So, I ran and I eluded.
I hid and I cowered.
I escaped and I fled.
I played the irresponsible, flaky one.
In sixth grade, I began ditching classes with a peer who has
since perished in a car accident. I quit gymnastics and joined
an activity that all the local girls in my neighborhood participated in -
the Vista drill team. I took up and then let go of softball and tennis.
In ninth grade, I wandered around the beloved streets of my local 'hood,
smoking pot and tagging stop signs with graffiti. My best friend and I were busted for shoplifting at the local CVS and then I was arrested for a minor in possession while strolling to a party in Carlsbad. At seventeen, I gave my virginity away to the class slut. I almost even got kicked out of college before I had even started classes - I had to beg to be admitted in a written letter.
Although my headaches, which had plagued my high school career, disappeared while I was at SSU, I fell back into a deep, cellular patterning. Once again, I had found a mutually reciprocal relationship with an action that fed my being. As a Modern Dance major, my world expanded profoundly and my unadulterated joy for pure movement lent itself positively to my life. Nonetheless, I simply stopped showing up. I ditched classes, preferring to stay wrapped tight within the warm confines of my cozy bed. I'd tell my friends that I would make an appearance at their weekly parties. I would ride my bike over to their L-Street house, walk up to the door, hear the revelry and then turn around and go back home. I did not understand my own behavior. It was unconscious and severely painful. Yet, I could not stop repeating it.
