It’s not easy walking in this world, pretending to be something that you are not. Even when you have gone your entire life with the people around you only having met this façade that you have created. Let me tell you, it is hard living up to the standards and expectations that you put on your fake self. Everything has to be just right. Heaven forbid the real you peek out ever. It would lead to disastrous results. Who would want you then? You can never let the world you have created slip, for even a second. The zombie can never be revealed for what it is. The empty shell that you are, which nothing can fill, can ever be cracked.
It would be akin to someone cracking an egg. What happens then? What is expected? I think the world would go mad if suddenly one Sunday morning, you were standing at your stove in the kitchen, frying pan abuzz, and you cracked that shell, and nothing. No yellow yolk surrounded by that filmy clear meniscus sliding out. You would be left there apron and all, stunned. Absolutely astounded by the fact that what you have come to expect after all of these years, suddenly ceased to exist.
What would you say then, if you were to know the truth about me? How would you react knowing that I am as equally hollow as that egg shell you cracked that Sunday morning for your breakfast? I was no longer dependable. I was different. The illusion, the magic, is broken. I’m a fraud. I am not, nor have I ever been, what I appeared to be. I’m not that quiet, shy 26 year old girl that you met back when she wore pigtails in elementary school, or braces in high school. She wasn’t even the boisterous and creative person that you met in drama class. I am none of these things.
Don’t get me wrong. There are people who have seen glimmers of me. My family, when I was young and not as skilled as I am today, saw pieces of me growing up. They know the truth, or at least, a version of it. Albeit, a more accurate than that of which I have painted to most people since my adolescent years. But, even they have let their minds deceive them into thinking most of what I was is behind me now. Their minds betray the reality of that which stares them in the face. They are unable and unwilling to look past the lies and the assurances for the signs of the truth which they know lurk in the shadows beside me.
There is a reality that is real only to me. I live a life that no one is privy exists. The fear, the sorrow the emptiness, it is mine alone. If you were able to see into my world, I fear that you would not find your way out of the twisted bowels that I call my mind. You may wonder, and ask yourself, what could be so terribly wrong with this seemingly normal girl. What afflicts her so terribly? Why does she feel the need to hide and shield herself? But, my friend, it is not I that I am shielding. The world is not ready for my reality, so in essence, it is the world which I shield and protect. For there are some that I have gentle feelings towards, and I believe that if they were to ever know what lies inside of me, it would leave them forever altered by the darkness.
The darkness isn’t always there, but it is never far, and on occasion finds me when I least expect it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s always lingering, so it isn’t necessarily a surprise. But I have found that when things are going exceedingly well, that they diminish over time. The darkness and emptiness will not let themselves be forgotten and be put on the back burner for long. So in the end, they are my only companions, the only constant in this ever changing world.
I used to believe that I was just making a series of bad decisions and that the choices I made were in bad judgment. But, sitting here, I have come to realize that it could not be helped. It wasn’t that the decision was wrong, or that which I believed turned out to be incorrect, but merely my true self revealing itself and telling me that it was once again time to embrace the darkness. When I would take a good hard look, I would realize then that my shell was still empty. That which made me laugh and sing didn’t even scratch the surface or make a mark on who, or what, I am.
I sit here, almost afraid to reveal myself to you. I know your curiosity about my darkness has been piqued. Almost on the edge of your seat aren’t you? I am afraid that the big reveal would be something of a letdown, on both our parts. It isn’t terribly exciting or unique. But, it is who I am and how I live my life.