I am so unbelievably frustrated with the system of this university. I am more than capable of doing the work for my classes and earning good grades. But it should not be so difficult for a student to navigate so that they might be able to afford an education, get the academic support they require to succeed and for professors to treat them as competent adults who deserve respect.
I thought that giving in and allowing PSU to label me as disabled would be worth it in the long run.
But people still can't see him, my beast.
No one can hear his growling but me.
He pulls me to him but to others I am standing perfectly still.
They can't see him so they assume that I'm taking advantage. What game do they think I'm playing? Am I supposed to be thankful that my professors are obligated to follow the policies set for them through the disability resource center? That they're doing their jobs? I don't owe them shit. Not an apology, an explanation or a thank you. I work fucking haaaaard. I won't take advantage, because what advantage is there to admitting that you are incapable of making it through school on your own? I can have my accommodations as long as I stay out of the way. As long as I don't use them.
You know what?
Jokes on you 'cause I can play by your rules
I'm stronger than I have ever been
Watch me succeed in spite of you
If you can't remember my name now, you sure will one fucking day
one fucking day
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Saturday, October 11, 2014
My Own Wild Tongue
"How do you tame a wild tongue, train it to be quiet, how do you
bridle and saddle it? How do you make it lie down?" - Gloria Anzaldua, How to Tame a Wild Tongue
I'm taking a class called Writing as Activism and I think this just might be the best class I'll take at PSU. I get to sit among people who are intent on writing and changing the world for two hours, twice a week. These individuals have each come from very different backgrounds, have very different writing voices and are so willing to be vulnerable and share with strangers. It's been two weeks, four class meetings and I already feel like I'm part of something important. I'm ecstatic, determined and terrified. I did a big thing in class on Tuesday and read some of my writing. It's one thing to write behind a computer screen, far away from the reaction of your audience. It's another to read your words, out loud, and watch the faces of those around you as they take some of your truth for themselves.
In class we were discussing writing in all of the ways we know how. Not necessarily whether we prefer to write poems, short stories or opinion pieces--but what words do we use to convey what we mean? For some in the class, those words are in other languages or very specific to the place where they grew up.
I realized that my wild tongue has been the voice of my beast. And now, in this class, I may find a way to take back what is mine.
From my notebook:
I had learned to speak a language other than English and had not known it. I had studied the words while I lay in bed unable to sleep, my mind moving faster than the cars on the street outside my window. The words came to me through tears and the buzzing itch of blood through my veins. I had never been asked to speak it louder than a whisper until I met her, the guide to my wise mind. There are fewer words in this language I have taught myself. Fewer words but more emotion, than often times, I can face. Even without the words, my body responds and loses itself. Hours, days and sometimes weeks pass before I wake up and see the words scribbled on the walls and ceiling in cracks and crevices that swallow me whole.
I'm taking a class called Writing as Activism and I think this just might be the best class I'll take at PSU. I get to sit among people who are intent on writing and changing the world for two hours, twice a week. These individuals have each come from very different backgrounds, have very different writing voices and are so willing to be vulnerable and share with strangers. It's been two weeks, four class meetings and I already feel like I'm part of something important. I'm ecstatic, determined and terrified. I did a big thing in class on Tuesday and read some of my writing. It's one thing to write behind a computer screen, far away from the reaction of your audience. It's another to read your words, out loud, and watch the faces of those around you as they take some of your truth for themselves.
In class we were discussing writing in all of the ways we know how. Not necessarily whether we prefer to write poems, short stories or opinion pieces--but what words do we use to convey what we mean? For some in the class, those words are in other languages or very specific to the place where they grew up.
I realized that my wild tongue has been the voice of my beast. And now, in this class, I may find a way to take back what is mine.
From my notebook:
I had learned to speak a language other than English and had not known it. I had studied the words while I lay in bed unable to sleep, my mind moving faster than the cars on the street outside my window. The words came to me through tears and the buzzing itch of blood through my veins. I had never been asked to speak it louder than a whisper until I met her, the guide to my wise mind. There are fewer words in this language I have taught myself. Fewer words but more emotion, than often times, I can face. Even without the words, my body responds and loses itself. Hours, days and sometimes weeks pass before I wake up and see the words scribbled on the walls and ceiling in cracks and crevices that swallow me whole.
Monday, October 6, 2014
The Hardest Thing to do, is to Lie
Truths:
What I am going to do, is keep showing up. This is new, I have never done this before. The best and most reaffirming thing I can do, I have decided, is to continue to work hard and be present. I'm not sure what the result will be; it may or may not be that I receive better grades on assignments, or that I feel an increased amount of self-satisfaction and confidence. But why the hell shouldn't I try? Why shouldn't I create an opportunity where I might surprise myself?
