A little story about an innocuous nothing that happened when I was walking back to my place from the BART station after work today, the sort of thing that happens every day, sometimes multiple times a day: (1/9)
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And sometimes I just stop and think about how much this affects me, every day, all the time, this adaptation I've made to my circumstances, this way of moving through the world, sometimes carrying myself as if I barely deserve to exist.
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It's an adaptation I've made out of fear; fear of the possibility of encountering a situation that makes me feel intense discomfort and something akin to shame, but the adaptation is itself not unlike living with shame.
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And while I only go to such lengths to be evasive with complete strangers (who are, of course, all around us all the time), obviously I'm significantly guarded in all sorts of situations. This is how I move through the world. This is how I exist.
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And the truth is that I'm much much better now than I was. But still, it is a near-constant component of my life. And that's a shame. That's all. Thanks for reading.
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