Confessions Of A Retired Twerker

September 11, 2013  |  

Source: Thinkstock

Like any addiction, this one started young. I can trace it all the way back to my first 8th grade social dance. All week long my friends, who had already taken a hit or two, were talking about how they couldn’t wait for the dance. There would be ample opportunities to chase that high.

I joked and laughed, trying to keep up. Nobody likes to be an outcast. Atlanta was a hard city to grow up in and it seemed like everywhere I turned somebody was chasing that high. Either on TV, the radio, or right next to me on the school bus. It’s like the city had been taken over and it was destroying us one by one.

The dance came and I gave in. I finally gave in and tried to fit in with my friends. I fumbled and wasn’t really sure how to do it at first. They had hand-picked a guy for me, someone who would take it easy. I still remember how nervous we both were. I’d watched my friends do it before and I was confident that I could master this too. A few minutes in and it’s like something clicked. I put my hands up on my hips, and when I dipped, he dipped, WE dipped….

I’ve been twerking ever since.

My addiction to twerking started off innocent enough – a dance here and there, a battle with friends, or just mimicking the videos when no one was around.

I managed to keep it under control until college. No one really knew that I was a twerker behind all of this intellect and prestige. However, I soon learned college was a breeding ground for twerking addicts and we sought each other out like moths to flames.

I remember waking up some mornings not even knowing what song I danced to. After a while the song didn’t matter. All that mattered was the high I got from being able to bounce one cheek, two cheeks, now both cheeks. Bruises appeared from clapping my thighs just a bit too hard. I gave the doctor every excuse in the world as to what happened to my knee. How could I tell him Goodies came on and I lost my natural mind? The twerk team blew up on YouTube and now it was acceptable. We wore our addictions proud from the window, to the wall, and until the sweat dropped down our…well you know.

I just couldn’t stop. I was twerking in the kitchen, in the hallway, in Target, outside, at the club…EVERYwhere.

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