Last term, I didn't feel like I was doing very well in my classes. This may or may not have been an accurate perspective, but that is irrelevant. I didn't feel like I was doing well and I wanted to drop them all and maybe take an indefinite break from school. Fear held tightly in the palm of my beast's hand, told me I needed to act quickly. Rip off the bandage, so to speak. I called my therapist in a panic, wanting to hear her say that I should drop out of my classes. But what she said was this: Do you ever think about trying something you've never done before? Is dropping out of school the easiest thing to do?
Convinced that I was a coward and constantly choosing the easiest way out of my discomfort, she stopped me in my tracks. True, all I had to do was to go online and click "withdraw" for all of my classes and it would be done. That part was effortless. But my beast would pile my shoulders high with pebbles at first, then rocks until one day I would find myself buried in boulders.
And if I stayed in my classes, did the most I could do and didn't do well? The beast would grumble, growl, roar until he was winded and then curl up in a corner and fall asleep. Would it be difficult to stay in the classes? Of course. But would there be an end? Most definitely.
The hardest thing I have done time and time again, is walk away. So I'm gonna go easy on myself, just this once.
- I worked hard and was productive over the weekend
- I put effort into all of my assignments
- I am in a strong place emotionally
- I am intelligent
- I am capable
- I am determined
- I didn't do as well on an assignment as I had hoped
What I am going to do, is keep showing up. This is new, I have never done this before. The best and most reaffirming thing I can do, I have decided, is to continue to work hard and be present. I'm not sure what the result will be; it may or may not be that I receive better grades on assignments, or that I feel an increased amount of self-satisfaction and confidence. But why the hell shouldn't I try? Why shouldn't I create an opportunity where I might surprise myself?
Last term, I didn't feel like I was doing very well in my classes. This may or may not have been an accurate perspective, but that is irrelevant. I didn't feel like I was doing well and I wanted to drop them all and maybe take an indefinite break from school. Fear held tightly in the palm of my beast's hand, told me I needed to act quickly. Rip off the bandage, so to speak. I called my therapist in a panic, wanting to hear her say that I should drop out of my classes. But what she said was this: Do you ever think about trying something you've never done before? Is dropping out of school the easiest thing to do?
Convinced that I was a coward and constantly choosing the easiest way out of my discomfort, she stopped me in my tracks. True, all I had to do was to go online and click "withdraw" for all of my classes and it would be done. That part was effortless. But my beast would pile my shoulders high with pebbles at first, then rocks until one day I would find myself buried in boulders.
And if I stayed in my classes, did the most I could do and didn't do well? The beast would grumble, growl, roar until he was winded and then curl up in a corner and fall asleep. Would it be difficult to stay in the classes? Of course. But would there be an end? Most definitely.
The hardest thing I have done time and time again, is walk away. So I'm gonna go easy on myself, just this once.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
My Little Secret
I've been afraid to say it out loud. I've talked to a few people about my first week of school, but I've chosen my words carefully. My classes are really interesting, I say. I'm grateful to have weekends to study, I tell to anyone who will listen. But those are only parts of the truth. Wait for it--
I'M DOING REALLY WELL AND I'M SO PROUD OF MYSELF I COULD CRY.
There, I said it. Whew.
I'm fully aware that it has only been a week. The first week of school, of a new term and my third year of college. I fell to my knees and crawled here. But I've arrived and this feels new. This isn't a stroke of luck, or because others have carried me on their backs to be dumped here. My hands and knees are bloody and callused. But I have stood and it is on my own.
That is why I don't need to tell everyone what this feels like. It's mine.
One of my professors asked us the first day of class, how did you come to be here?
I didn't know. Or rather, I thought it had simply happened to me.
Since then, I have changed my mind. I have made one choice everyday of my life:
That I should live to see the next one.
And every once in a while I have a good day, where I make a bigger choice than the day before. I'm taking as many credits as PSU will allow me to enroll in and I'm going for it. It is absolutely, terrifyingly, delicious.
Did I mention I'm dancing again?
I'M DOING REALLY WELL AND I'M SO PROUD OF MYSELF I COULD CRY.
There, I said it. Whew.
I'm fully aware that it has only been a week. The first week of school, of a new term and my third year of college. I fell to my knees and crawled here. But I've arrived and this feels new. This isn't a stroke of luck, or because others have carried me on their backs to be dumped here. My hands and knees are bloody and callused. But I have stood and it is on my own.
That is why I don't need to tell everyone what this feels like. It's mine.
One of my professors asked us the first day of class, how did you come to be here?
I didn't know. Or rather, I thought it had simply happened to me.
Since then, I have changed my mind. I have made one choice everyday of my life:
That I should live to see the next one.
And every once in a while I have a good day, where I make a bigger choice than the day before. I'm taking as many credits as PSU will allow me to enroll in and I'm going for it. It is absolutely, terrifyingly, delicious.
Did I mention I'm dancing again?
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