Sunday, February 26, 2012

Anyone who knows me well knows my love for hot sauce and spicy things. That it is not a preference but a necessity when I sit down to eat. Could it be because I am multicultural? A little bit brave? Have a little tomboy in me? Yeah. But there is another reason too, and it's because I'm neurotic.

It's that sometimes I hit this wall of immediate, chronic anxiety. I don't consider it a terrible thing, because I feel like it gives me this identity that I wouldn't have otherwise. That even though my senses are heightened and it can be for the worse, occasionally they are heightened and it's for the better.

So I sit down at the table to eat. Meal settings I don't do. For some reason I almost always get anxiety at meal settings. So what do I do when it's really hard to eat my food? A lot of hot sauce babe. A lot of it. It helps the food go down.

It makes me think, if I am able to obtain special assistance at meal settings, I could find it everywhere else too. When I sit down with a fork and knife and my past present future, that somehow digging in could be wholesome and savory. That I could take big bites instead of small ones, and taste them. That I could leave empty plates behind me instead of half eaten, regretful, still hungry type of plates.

And then it dawns on me and it's genius. Anxiety itself is the hot sauce of my life. My special assistance. It stings, it's mean, it's proud, and I love it.

Though it makes her eyes water, it makes a delicate girl feel tough.

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