Being honest is often the hardest thing about it.

I’ve been saying for the longest time ever that I would get myself the book Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg, and I finally did. I’m the kind of a person who doesn’t like being part of the masses and at any given opportunity tries to goes against the grain, just because I can and I like to assert my individuality. So when I finally found this book, before actually buying it I had to ask myself why do I want to purchase this highly acclaimed piece, and if I really believe I am as capable as a man, then I don’t REALLY need advice from a woman on how to get ahead in my life and career. But the thing is I do, because at the end of the day I’m a woman. Yes, I said it. I AM A WOMAN. And an intersex woman at that and our experiences as women, as different as they may be, are very similar and are what bring us together.

So I bought it, and I am happy I did because I’ve just completed the first chapter and the last question the author the asked is, what would you do if you weren’t afraid? This question is what pushed me to finish this blog post that I had actually started writing weeks ago, but never actually got around to finishing it. So thank you Mama Sandberg. Anyway, that question is the same question that led me to coming out about being intersex on the 15th of May 2016. I was scared of telling the world I’m intersex or worse news coming out about it and not on my own terms. So I then decided to let everyone in on what I’ve kept to myself and a few others for some years.

Fast forward a few months later down the line, my answer has changed from coming out to actually being honest. So that’s what I would do if I wasn’t scared, I would be honest. Not that I wasn’t being honest then, but to actually continue being as honest if not more and to do that as hard as it may be, especially growing up black and being taught to keep personal matters private.

Truth be told, when I started my blog, I had AMAZING plans that I’d post monthly, with cute photos and all these interesting facts about AIS and myself. But after the second post, I got a bit of writer’s block, life took over, my mobile data contract ended and data never fell (so yah), but mostly I spent a lot of time procrastinating on what I really felt like I needed to write on, because that would require me to be honest and I found myself wondering how deep do I go? So now I’m taking the challenge again, doing what scares me. So here I go being honest…

Sometimes I wish my life was a movie. I mean, in the movies boy sees girl, girl sees guy looking at her and smiles, and guy smiles back. INSTANT CONNECTION. Eventually, after a few stolen glances and smiles, the guy approaches the girl, they chat for a while, he asks for her number, she gives it to him and they go for coffee. In the movie what would happen next, is that these two click on their first date, follow it up with more dates where they realize as different from each other as they are, they have so many things in common. It’s beautiful, it’s amazing. Here are two people who met just by total chance, but it feels like it’s meant to be. Like out of all the possible paths they could have taken that day, they chose to go to the same place at the same time and just like that in a moment two souls collide into this ineffable experience. Some may even call it fate. And now what would follow in this romantic flick is the blossoming of this new and exciting relationship where everything is in HD, smells like fresh rain and tastes like nougat (I love nougat okay). Close to the end of this amazing and heartfelt movie they have this huge blowout, he or she breaks off the relationship but nothing is lost because they feel like they can’t live without each other and she or he convinces him or her that whatever life together they may have is far better than life apart. Then comes the corny bit I really don’t like, where despite their differences, they drift off into the sunset and have 2.2 kids by the age of 30.

Gosh I wish my life was a movie because at least then I’d be given a script, go into wardrobe, hair and makeup,  I would get on set and then someone would shout “ACTION!” and I’d play out my life knowing the scene’s outcome. That would be so great because that wouldn’t involve any level vulnerability. And yes, I know there’s beauty in being vulnerable and all that  feel good stuff. But I tell you it’s hard, and gets harder every time you have to become vulnerable.  But my life is not a movie and the scenes in my life play out a little differently.

I usually get to meet this penguin and he’s amazing. No, fascinating. My brain cells somersault when we talk and my face does this thing where my mouth goes into an upward curve and my eyes become glassy when I talk to him. We spend hours talking about anything and everything and after those long chats the serotonin, dopamine, and nor-epinephrine in my system make sure he’s always on my mind and I envision the sunset before the rolling credits.

Except after the amazing first date and realizing this penguin doesn’t know a single thing about me, my genetic makeup or who I am,  and the blowout ensues. But I’m the only one in this storm. Anyone who knows me very well, will know I am super analytic and that I have an overactive imagination, so in true nature I start wrecking my brain on how to tell him about being intersex. Meanwhile he’s probably on lying on his bed staring at my cute WhatsApp profile picture (that I deliberately set) recounting our awesome conversations. And then snap, he realizes I’m actually cool people. So he musters up the courage to officially ask me to be his penguin, because that’s how I roll. Which is then the part where I would usually spills the beans, if I haven’t spilled them by now.

