About a week ago in RA training, we spent a day talking about diversity and identity. It was ironic because I happened to be sporting a mohawk that day as part of an ongoing joke. I don't consider myself a mohawk person, even though people said it looked great. It felt so out of place when I would reach up and touch it! At the end of this training day, we broke into our individual building staffs - a group of about twenty people in my case. The Community Director (Josh) led an activity that helped us explore our own identities. First, we each wrote a list of ten things that we consider to be very important to defining each of us as a person. My list started with "Tourette Syndrome" and included other things like "good listener," "musician," things like that. Once the list was made up, Josh asked us cross off five of those things. It was difficult, but I picked the five that I felt least connected to and removed them from my list of identity. Then, he asked us to cross off three more. I was down to "Tourette Syndrome" and "Understanding of Other's Perspectives." Predictably, the next step was to pick one more item to cross off. I sat staring at the paper, wanting my best to have "Perspectives" be the one thing that I thought defined me, but I knew it wasn't true. I drew a bold black line through it.
We went around the circle and took turns telling the group about our lists and what was left as our most central identity trait. As we went around the cirlce, many people had heavy subjects and some were emotional. I rehearsed what I was going to say in my head. I thought about how I would introduce the points that I was particularly proud of, and of little jokes I could throw in here or there to make it light. But when it was almost my turn, I looked at my list and saw a list of nine perfectly good personality traits crossed out and one horribly life-changing disability sitting like king at the top of them. All the sudden everything hit me at once and I reacted to my Tourette's in a way I had never done before.
I started to cry.
I did my best to hold it back at first, because it was my turn to speak. It was a very emotional moment and I don't remember exactly what I said, but I'll give my best shot at recreating the moment: "Today I've talked about my Tourette Syndrome a lot. Two and a half years ago I was a normal guy; I never really processed it until right now. It may not seem like a big deal, but for every tic you see, I have about twenty - and I feel every single one of them. I feel like it's a cage that I'm trying to reach out of, but crossing everything out made me just see the cage. That's... That's all I got."
I began to cry freely and to my surprise, many of the people around me did too. The guy next to me stood up and gave me a huge bear hug, even though I was to weak to stand up and return it. We continued going around the circle, although it was hard for me to concentrate on what was being said. I kept my eyes down and shed silent tears; it was so hard to think about anything or the people in the room. I felt so rediculous crying like a baby with a badass mohawk. I wasn't slowing down any, even though the next couple people were already talking. I remember looking up momentarily and being overwhelmed with the size of the cirlce in front of me. Maryam, who had also had a rather emotional list, came over to kneeled next to me and put her arms around me, which gave me the strength to stop staring at the piece of paper and crumple that shit up. Finally, we took a water break for everyone to refresh and recharge their batteries from the heavy things we were discussing. I stood up and started to head to the bathroom to clean myself up. I still hadn't recovered from my turn, and three or four people came in tears to where I was before I could move, showering me with reassuring hugs and words. It's odd to me to think that other people can be so heavily affected by something that happens to someone else, but it was very thereaputic to be able to share the moment. One person was crying almost harder than I was. She told me how great of a person she thought I was and that she felt lucky to know me. We hugged about three times; her actions meant so much to me at that moment, more than I can describe in words.
As I left the group and headed off to the bathroom to clear out my nose, I began to gasp for breath. Not knowing what was going on, I started crying even harder and louder than I had before. I didn't even make it to the bathroom; Josh and Maryam came and rescued me halfway there. I dove into them and sobbed harder than I think I ever have since I was little. It was one of the deepest, realest, most meaningful embraces I think I will ever experience. I don't know how long we stood there as I poured out the contents of my heart, lungs, and tear ducts onto them.
When I was done crying, Maryam took me on a walk around campus. We discussed each other's lives and issues and how we felt about things. We walked and talked until the mosquitos drove us back inside. Maryam is such an amazing person, always fighting for the right thing. I know that someday she will have a great impact on the world; indeed, she already has on mine.
Looking back (although admittedly it hasn't been all that long), I don't really know what exactly happened that day, or where I am now because of it. I do know that I took a step. A very large step indeed, but the direction of which I am unsure of. I guess that can only be determined by time and heinsight, right? I wish I had a better way to end this enormous post, but unfortunately I think it's just going to have to stop. I wrote this in a long, multi-hour single sitting, so I'm sure there are a bunch of errors in typing and junk like that in it. Whatever, I'll fix them tomorrow.
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