Why should I care to look like a runway model when my curves got me looking like a Fertile, Renaissance Goddess?
…because the only thing scarier than getting it wrong, is getting it so right, you have something to lose…
When someone asks me what has been bothering me, I lie. I act like the question confuses me, like there is nothing wrong at all. Or I will say something about how I barely got any sleep the night before. I convince them it’s a minor problem, one they should not dive into deeper. Never letting the truth slip out because I do not want to come across as overly emotional or whiny. I do not want to make a fuss out of my life . I would rather listen to others complain about their petty ones and think to myself they don’t know how good they have it.
When someone invites me out with them, I lie. I tell them I’ve stuffs going on or stuff is going on at home, the same way I used to tell secondary school friends I couldn’t see them because my parents wanted me to stay home. A part of me hates being alone, but I use excuses to isolate myself. I rarely have the energy to socialize, especially around friends who are going to expect me to laugh and smile at all the right times. I don’t want to force happiness and I don’t want to show them that part of me, so it’s easier to stay home.
When someone asks me how I’m doing, I lie. I use the word “fine” . I take one exciting story from my weekend and tell them about that, leaving out the other moments when I cried myself to sleep and struggled to rise from bed in the morning because I didn’t see the point of getting dressed when there was nowhere to go. I make them think I am okay. Better than okay because I do not want them to worry. I do not want them to pity me. I do not want them to ask how they can help because there is nothing they could do anyway.
When someone asks me how I spent my weekend, or asks me what my plans are for the following weekend, I lie. I talk about places I’m going to visit or friends I’m going to see or I might even say I’m not sure yet. But I am sure. Because it’s always the same. Nothing ever changes. The days repeat themselves. I am going to spend my weekend inside, wishing I were someplace else. I am going to torture myself by replaying awkward moments inside of my mind and tearing myself apart over every little mistake. I am going to sleep as much as possible and ignore texts. I am going to dread Monday, even though Sunday isn’t much better.
I always lie. It’s easier than looking someone else in the eyes and telling them I’m suffering every single day. They wouldn’t want to hear such an ugly truth anyway.
I look happy because I keep my problems to myself for the most part. Unless it’s someone I can trust, I’m not going to spill my drama to you. I won’t write statuses about my misery on social media or cry in public. I will save my breakdowns for private moments.
I look happy because I have mastered the art of social media. I only talk about my successes, never my failures. Everyone sees the milestones I have accomplished, but they know nothing about the background. They have never heard about the crying or the anxiety or the screaming because at least if I hear my own voice, I remember my existence.
I look happy because my life is perfect on paper. It seems like there is nothing for me to complain about, which pressures me to keep my sadness inside, even when I am suffering inside, because I do not want to come across as spoiled or ungrateful.
I look happy because I make jokes out of my misery. I could talk to you about the worst moments of my life but I would throw some dark humor into the story and you would never guess that I’m bothered. So everyone assumes I am handling everything well and nothing leaves me upset for long.
I look happy because I am a people pleaser. I don’t want to bother anyone else with my troubles. I would rather hear about what has been bothering them and try to make them feel better. I would rather give advice than take it.
I look happy because I have had a lot of practice pretending. I know the right things to say. I know the right times to smile. I don’t say “I guess I’m fine” anymore because people would know that means I am secretly miserable. I try not to hint at my pain, because I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.
I look happy because they only see me during my highest moments, when I actually am happy. But just because I am happy during a photograph does not mean I remained happy later that night when I was alone in my bedroom, or even five seconds after the shot was taken. My emotions change rapidly. Sometimes I am happy, but it’s never for long.
I look happy, because really, how else am I supposed to look? Just because I seem put together does not mean I am okay. Just because I can get through the day with a smile plastered on my face does not mean the smile is genuine.
I look happy because I am working my hardest to turn that into a reality. I don’t want to feel like this forever. I want to love myself. I want to love my life. I want to stop looking happy and actually feel happy.
Anniversary guys. It’s been a whole year since I started this platform and this might be my last post on it for a while.
There’s truth in the fact that this isn’t my last post ever. But, for the next year, I’m hoping that it will be. Writing has been a treasure in more ways than one. For starters, it’s what gave me confidence to face my feelings up front.
While I’d always enjoyed the kinds of stories books I read shared with the world, I looked at writers and envied them.
I envied how prose dripped from their fingertips.
I envied how easy their words came.
I couldn’t be them.
Until I became one of them
All it took was a leap of faith. It was one moment of courage, and an article about all the things I wanted to say to the man I loved that ghosted me; all the things I was too afraid to say.