But before that moment though, this is what happened…

 

I’m out having fun, I notice this guy looking at me and I think “Oh, he’s cute… Wait, does he know who I am? Never mind, he’s super cute.”

Penguin approaches and starts chatting to me “He actually has a brain people, he’s nice and everything. Oh my goodness, look at his eyes…” (Concentrate Sharon)

“This conversation is going really well, okay ask me out already.” Which he does…

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAS.”

And then the date. “Ooh, he looks cuter than the las time I saw him, smells better too.”

 

By this time we’re off to a great start, but I’m already thinking how I do it bring it up. How do I slip this into the conversation? Do I casually bring it, like what I did last summer? Or do I give him the whole “We need to talk…” speech? The latter would send his mind in a million directions in a split second (I mean what would go through your mind when a penguin you just met says you need to talk?). So I resort to the former. Blogging has definitely made it easier though, I can bring it up in conversation that I occasionally blog and when he asks about what, I just hit him up with a link (sometimes technology is not that bad). Easy, done… Except it’s never that easy

It’s usually what happens in between and afterwards that is challenging.

As different as I’d like to believe I am, I am in a lot of ways very similar to a large portion of penguins in that I have hope of one day finding or being found by someone I’d get to call my penguin and I’ll be his. I mean, I’m just a penguin going through life looking for another penguin dancing to the same song as I am in the hope of being mates forever and always and out of 7.5 billion “penguins” in the world, you’d think it’d be easy to find this other penguin. But like many other things in life it’s not that simple.

I’ve had a few interesting experiences in the field of dating as a 20-something and being intersex. And in the event of the demise of a relationship or the start thereof the hardest thing I’ve found was separating reasons whether it didn’t work just because it didn’t or because I’m intersex and he can’t handle it. Granted there are a lot of contributing factors that could lead to things not working out such as differences in faith and belief, expectations, timing, and just simply compatibility, but it seems awfully peculiar that SOMETIMES everything seems to collapse right after I tell you I’m intersex. And some may even assure me that’s not the case and it’s fine because instead of spending time trying to figure out if you’re telling the truth or not, I chose to actually live and enjoy my life. And for whatever reason, if I’m not your penguin, that’s okay. But if my being intersex was the reason, the least you could do was at least tell me truth, believe me when I said I could handle it, because I can. It’s not that deep bra, I’m just not your penguin whatever the reason may be. But anyway… Let me live my life and enjoy it.

So there it is, one of the hardest things personally about being intersex is openly admitting that it might be possible that one of the reasons why I’m not the next person’s penguin MIGHT be because I’m intersex and what it means, which as a whole sucks. It also sucks that someone might feel like I can’t handle the truth so he thinks giving me some fluffy reason why HE’S not my penguin would be better so he can let me down easy. Or worse Mr. Always-There becomes Mr. Gone-Guy-Without-A-Trace. But here’s the thing, I don’t want to be let down easy, I mean! I told you the truth, so I expect nothing less from you. However I’ve learned that, that won’t always won’t be the case. Some penguins might not tell me the truth and some might not even tell me anything at all and abandon our WhatsApp chat with the last text I sent when I said “Good morning 🙂 ”). So I’ve also had to learn that, if it that’s the case that it doesn’t take away from what an awesome penguin I am. Like come on, I’m quite a catch. Wouldn’t you say? Like I think I’m decent looking, I dance like a noodle being tossed in a wok, and I have awesome taste in music.

I’m just not your penguin and that’s okay.

So as tired and reluctant as I may get to open up each time I meet a new penguin and let them in into my space, for whatever reason I know out there is a penguin that is waiting to show me love and I will get to show him love because the very same Creator that has created me without making a single fault has and is always showing me love.

So in true Sharon-Rose style I found a song that captures my honest feelings but unlike Laura Mvula’s song mine ends a little differently because it is not too late, I will find a better love, and my penguin is out there probably singing and dancing to the same song.

