There is a propensity within me to pull myself apart, to question, to render unstable the self within. At times this compulsion is both liberating and fascinating and at others I am fragments wishing for something to hold on to, to call mine, to come home. I wonder if this questioning stems from my enquiring mind, my intelligence or my position on the margins having to speak back to the mainstream, to be asked at times to justify my very existence or if it is connected to something deeper, to internalized ablism. There is a discord at my core disallowing me a sense of self that is static, that is stable, that requires no justifications, no reformations, that just is.
I travel the fault lines,