Gia Raquel

What have you chosen to get to this point in your life? That’s a bit of an absurd question, considering how long you’ve lived just to reach me right here.

I have lost track of all I have done to arrive at this very moment. But I’ve observed from the past that I possess a pattern to my actions. From the choices of fight or flight, I tend to pick the latter. In all honesty, I’m a bit disappointed, but not very surprised.

Since birth, I’ve held an intensely shy quality that proved to be troublesome to rid myself of. Even to this day, I try to avoid confrontation and drama. People pleasing is a disease that crawls in my blood. It is something I abhor but have yet to change. Throughout the years, I’ve attempted to grow up and out of the countless layers I spent wrapping around myself during my childhood. My fear was and is very evident with how I act and every worry that which travels through me. For a sixteen-year-old, I believe I hold too many anxieties to count. If this is considered normal, I am both relieved and just a tad more distressed by the fact. Yet I digress. Upon my recent travels, I’ve discovered a hobby of mine. Running.

For those that don’t know me, I’m an asthmatic with little to no motivation to run anywhere. I don’t find joy in running on a track while my heart beats so loudly I can hardly hear my surroundings. But I realized I have a tendency to mentally run away from anything that causes me hardship. I close in on myself in an attempt to recollect my values and push past what I’ve encountered; as if to gain some type of closure. I never truly wish to run away. I absolutely loathe unfinished business. I hate knowing I could have done something and chose not to do so, regardless of the consequences.

Within that small, shy child, lived a fire that lowly burned beneath any type of detection. As the years passed, it eventually reached my skin until I could see the scorch marks in the mirror. I was becoming swallowed by a fire I refused to acknowledge. I continued to run from even my own reflection, fully convincing myself I could live knowing what little I’ve done to change my life. I have a functioning mouth, a vast vocabulary, a strong voice. Why couldn’t I stand and breathe out my smoke and flames?

I will never forget a conversation I had years ago, too early in the morning to look at the bedside clock. I had been running for such a long time. Sprinting away from something I couldn’t even physically see anymore. I was attempting to escape my thoughts, regardless of its improbability. The boy had told me to stop running. It was time to fight. Through my foggy and tired mind, I knew he was right. So I did just that.

I admit, I still run. But I do it out of necessity. I realized running away is a selfish choice. But I am allowed to be selfish. I’ve spent too much of my life running away in desperation of stumbling upon closure I can only obtain through fighting. I’m not longer fearful of fighting my way to where I need to be. Looking back, I see now that there’s no point to running if I’m not actually moving.