 

“Show Me Love” – Laura Mvula

 

Oh, God, I need to belong to someone
I miss the breath of a kiss
I miss the wonder of a future with somebody
Oh, God, show me love
I miss belonging to someone
I miss the kiss of another
I miss the morning, I miss the waking up
I need someone to hold my hand, bigger than mine
Oh, God, where are you?
Show me loveIf it wasn’t real, then why does it hurt so bad?
Cause the thing that we had seemed like everything
Never thought we would be torn apart by a change in the wind or a cloud in the sky
We were alwaysAnd you showed me love of the deepest kind
And I will never find another love like you showed me love
And now I see

If it wasn’t real, then why does it hurt so bad?
Cause the thing that we had, it was everything
Never thought we would be torn apart by a change in the wind or a cloud in the sky
We were always

You showed me love of the deepest kind
I will never find another love like you showed me love
Now I see

In time, this heart may heal (in time, this heart may heal)
Take a while ‘fore you know the way to be whole again
And together, we will move mountains far
Take a reach for a prayer that begins with a story of old
Never ended here

You showed me love of the deepest kind
I will never find another love like you showed me love
Now I see

Now I can see you
And you showed me, showed me love of the deepest kind
And I will never find a love like you
You showed me love of the deepest kind
No, no, no
Nobody, there’s nobody like you
Now I see you
Now I see, hmm
You showed me love and I thank you
And I need you and I miss you
You
You showed me love

Of the deepest kind, and I will never find a love
A love like you
You showed me
You showed me love of the deepest kind
I will never find a love

I will never find a love like you

I’m so sorry; now I see you
Oh, God
And it’s too late, it’s too late
Oh, God

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“Oh, I will become what I deserve” – Ben Howard

envelope.jpg

In my my hands I hold the results… For Miss SA 2016! Haha Jokes. I wish. Seriously though, in my hands, right now, I hold the results. My pathology report. After a number of doctor visits, blood tests, a positive test result for testosterone (a hormone typically found in males), and finally a karyotype blood test to determine my sex chromosomes. The doctor called me in with my test results, and they read as follows.

Patient: Lehlogonolo L Khumalo (That’s my Pedi name by the way. Although it should actually be Lehlohonolo. People always get it wrong, anyway…)

Age/Sex/DOB: 21/F/19910106

ID Num: [insert 13 digits here]

Requested: Karyotyping blood  – CYTOGENETICS

—-REIPHERAL BLOOD CHROMOSOME ANALYSIS REPORT—-

Cytogenetic analysis of cultured peripheral blood metaphases revealed a modal number  of 46 and a 46,XY karyotype in 15 cells analysed.

No gross structural abnormality was detected in Giemsa – banded metaphases.

Comment

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The above finding is characteristic of a NORMAL MALE chromosome pattern.

[Insert some irrelevant information]

**End Of Report**

The doctor then went onto explain what the results implied. I knew EXACTLY what they meant, but it just didn’t make sense. Notice how my sex was noted as “F” for female but my karyotype is “characteristic of a NORMAL MALE chromosome pattern”. So I knew exactly what it meant. I was somewhat prepared for it, the doctor mentioned AIS in passing when he tested me for testosterone. So I kinda had an idea, but just because you are prepared for something doesn’t mean it’ll hurt less when it actually happens. You just know its coming, whatever it is, you know that its coming but you never knew that it’s going to hurt this bad.

All of this happened on an early November Sunday morning. After that, my official diagnosis, I then left the doctor’s room and went to church. “There’s no reason you can’t lead a normal life” he said. So I went about my normal business and church on a Sunday was normal business. It was a good service. Night came and went. Then one of my worst days in my entire existence dawned.

Forget blue Monday,this was a black one. Internally I’m having the toughest time conversing with God and myself.

“Why me?”

“Why XY?”

“Why?”

Just… “Why?”

I’m trying so hard to make sense of it all and hold it together like the buttons on a blesser’s shirt. But I’m sure like the buttons will tell you, it’s hard. It’s strenuous work trying to hold it together when all you want to do is lie on the floor, cry like a two year old , snorty, puffy eyed, with shortness of breath, kicking and screaming. But I couldn’t. It was almost exam time and I had school. The biggest question I had was if this made me male or female, because in my little mind I thought there could only be two. While struggling with all of this, it was as if the universe was secretly  conspiring against me or giving me the validation I needed. That day I received so many “You look so pretty” compliments and each one hurt more than the previous one because girls are pretty and boys are handsome, but I didn’t know which one I was. I grieved for a short while after the first doctor’s visit when I found out about not having internal female organs, but it wasn’t until the official diagnosis that I ACTUALLY started grieving.

