So, when I was a kid people always asked me what I would want my super power to be. I mean, if I could have one. And I took my time, at firstâreally thought about it. Because this is a big deal when youâre a second grader and you canât get it WRONG because what if someone actually gives you that power and then youâre stuck shooting cheez wiz from your nose for the rest of your life? No, I agonized over it: tried to imagine life with the power of flight, or invisibility, or telekinesisâ and I finally figured it out. I want to heal people. Itâs all Iâve ever wanted. It wasnât until later that I would realize my own addiction to giving my body like sacrifice. I knew when I was eight that I wanted to make people better, but I was an adult, three years into therapy, before I understood just how many limbs I was willing to cut off to keep the people I loved standing. And suddenly I knew my limits but I didnât know how to respect them, and every desperate ounce of selfishness in self preservation weighed on my back like an anchor and I realized: I was drowning whether I saved everyone or not. There is no survival in turning the people around you into altars and laying at their feet. There is no room. They will keep pieces of you, but they will not leave the light on. They will not make the bed. They wonât do it to hurt you, itâs just that they will have learned to love without making communion wine out of themselves. I learned the hard way that people do not have to be selfless to be good people. I just never learned how to love them right. My heart stalls at sixty miles per hourâ I have only ever known how to floor it. Full speed ahead. With my own two hands wrapped in tissue paper like an offering.
I AM NOT A SUPERHERO by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
