I don’t want to be honest.
It doesn’t get any easier being transparent.
I’d rather be a liar. I’d rather live in delusion, cultivating grand fiction of my ideal self.
I promise you if I had the energy to pretend, I definitely would.
I’m afraid to fully be me.
I give bits and pieces of myself in assorted circles. Not every social group needs to know me. Not every person I encounter has my permission to pry into my personal affairs.
I’ve been afraid to write. My truth is becoming too surreal for my own comfort.
I worry that I’ll sound like a broken record. I worry that my words will be misinterpreted. I worry that no one will care.
The pressure to produce and show proof that I’m worth something has been beating at my chest. I no longer blame it on heart palpitations. My thoughts often don’t make sense to me anymore. I figured that if these words didn’t make sense to me, why bother posting about them?
There’s freedom in allowing my fingers to just roam the keyboard. I forgot how good it felt to do this, honestly. Why should I care who understands me? That’s not my concern.
I’m human; I know that much. However, I forget to be human because sometimes I don’t want to feel any o f my feelings.
I move at my own pace. I’m not here to keep up with anyone else. I’m not here to meet anyone’s standards.
But see me. I’ve been here. Those narratives you rarely hear or see, they’re all here. They’ve been here. Yeah, I feel overlooked, but I blame no one for it.
Sometimes I love myself so much that it breaks my heart for others to not see what I see in me. After a while, I don’t love myself so much anymore. Maybe, there’s nothing about me worth seeing. So, I’d rather be a liar.
Because it doesn’t get easier being this transparent.
Eventually, you just disappear.