Denial

Black and white AIS“It must be a bad dream, this can’t be happening, not me” I thought. I remember researching on AIS that Monday at the Merensky Library and being so paranoid that someone might read what’s on the computer screen, put two and two together and see me for what I really am. As I’m reading and identifying myself in all the signs and symptoms in the medical cases, I still can’t wrap my mind around it all. How does it even happen? But it did, and it still does, I’m living proof. Genetic anomalies, and I say anomalies only because they occur in lower frequencies relative to the greater population. Point is, genetic anomalies are so believable and fascinating when they are case studies in an old textbook with black and white photos of naked patients with black bars over their eyes. However when it hits home you can’t help but think there must be some kind of mistake, it can’t be me. I mean, you never think you’d actually end up being the patient in the case study with black bar over your eyes. I couldn’t believe it. But there it was written in black and white. It wasn’t a mistake. I am an XY female. No mistake at all. I’m a firm believer in God and I also believe He created each and every one of us in His image and I now know that I wasn’t a mistake, a reject, or a factory fault. He knew exactly what He was doing when He made me, and that’s a fact.

Anger

Growing up in church I don’t think I’ve ever heard a sermon where the pastor ever said she or he was ever angry at God.  Subconsciously that affected my relationship and especially my feelings towards God. I never believed I could be angry at Him, it felt unholy. Though that didn’t change the fact that I still felt anger. He was supposed to be in control, of which He still is. But in that moment it didn’t feel like He was. I got angry that He’d let people get pregnant and they would end up abandoning or aborting their babies. I thought I could have done a better job when I eventually became a parent, so why couldn’t this have happened to those people. I was taught in church that sex and children were reserved for only after marriage, now imagine my anger being a Christian girl when I saw an unmarried woman waddling along heavily pregnant. Oh, and then if I knew the woman or she was a teenager from my hood from a minimum wage household where her family still lived in the grandparent’s four roomed house… That was the worst! I questioned how God could let her be able to have and a child and then give me this condition.

How could He let this happen? But more importantly, how could He let it happen to ME? This ME we’re talking about (see how self-righteous one can get). I quickly realized that “Hunny, as special as you think you may be, God is no respecter of persons, so nothing you could ever do would exempt you from life”. This was life, my life. On the other hand though I’m kind of chuffed because I know God only hands us a life He knows we’ll be able to handle, and He knew I could handle THIS. So “my brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials,  knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.  But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing. If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind.”

So I got over myself, my sense of entitlement based on being a “good” person, but most importantly my anger towards God. I accepted that a human’s choice to have or not have children in whatever setting has nothing to do with me. That a human is well within their right to keep or terminate a pregnancy, and I don’t have to resent another human being for living their life the way they deem fit, despite whatever I may believe in. It was only then, after letting go of that anger, that I could move on. Now I’m even able to be genuinely happy for my unmarried friend with a little human in her belly and/or  even talk to a teenage mother without resentment or judgement. And that is one of the most freeing things I did for myself, because one, life doesn’t revolve around me and two, people are allowed to live THEIR lives the way THEY see best. Despite what I believe to be true and right.

Bargaining

While going through anger and getting over it, I then started to bargain with God…

Let me first say that I have the utmost respect and love for everyone going through whatever challenge that they’re facing and I now realize there is no better or worse situation, but that all our challenges are unique and just as serious as the next. That being said, I actually thought I would be better off having cancer, at least there’s chemotherapy and I would be female. Physically and genetically. I looked at Giuliana Rancic and her journey with breast cancer and wanting to have a child traditionally. And I thought if I could choose between my life and her life, I would choose hers. At least I’d be genetically female, at least I would be able to produce eggs. At least I could give my future human being a part of me, he would give me his and we could have our “own” little human. Though it was when Giuliana learned of her unlikelihood of conceiving and bearing children, that I felt with her. In a way I know her pain. And from that pain I learned to be sensitive about asking couples or friends on when they’re having kids, because THAT may be a loaded question and you may get an answer you never bargained for. And another thing that I learned is that the grass will always appear greener on the other side, but what I could do is nurture my side of the grass to its most greener and become content with my little patch and its shade of green.

In the end, no amount of bargaining could change my situation. A part of me loved, and still does love the fact that I don’t get to go on a period every month, but there was a time where I was prepared to take whatever came with menstruating monthly, if it meant I could be a “normal female”.  But all I could do was to accept it, and deal with it. And the closer I got to accepting the card I was dealt with, I fell into the next stage…

Depression

Reading on AIS, you’ll read that areas of management include sex assignment, genitoplasty, gonadectomy (which both need should NOT be done without the patient’s consent), hormone replacement therapy, genetic counseling, and psychological counseling.

