Being a Person is Hard

Being a person is hard, and life is pretty weird. Undoubtedly, we all fall somewhere in between this, one being: not very hard or weird at all, and ten being: I’d rather be a goldfish because nothing is hard or weird to them, they eat their own poop and don’t remember it, scale. For a while, I was a solid ten on this scale that I just made up. Everything was hard and weird, and being a goldfish would be much, much easier.

I used to get dizzy a lot. Really, really, all of a sudden, grip on to the nearest object and/or person and fall down anyway dizzy. It went on for a pretty long time before my boss ordered me to get my head checked. It wasn't good for business for his customers to be seeing an employee of his bumping into walls and clutching onto strangers lapels to steady themselves. Not good at all. So I took his advice and I saw a doctor.

After a thorough examination, the doctor told me that I had stones in my ears. I had no idea what that meant but I didn't ask any questions in case it was something really bad that I didn’t want to know about. So I half listened, half imagined my head as a busy little rock tumbler, polishing these ear stones into glittering little gems, and I said, “Ooooohhhhh. Yes, that makes sense.” He gave me medicine used to treat vertigo and sent me on my way.

The medication did nothing except make me break out in hives all over my face and neck. I was dizzy, itchy, and swollen. But life had to go on. I still had a job and a college night class to attend. Things got harder, and weirder. It felt as if I was living in a fun house, except there was nothing fun about it.

At school, I would gaze up the daunting four flights of stairs to my class and wonder how I would make it to the top without feeling like I was walking upside down, my stones floating around inside the darkness of my skull like little particles in space. Students brushed past me, shooting me sideways glances as I hung on for dear life to the railing like it was a rope dangling down the side of a concrete mountain. At any moment I could careen to my death if I didn’t give the climb my utmost concentration.

This problem was too much for me to deal with alone. I felt compelled to tell everyone passing me on the way up. “Don’t mind me; I have stones in my ears.” I was looking for compassion and understanding, neither of which I received. I told my professor that I needed the seat in the front, closest to the door, for the rest of the semester. That should anyone else sit there, he should tell them that it is reserved for another student. When he asked why, I told him that a situation may arise in class where the room will suddenly turn, I will fall out of my desk and have to army crawl my way out into the hallway where I may or may not regain my composure. That to save myself the energy and embarrassment, it would be better if this didn’t happen at the back of the class, where I would have to crawl past the feet of my peers. So that is what he did. He said, “Class, listen up! This seat is reserved for Sheleen for the rest of the semester.” No further questions.

Eventually, the dizzy spells subsided. I don’t know how or why. My follow up ear, nose, and throat doctor probably knows but I never went to that appointment because I felt it was too hard at the time. Which brings us back to that scale I made up earlier. Fortunately, for all of us, we have the ability to grow and learn, and we don’t have to stay where we fall on this scale. We can hop around. We get to choose where we want to be. Being a person is hard. But we can do hard things.