Human

*
Thinking about those who knew me during my metamorphosis from abused child to bewildered adulthood gives me pause. Lots of awkward pauses. I have no idea how I looked then, so wrapped up in the shreds of my cocoon, fitful attempts not to be shy, angry and ugly and whiny, but also curious and intelligent and radiant with youth and health and hope. Lovely and off putting, intentionally dumpy and urgently sensually needy. All oatmeal with thistles.

I ate terribly, ramen noodles and stolen chocolate bars and cola from where I worked. Malnourished and sore most of the time. Excuses for every failing. Achingly lonely and aching for solitude. Friends with anyone who didn't out-and-out rebuff me. Inchoate dreams listlessly driving me. Ill, raw and inadequate, I focused only on keeping my grades up - to sustain the scholarship. I worked very hard, but not at all well. Wallowed in adolescent fantasy of my parents' death, gothic loss, and hollywood starshine.

Perhaps that path lead the only way out of my fuckedupedness. That muddy, lonely and self-destructive road held the lessons for the skills I needed. Four years of self-directed psycho analysis mixed with pragmatic behaviourism. The Army became my charm school. Nursing school to finish me off. The OR to harden my Crème brûlée. Each new day to age and mellow me.

Maybe that's the real reason a hard science curriculum eluded me. I needed to work on my humanity.



*gods I look like my mother in this photo