The hardest part for me in this whole process was the psychological implication, (the others are topics for another post). I had held in all of these thoughts and emotions for so long that one night I couldn’t hold it in anymore. That shirt button holding on for dear life, gave in and let go. I had my breakdown. Something foreign yet so real. I had never had a breakdown before, so this was very strange, but I saw myself not being myself. It was as if I watched someone else go through this strange emotional experience and I had no control. I now even remember what pushed me over the edge. I somehow lost my phone’s PIN code, blocked it and when I looked for the SIM card packet with the PUK number and I couldn’t find it. And then I lost it, emotionally that is.

After a sombre trip to the ER (hoping I would get admitted to run away from it all, which didn’t happen) and then sessions with a clinical psychologist and the varsity psychologist. I was now dealing. Deep down, I think my soul was looking for that “thing “that would unlock this other thing, that I didn’t even know what it was, me. It was me. I had lost me, and this whole process was the key. I had to go through every room, phase, and look every in every nook and cranny, and go through every feeling and motion, to find what it was that I was looking for without even knowing it.Which then brought to me to the next room, phase. Acceptance. (Tisk tisk, I really dislike it, no I don’t, when I get all deep and metaphorical and stuff)

Acceptance

This is where I now find myself. Defining who I am on my own terms, because even the tried and tested science failed to define me. This is where I find myself, learning to become who I deserve. Not because  of who or what said, but because of me and God says so. He did not give me a spirit of fear, but of power and of a sound mind. So I had to refuse to live in the confines of fear.

Coming out to talk about this was me saying “Yes, I may be different from the next “girl” but there is nothing wrong with me and I have absolutely NOTHING to be ashamed of, because at times I felt like there was. And know darling child, know that whatever you may be going through you don’t have to suffer in silence. I hope you one day realize there’s more to life than living in fear.” But also keeping  something like this to yourself, close family and friends doesn’t mean you’re living in fear, it just means we process differently. Just don’t do it out of fear. And after living for almost for four years in fear of someone finding this out, I found this is working better for me. And it’s okay.

Now quoting my favourite songs in my posts looks like is going to become a habit. And being honest I like it. Gladys Knight sings “If you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance…” But what I really want to share with you is some of Ben Howard’s words from “The Fear” so here goes…

“Oh, my, my, cold-hearted child, tell me how you feel
Just a grain in the morning air, dark shadow on the hill
Oh, my, my, cold-hearted child, tell me where it all falls
All this apathy you feel will make a fool of us all

Oh, I’ve been worryin’ that my time is a little unclear
I’ve been worryin’ that I’m losing the ones I hold dear
I’ve been worryin’ that we all live our lives in the confines of fear

Oh, I will become what I deserve
Oh, I will become what I deserve
Oh, I will become what I deserve
Oh, I will become what I deserve”

With that being said or sung let me add true beauty is being confident in WHO YOU ARE, flaws and all, and what you may see as your flaws someone may see as your beauty.

I hope you become what you deserve and stop living in the confines of fear. Thanks for reading my two thousand, five hundred and twenty-five words piece.

Happy face

Photo by:  Merwelene van der Merwe

 

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Coming out and owning my intersexuality

 

Intersex is beautiful

Image source: www.pidgeonismy.name

Human nature is really something else. We are such creatures of habit, so much so that we don’t even realize what it is that we’re doing and often  to ourselves. Throughout our lives we subconsciously become our experiences and as a result become who we are. Both individually and collectively as the human race.  We justify our actions according to a normalcy that has been set by I don’t know who, and when we experience “different” we become somewhat unsettled, sometimes to the point of becoming grieved. And if it’s personal, we begin to unravel.

 

So here I go unravelling…

IMG-20151201-WA0012In 2012 I was diagnosed with Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome (AIS), a genetic condition which resulted in me being physically female, but genetically male. I’ll spare you the long biology and genetics lecture ( I love genetics by the way – so if I start, I won’t stop) but traditionally males have XY sex chromosomes and females have XX sex chromosomes. Except there are people like myself that can’t be classified as such because I am an XY female. Which begs the question, how do we then define gender? I’m even still trying to figure it out, but I’ve made peace that I may not be able to.