And I can say it’s been an exhilarating year… Not only have I written those words but many more.
And that’s why I’m taking a year off to focus on other things instead.
I know I’ll be back, and hey, maybe this time next month, the fire to write another post will burn and I’ll look like someone who easily goes back on her word.
That’s okay, too.
But, there’s something to be said about recognizing when it’s time to move on to other ventures.
Writing is all about sharing your story, right?
Life always comes back to timing just as it does finding the courage to muster up the strength to push on the rims of your comfort zone.
This is my outer rim.
For those of you who have stood by me and read my posts, racked up likes, I cannot thank you enough.
I endured heartbreak that was near crippling. And just might be going through another one which to be honest, is worse than the last. I wrote about it so I could remind myself it’ll be okay.
The past year has taught me that there’s truth in the written word, and I’m eager, now to go out there and chase it.
Maybe I’ll change numbers and ghost my Instagram and Whatsapp too. Maybe.
Without this platform, though, I wouldn’t be close to where I am now. From the depths of my heart, thank you.
Dear Future Love. Don’t give up on me.
I know it’s taking longer than you’d like. It’s a hell of a lot slower than I could have ever imagined. But I’m here. This is me talking to you, specifically. And I’m not going anywhere.
Thoughts of you fill my mind, more than it should. My mind tends to make up mental images of your face, keeping my Inate desire to hear the beat of your heart,the smell of your skin, the sound of your voice burning.
I think about the way you’d laugh, the curve of your smile, all the while thinking that I can’t wait to meet you, to know you. I might know your name, and I might know your face, but I don’t know you. I mean, the real you.
The you who will tell me your hopes and dreams and always reassure me that I’m forever in them. The you who will trust me enough to completely let me in.
The you that isn’t afraid to show emotion, that isn’t scared of conversations that lead deeper and deeper into far too personal and dangerous territory, the you that doesn’t feel the need to wear a mask with me, that would let both of us grapple with your own confused thoughts and actions.
The you you’ve been waiting to share with just me. I can’t wait for you to meet me and honestly I’m not even done meeting myself . I’m in eerie new phases in my life and I’m learning more than I previously knew about me.
I’m being tested,broken, facing emotions and feelings I never wanted to face. All so I can be the woman I’m meant to be and God knows that I’ll never fully become that woman until we cross paths. There are some lessons I will only be able to learn when I meet you. I’m in love with you, all of you.
I love you, in perpetuity.
Dear Future Love.
It’s me again.
Today I’m scared, truly scared. I’ve never said those words before to someone like you. I’ve never had those word to said to me from someone like you either.
Sure, I’ve said I’ve loved people before but it’s not like this. I haven’t said those three words while staring into someone’s eyes while our fingers are intertwined. I want to
I haven’t said those words so slow and deliberate that the receiver feels every ounce of love in the depths of their soul. I haven’t left trails of my kisses along their jawline while whispering those words in between every time my lips collided with their skin. I want to.
But when we’re finally in each other’s lives, I won’t be in a rush to. Not yet. Not because I don’t want to, because I really, really want to. I’ve thrown caution out the window with those three words that I think, I’ve forgotten the weight of what those words carry.
I’m telling myself the next time I say those words I would mean it forever and never go back on it. I’m telling myself if I feel those words start to fall out again I would make sure that this would be the right time and it doesn’t slip away from me again. And even though I know it is, it’s scary when you know. Fear will always be something that holds people back.
With love sometimes comes pain, and I’ve been in pain so many times before with the misuse of the L word. I’ve told myself past situations were love. Some real, some not.
Then those relationships ended so excruciatingly that couple nights ago, I laid in bed questioning if love is even something that’s attainable.
It’s almost difficult for me to think that maybe ours will be different. Because, it will be completely different.
Something will happen when you walk into my life. My walls that are so indestructible, will crumble with the touch of your fingers. Something will happen the first time you’d sleep over and I wake up to someone I don’t instantly want to kick out. Even though somewhere deep inside of me will scream at me to get out, my heart will tell that voice to quiet down. My heart will tell me that this is different.
My heart will explode the second you say my name. It’d be almost like when you’re around, I’ll be reminded what it’s like to feel alive. It’d be intoxicating and I’m completely addicted to the high. I know that I won’t be letting you go without a fight… Giving you all the love I have to give.
So, I won’t say love and neither should you. Not right away. Say any other word but love and I’ll understand what you mean. I’ll know that what we have is going somewhere and you’re not going to run scared. We don’t have to dive in so deep so fast because we have all the damn time in the world. We’re in this together.