Utter Lack of Ability

Daily Prompt: Might As Well Jump

June 18, 2013

What’s the biggest risk you’d like to take — but haven’t been able to? What would have to happen to make you comfortable taking it?

[http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/06/18/daily-prompt-jump/]

I wrote this in “haibun” form, something I have only recently discovered, thanks to this blogger’s page and competition right here: http://yepirategunn.weebly.com/2/post/2013/06/ligo-haibun-challenge-1406-2106.html.

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I am one of those people who have two left feet. Not the kind that say it out of modesty, mind you – I am absolutely, utterly, horrendously incapable of dancing. To add to that, I’m decidedly overweight as well, making it less cute if I blunder around, tires bulging, than if, say, Cameron Diaz or Enrique Iglesias did.

I associate dancing with passion, sexuality and whirling around in the sheer excitement of living; at least, that’s what it looks like to me when others dance. I would give just about anything to be able to dance, yet unfortunately my sense of pride keeps me from making an absolute fool of myself. Funnily enough, I believe that it’s not so much a general sense of pride holding me back as much as shame: shame for my appearance and my stark lack of ability.

I believe that if I lost weight, or if I (privately) attained a certain minimum level of proficiency in any dance form, I would gain the confidence required to dance in public.

Mistakes and missteps

Make a mockery of me.

Will I ever dance?

 

Why I Hate Analgesics (But Love Being Sick)

Daily Prompt: Take Care

 June 11, 2013

When you’re unwell, do you allow others to take care of you, or do you prefer to soldier on alone? What does it take for you to ask for help?

The past few years, I made the decision to forego the use of painkillers of the cough-and-cold variety. I wanted to build up my own strength and tolerance levels. I believe that the existence of conveniences is not reason enough for their exploitation, and that sometimes the hard route is better in the long run. Recently, I was sick enough that I had to go against my personal rule and take some medication. It felt like I was bending somehow, and that’s when I realized that what I had thought was my way of becoming stronger was actually partly based in pride – not taking medicine made me feel like I was better somehow, stronger than those who did.

In general, when unwell, I shy away from help because I dislike feeling like a burden or that I’m inconveniencing anyone. I dislike being in anyone’s debt – again, pride.

It takes crippling “unwellness” for me to ask for help. Only when I am unable to function, or when there is something I need significantly more than my intact ego, do I turn to others for help. When I get help, however, it brings tears to my eyes. It makes me feel loved. It takes me back to my childhood when I loved falling sick, because it meant that my mother would feed me, take care of me, and in general make me feel loved. Help makes me believe the best of people again.

In the end I question myself: why do I dislike asking for help, really? Is it the pride, is it because I don’t want to burden anyone, or is it because I truly want to increase my physical pain threshold? Or maybe, and this just occurred to me, is it because I want to increase my emotional pain threshold? Because I don’t want to feel like a child, a dependant, don’t want to feel loved too often, don’t want to lose the preciousness, borne of rarity, of the relief that comes from knowing, with every cell in your body, that you’re loved.

Take care, Friend.

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