There are a various types of AIS but I specifically have Complete AIS (CAIS). On the outside I look the traditional female, but internally I beg to differ. So I was born without ovaries, fallopian tubes, and a uterus. I was instead born with internal gonads that if I were male, were supposed to develop into testes. Which by the way is one of the hardest thing for me to do, actually call the gonads “testes”. To read more on intersex conditions and AIS check out http://www.isna.org

That being said, let’s get personal. Growing up I never thought  I was any different from my girl friends. I didn’t look or feel any different. Even as the years went by and all my girl friends one by one started their menses. I kept on believing I’ll also start soon. I remember how each time I got stomach cramps I would think “This is the day I become a woman…” I would then go to the bathroom and check but…  DOLOLO (For non SA readers, that’s a common social media term for “nothing”). This happened till my late teens. I remember how I also used to carry a sanitary pad with me just in case… Knowing the cause now I laugh thinking about it. On some occasions I even gave it to my friend who got caught off-guard. I eventually got tired of living in anticipation, I even stopped praying that if I were to start that it may please happen when I’m home and not in public.

Conversations with my girl friends about “that time of the month” during my pre-teen and teenage years were simple, and HONEST. I would just say that I haven’t started yet and move on to listening to my friends experiences with amazement and a non-malicious envy. Further down the line I began to wonder if in fact I was different and to avoid the 21 questions on why I was 18 and why I haven’t yet started. I would just say yes I’ve started  but they’re not painful, because I didn’t want to get caught out by describing a wrong kind of pain. Funny how the older we become we learn to put up defenses in fear of someone looking into your “being” by lying or some other mechanism, and we somewhat lose our sense of honesty.

Fast forward to October 2012, I’m 21 and I still I haven’t started menstruating. Now, even I have been questioning what’s up. So I eventually I go to the doctor.  I went in thinking he’ll tell me “Put on some weight, you just need a bit of fat” or “You have an impeforated hymen and this is what I need to do…” No. Not at all. Instead what I got was. “I couldn’t see your ovaries or uterus on the ultrasound.” To say that was one of the biggest shock of my life is an understatement. The future I had hoped for and thought I’d have flashed before me as I sat there so composed as the doctor went on telling me all the possible reasons why he couldn’t find my uterus and ovaries (I say “my” like I even had them in the first place, LOL – I find it so funny), meanwhile a whole storm took place inside.

I went through all the stages of grief (story for another post), not in a phase but a cycle. However slowly the storm settled and still is, even now some Gale force winds and torrential rain make the occasional appearance. But… I’m okay. Some days more than others. But I’m good.

I sometimes battle finding the right words, but then music comes to my rescue. Like in Yuna’s Rescue

“She thinks she’s all alone and all her hopes are gone and so I wrote this song so she can move along.
Things were bad.
She was in despair.
Things were bad and you were never there, but things were bad, she came up for air.
She said a little prayer, she found herself.
Yeah she’s got light in her face, she don’t need no rescuing she’s okay.
Yeah, she’s got life in her veins, she don’t need no rescuing she’s okay
No S.O.S. needed, no rescuing, she’s fine out there.
No S.O.S. needed, no rescuing, she’s fine out there.
Yeah, she’s got life in her veins, she don’t need no rescuing, she’s okay.She looks into the sky and all her tears are dry she kiss her fears goodbye.
She’s gonna be alright.
Things were bad.
It was beyond repair.
She was scared, she couldn’t handle it.
Things were bad, but now she’s glad.

Can’t you tell that she’s walking on air?

Yeah, she’s got light in her face, she don’t need no rescuing, she’s okay.

Yeah, she’s got life in her veins, she don’t need no rescuing, she’s okay.
No S.O.S. needed, no rescuing, she’s fine out there.
No S.O.S. needed, no rescuing, she’s fine out there.
Yeah, she’s got life in her veins, she don’t need no rescuing, she’s okay.That girl is you yeah and that girl is me, that girl is stronger than the raging sea.
That girl is you yeah and that girl is me, that girl is stronger than the raging sea.
IMG_20160603_001057[1].jpg
Yeah, she’s got light in her face, she don’t need no rescuing, she’s okay.
Yeah, she’s got life in her veins, she don’t need no rescuing she’s okay.
No S.O.S. needed, no rescuing, she’s fine out there.
No S.O.S. needed, no rescuing, she’s fine out there.
Yeah, she’s got life in her veins, she don’t need no rescuing, she’s okay.”
So now I’m in the phase of my life where I’m learning to stop trying to make sense of everything and just exist. I just want to be ME, whoever I may be, without having to justify any part of who I am, or what I want to be. I just wanna be me, I just wanna be HAPPY.
So I’m unravelling… And so far it feels DAMN GOOD.