At what point did I become too much for you?
Was it when I stayed awake all night, crying like babies do? When I sensed your presence the minute you walked in the room, and sprang to? When I was afraid of him and hid under the table, crying, was I too much for him? Was I the problem?
Was it when I repeated back those bad words about our bodies, that embarrassed you? Was it when I couldn’t bear to be alone without you, and stood at the window crying? Was it then, that I needed too much?
Or was it when you thought I was being dramatic because I was hungry and dizzy?
Or when I had a phobia of the shower at 7? And you screamed at me? Was it then?
Or was it when I ran out of the house screaming because he looked like he was going to hit you?
Or when I voiced my opinion, and you called me a man-hating bitch just like your mother?
I can’t quite pinpoint when I lost myself, my beautiful, truth-telling, brave self.
Was it when you all figured out I was fat? That I took up too much physical space? When you became disgusted by the amount of fat on my body, the number of pimples you counted on my face?
Was it when you became so angered and astounded by my intelligence and fierceness that you refused to acknowledge my presence for weeks?
Or was it when you were jealous of my sixty pound weight drop and that was wrong, too?
Was it when I told you I wasn’t just someone to sleep with?
Or was it when I decided I didn’t want to be engaged to that guy anymore?
Did I not fit in your little box?
Was it when I dyed my hair and pierced my nose?
Was I not “pretty”, anymore?
Was it too much when I embraced my sexuality, and posted a picture of me in lingerie? Was it “gross”?
Or when I breastfed my child in front of you. Did I disturb you?
Was it when I deceived you, and I wasn’t your golden angel anymore?
Or was it when I expected more out of you than a fairweather friend?
Did that gravity push you away?
Or was it the fact that I could see the beauty in many people at the same time?
Do I write too much online?
Am I too expressive?
Am I too sensitive because I wouldn’t tolerate your rape jokes at the hibachi table?
Am I too politically correct for you?
Does it scare you when I speak to you passionately? Does it make me a demon?
Was I too much when I finally laid down my shackles, and was loud with my opinions?
Or that I cry openly? And it’s not a shameful thing?
Was that too much woman?
Was it too much for you to feel better about your feelings as a result of my badass vulnerability?
Yeah, I didn’t think so.
(dedicated to FNR, who will never be silenced)
