Will the Real Sheena, Please Stand Up?

I miss the Sheena that was in DC. It wasn’t the always flirtatious fabulous Sheena of New York and it wasn’t the completely reflective deep thought Sheena of Europe. It was somewhere in between the right balance of both. He brought it out in me. I wasn’t crazy.

I  miss that girl who would speak her inner monologue out loud before stopping to judge what might be heard. If I did hesitate so as to change my mind, he’d say, “No, what were you going to say before.” I miss having those people in my life. I miss the way the city makes me feel. I remember that I am a woman. That I have a body with curves. It wasn’t just the “sexiness,” it was the state of mind. He looked at one of the pictures. “You’re so happy,” he said and I almost cried because I haven’t heard that in years.

That’s the thing. In moments where Hannah took pictures before I could stop her, I was smiling, or laughing, or just being without judgment and condemnation. That’s the Sheena I want to be more.

I’d like to see that Sheena again sometime soon. She deserves to live. In the words of Virginia Woolf, I have to kill the Angel of the House. This godly yet somehow repressive environment has turned us, woman I speak of, into this mold of something. Even the rebellious ones, even the ones that are different, we’re still part of this mold. This Angel of the House. Both Sheena’s can’t live. The Sheena of New York, Europe, DC can’t live side by side with the Sheena of Wheaton. Its one or the other. So many times we turn them on and off. We choose when its convenient. But the reason I’m in turmoil is because it’s driving me crazy. Its like I literally have split personalities. I want to be whole. I just want to be one girl.

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