My Warrior Within

Alie Jones
Jul 25, 2017 · 4 min read

Written & Performed July 2016 during the CSU Summer Arts program

I started hating Star Wars when I was 13. But I’m a nerd to the core. From the screen to the page. I found sanctuary in my studies. I had a word of the day in three languages. I was always that kid that loved staying home curled up with a book.The characters became my people, the ones who understood me when I couldn’t. Books became my portal to another world.

2005 was the year I actively started hating myself. The same year Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans, George Bush began his second term , and Youtube was founded. This was very monumental year of my life . I’ve been disgusted with myself since fifth grade when I started dieting and taking weight loss supplements. I remember everything about that year, the year I went numb. The first time I went on autopilot. The year loathing entered my veins. I hated what I looked like, I hated the clothes I wore, I hated everything that was me. The images I saw growing up taught me that beauty was happiness. Talent or brains meant nothing without an aesthetic.

The first week of 8th grade I tried to dress up. Back then, dressing up meant cute jeans, a t-shirt, and some eye liner. I didn’t regularly wear makeup but my group of friends did, so I tried it. I figured if they were all doing it so there was obviously something I was missing. My friend Marcus and I joked all the time the year before in Earth Science. We laughed about everything and nothing. The first week of eighth grade I was pumped to see him because most of my friends from the year before were older and now freshman in high school. When I came to class all chipper and perky,. I said “Hey Marcus! How was your summer?” He took a moment before responding, gave me the side eye, then laughed with the guy sitting next to him. Marcus looked at me like he’d never met me before. He was the new kid Quincy who just transferred.

First, they started cracking jokes on each other then as the semester went on they found a new victim, me. A place I had coveted for so long became my prison. The two were in my PE and English class. English was my favorite. I read and reread every assigned book. Turned all of my assignments in on time. But never spoke in class. I didn’t want to give them any ammunition. So I quietly sat in the front row hoping their words wouldn’t travel. They would call me names like “Sasquatch”, “Chewbacca”, “Andre the Giant”. Chewbacca was their favorite. Every SINGLE DAY. When I began to tune them out they decided to start attacking with anything they thought would to get me to flinch. “Oreo” “White washed” “Are you actually black?” “I bet you don’t eat fried chicken or watermelon.” For them that’s what it meant to be Black. We were all going through puberty with hair growing in places we did not know hair could grow and uncontrollable growth spurts. Somehow I was too tall, too fat, and too hairy for a thirteen year old. They were relentless. I let their words sink into my skin and find a home in the back of my head. That was the year my body became a bad joke. Not good enough. Not good enough. Never good enough. Never enough. Never. I was on autopilot. Hallow. Lifeless. Numb.

2010 was the year Oprah launched her final season, Apple introduced iPads, and I embarked on a journey of self love. I auditioned for Vagina Monologues. A social action play I fell in love with the year before. I was always entranced by the stage and the way the actors would float about. Theatre transformed the way I saw myself and those around me. A place of infinite wondrous possibilities. I was afraid of the stage, afraid of my voice, afraid of how loud it might be. I was terrified of what I had to say. It is where I lost and found myself. The stage is where I opened wounds and found healing in words. It gave me a platform to express things I could not bring myself to say in real life. On the stage I defied the rules while making my own. My vagina warriors, women of mythic proportions who were everything I wanted to be. Powerful, graceful, and loving. The way these women continued to love in the face of every horrible thing that has ever happened to them, moved me. The way they found forgiveness in the times of their lives they tried so hard to erase, inspired me. Every single one of them. I discovered a community of people like me: too tall, too fat, too nerdy, too whatever. Writers. Actors. Creatives. People who cared too much and loved too freely. Tall curvaceous beauties, fellow awkward black girls, nerds, theatre geeks, and Whovians.

We are warriors in this battle to define ourselves for ourselves. Building together. Healing together. Loving together. Good riddance, to the constant questioning of my worth. Adieu, to all of the times I told myself I wasn’t enough or way too much.The end of replaying the haunting taunts. It is mandatory that we as believers of the world we want to live in continue to live boldly and love radically. Because we will always be enough.

Alie Jones

Written by

Alie Jones is a California native, writer, self care advocate, body positive feminist, and proud blerd. BA in Cinematic Arts & MA in public admin.

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade