It is becoming very clear to me how happy you are to be noticed. You have been seeking attention for quite some time, and you take that business seriously, what with the attacks on thought patterns, body weight, energy levels and voice audibility. It certainly is easy to understand why others like me want to beat your ass. Here’s the kickerÃ¢â‚¬”I don’t. In fact, I’d like to take you to dinner and a movie. Let’s make out.
I love you, silly. I love that you have worked so hard to make me understand the difference between feeling good, just okay, and awful. I love that by making me hoarse for more than a year, I learned about charkas and color therapy. There were shopping sprees in blue. Blue pendants, blue shirts, blue socks, blue bracelets simply because a woman I met in passing shared that shades of blue are healing to the throat. (The line was drawn at blue eye shadow. There are limits.) Shortly after the blue-period began, a dear friend mentioned the 205th Chakra. When one does not say what is truly meant, or is creativity stifled, the voice is both literally and metaphorically lost. I love you for the language I’ve since found. I love that you force me into a greater awareness of now, whether at mealtime, playtime or bedtime. How many people walk this world without pausing to truly see it? Feel it?
I love you because I am considering what I feed myself, my family, and am turning into a damn good cook. No one saw that coming. I love you because for years I thought I was afraid of things like flying, driving, at times even socializing. Oh, the fits you threw when the doctors diagnosed me with an anxiety disorder. You finally made them listen. I love you because you are not breast cancer, or lupus. I love you because you are becoming more and more manageable, and when you’re contrary, there are ways;
I love you because you have only grown one nodule, and one water-filled cyst. I love you because you are responding to medication. I won’t lie. It’s taken me a long time to love you. There were impulses to kick your ass wide open, really. Not anymore. I don’t want to kick your ass, and I’m pretty sure you never wanted to kick mineÃ¢â‚¬”unless the kick was meant to reveal that my perceived flaws are simply side effects, and that my art is directly related to my health. My decisions to teach and write are healthy ones, even if not financially sexy. SoÃ¢â‚¬”here’s a little locker room slap on your ass. By loving you, I’ve accepted myself, and I think we’re finally in it to win it. Go team.
~ Jess Burnquist