Telling the truth

It’s hard, ain’t it. We all like to live the lie rather then expose what is really happening inside of our brains. What if we come across as stupid, or naïve, or not enough? We like to fake it – we see how it’s done in the movies, and we mimic it. We feel sluggish and envious, but we politely smile. We want to crawl under the blanket and cry, but we act all strong and put together. We milk the lie as long as we can, until one day we break down. The truth is simply too overwhelming to ignore anymore – and it comes out in long ugly waves of stink. Except is doesn’t – but it stinks to us, because we forgot it doesn’t smell like roses.

We try to put it back, to hold it tight, but it’s a slippery bastard. It oozes out for everyone to see – usually at the worst time, in the most exposed fashion, pinning us down to the ground in the most embarrassing pose. There. We feel so ashamed – why didn’t we foresee it beforehand? Why didn’t we make a graceful exit before it was too late? There were countless opportunities – why did we ignore them? We thought we could pull it off – we thought nobody would notice. We thought we can lead the perfect existence right under the nose of the underlying truth – always escaping the facing of it, always maneuvering in and out, walking on eggshells, balancing day in and day out. Why are we so afraid of it? Because.

Because when we do spill, we get punished, we get judged, we get ousted, we get diminished. I learned it the hard way. I told the truth, and look what happened. The fake got ripped off and I saw my family as it really was, I saw people in my life as they really were, but the worst of all was – I saw myself for who I really was. And that scared me to death. I was not the perfect happy girl with a perfect future, I was someone else. And here is the truth. I am moody, most of the time. I am battling with seeing everything through a negative view, expecting life to throw me into misery at any moment. I am not the happy overjoyed easy going girl as I thought. I catch ony glimpses of happiness here and there, every time being terrified of losing them, not allowing myself to be fully happy – just to not feel hurt when life will take it away from me. I am afraid to act because I am afraid of hurting people – but this is only my view. When I offer it to others, it turns out that they are not hurt at all. And I feel stupid. I am naïve – like a 3 year old. I get excited and I forget about social rules, about boundaries, about the proper way of conducting myself. And when I get a cold shower on top of my head, when I get rejected for whatever reason, I deflate into nothing, and I fall down into the blues again. I wish I was more stable. I am not. I hate this truth about myself, but it is the truth. I mostly hate myself, as much as I am trying not to, I don’t know how to love myself fully. I can’t look at myself in the mirror without finding faults. I am a pathetic perfectionist who always finds a way to be better, who is never satisfied, and who is getting on some people's nerves by being this way.

I thought I am social. But I am really not. I go from being enveloped in people to the point when I want to puke, and then I want to hide, to be alone, to do my writing and not be bothered – the "up and down" pattern again, up and down. I am not very good at focusing on other people, but I am very good at focusing on myself. This is very selfish, and I wish it wasn’t true – but it is. It hurts. I want to cover it up, right now, right this very moment. I want to cross everything out, everything that I have written before, and write another blog post, the pretty one, the fake one, the perfect one, the one that will advertise me as an ideal – but that would be one big fat lie. I can’t lie. That is another trait if mine – I can inflate some stories for emphasis, but I get red in the face if I have to lie, so I can’t. I did lie as a little girl out of fear, and I hated myself for doing that. What else? I am trying to accept myself as I am, but it proves to be very difficult, much more difficult that I am willing to admit. I want to write about my victories, about being over my past, about being a role model. But I am not. I am still battling it all. And when I make a step forward, sometimes I take a step back, or two, or three. Or even take another road completely, wander in circles, get lost, and in the end need others to pull me out. I am weak. Sometimes I have bouts of strength, but they vanish quickly, and I feel sorry for myself instead of fighting my demons in the obvious glory.

So here it is - the truth. It hurts. But it’s me. And maybe I am closer now to accepting myself as I am. A little energizer bunny, hopping up and down, annoying the hell out of people with the constant motion, never finding rest, always on the go, always emotional, always feeling it all to the fullest, and forgetting my manners sometimes, and sometimes even my age. Maybe I like this. I think I like this, this girl in motion. There – I smiled. So, which way now – up or down?

Photo by Morning theft.