plain old dumb. Some days.
Thirty-years of specialists. And nothing they tell me makes this muscle run more smoothly. Nothing. So, I smile. They all say the same things.
I'm 7-years-old when they tell my parents there is no logical explanation for the way my over the top verbal compensates for my retarded visual. Can I just say retarded? Because I'm tired of semantics. Typical? How is that different from normal? And why does it matter?
Compensate? Um, it's called survival. Surviving. Of course. Of course I can get by on what I have. Of course you can too. That's what life is, surviving on what you have. It's ALL compensation.
It's the trees along the coast. The ones that grow through impossible circumstance - slowly from the rocks, twisting beautifully to compensate for the wind. Gorgeous torment. Where there is no soil the roots grab rock, bare rock, and cling with every thread to keep growing. Beauty from the most impossible circumstance, because the circumstance is so impossible.
That's the rub, isn't it? Hardship grows beauty and hard is life and life is irrepressible. Build a city in the jungle, leave it unattended and the earth reclaims it in a moment. Grows through it, over it, buries it in green tangles of truth. We sit on the limestone tops of man made remains wondering at the nothing surrounds it.
It's all a breath and you can't stop breathing. Concentrate on it. Meditate on this. Hold your breath. But the air just keeps flowing in and out. Life is bigger than we are. And we are life. And it just keeps coming.
So, I go my friends' house last night. I can't go home to the dishes in the sink and the toys on the floor. Always with the toys and dishes. Never stops.
So I go to my friends house and attack my brain with everything I can, to anesthesize it. Make it numb. Shut it up. Ah, the quiet.
It doesn't matter that I hate my brain.
So I Compensate.
I hate my brain.
My spirit, I'm good with my spirit. Myself, me, whoever, whatever it is stuck inside all of this. I'm good with her, too. I like her.
But, my brain. I fucking hate my brain.
A wise woman once told me that twice exceptional means smart enough to know how fucked-up you are. Yeah, well. Plllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll. If I could choose, give me some physical impairment. Take my hearing. God, how peaceful it would be to have quiet. To not have to hear everything all at once, all the time. And need respond simultainiously to all of it? Take my hearing, please.
My brain hates repetition.
But, guess what?
Every time you eat, there are dishes. Dishes all day long. They never stop.
Wear clothes? There's always laundry. Even as you pull six clean loads from three industrial dryers, the clothes on your body are getting dirty. It never, never stops.
Eat food? Back to the grocery store. Eat the food. More dishes. The food is gone. The dishes are dirty again. More grocery store. On and on and on and on. It never fucking stops. Life in my head.
There is no break from life and the things it takes to power through it? All repetitive.
Specialist after specialist explains it to me, I'm not stupid. Thanks. Well, you know what? You can have twice exceptional. If I have to have a gigantic deficit in half of my brain, I'd rather just be plain old dumb. Some days.
Thirty-years of specialists. And nothing they tell me makes this muscle run more smoothly. Nothing. So, I smile. They all say the same things.
I'm 7-years-old when they tell my parents there is no logical explanation for the way my over the top verbal compensates for my retarded visual. Can I just say retarded? Because I'm tired of semantics. Typical? How is that different from normal? And why does it matter?
Compensate? Um, it's called survival. Surviving. Of course. Of course I can get by on what I have. Of course you can too. That's what life is, surviving on what you have. It's ALL compensation.
It's the trees along the coast. The ones that grow through impossible circumstance - slowly from the rocks, twisting beautifully to compensate for the wind. Gorgeous torment. Where there is no soil the roots grab rock, bare rock, and cling with every thread to keep growing. Beauty from the most impossible circumstance, because the circumstance is so impossible.
That's the rub, isn't it? Hardship grows beauty and hard is life and life is irrepressible. Build a city in the jungle, leave it unattended and the earth reclaims it in a moment. Grows through it, over it, buries it in green tangles of truth. We sit on the limestone tops of man made remains wondering at the nothing surrounds it.
It's all a breath and you can't stop breathing. Concentrate on it. Meditate on this. Hold your breath. But the air just keeps flowing in and out. Life is bigger than we are. And we are life. And it just keeps coming.
So, I go my friends' house last night. I can't go home to the dishes in the sink and the toys on the floor. Always with the toys and dishes. Never stops.
So I go to my friends house and attack my brain with everything I can, to anesthesize it. Make it numb. Shut it up. Ah, the quiet.
It doesn't matter that I hate my brain.
So I Compensate.
posted by holly at 7:57 AM
7 Comments:
Wow! I love the way you write and the way you see things, even with your "f-ing brain". That's what makes you so terrific, Holly!
This is so so beautiful. I love the way language comes to you...
I love the trees along the coast. Love them. I think that's what I'm supposed to do.... ;)
Like she says: REST.
And PS: Of the blessings I have gotten from these workshops, one the biggest ones is YOU.
beautifully written, Holly
Love sitting next to you for this one, Holly. Loved that your kids crawled on my lap. How totally great to get to do this writing thing in person now and then. Love this piece.
holly, the way you write about this struggle inspires. i feel your exhaustion and frustration. the sound of you reading your writing aloud makes me feel like i know you better than is possible, given that i just met you, um, friday :)
thank you for the rhythm, the clinging trees, the endless dishes ("Always with the toys and dishes,") and the powerful earth, reclaiming her self.
i look forward to continuing the journey with you. xo
Gorgeous writing. Sorry that such pain produces such beauty. Does it help to know that I love your brain?
love.
this one is really good! and maybe i took it a different way but in the case of what i feel from it, nourish your soul and find that which can give you silence in your mind.
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