I sometimes wonder how much of yourself you lose while pretending to be something/ someone you're not.
I get the whole fake it till you make it concept. It's pretty much worked for me my entire life. That + an unhealthy dose of denial.
Lately however, every time I'm not being true to myself, specifically in the sense of feelings, it kinda feels like part of me is closing up a little every-time.
That feeling makes me kinda nervous, the possibility of becoming emotionally detached from myself (the concept seems ludicrous) & walking around in the form of a shell of my former self, that's some scary shit.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
The show must go on...
I stand in the shower with the weight of a crushed life's dream on my shoulders & cry my last cry for the day. I must find a way to shoulder this disappointment without having to share it with the world.
I hide the pain in my eyes, from those who are intuitive enough to know that for me, they will always tell you everything. I hide it in a few layers of super-max luscious lash mascara. Not waterproof... not crying is not negotiable.
I hide the lifeless numb feeling I carry inside me, visible in the paleness of my always rosy cheeks. i hide it with the fake pink tinge that symbolizes happiness and a vibrancy for a life I do not want to live.
The adornments I choose, are to distract you. The sparkly stud earrings will hopefully catch your eye and keep them away from mine. I don't have the strength to explain the hopelessness you see in them.
I cream my body, imagining the armour I am covering my body with. Instead, I notice the new bruises I've been gifted with after a day spent in bed. I laugh. No longer a joyous laugh at my silly clumsiness & penchant for bumping into things, but instead a bitter one, at my body's incapacity of healing such inconsequential things & my stupidity at not realising earlier that poking yourself in the leg should not leave an angry bruise for days.
I zip up my power dress & slip on my heels. I'll add the bracelets that jingle as I walk, I want you to hear me walking down the corridor & feel happy to see me. Even if I'm not happy to see myself. The self I love, weighed down with hopelessness and shame.
Shame that I feel incapable of living up to the strength that others perceive I have, and I do not believe in anymore. Shame that I, the encourager, have no encouragement for myself. Shame that I am allowing my positivity to be overshadowed and drowned with despair. Shame that I know & recognise all this, and don't want to stop it.
Finally I square my shoulders with the resolve that, even though I think I'm incapable of beating this right now, nobody else can ever believe the same. Resolve that only very few people will know how powerless I really feel.
The rest of the world will see me as they always have, Strong, Happy, Vivacious Mel.
Not the Mel dying of cancer.
This show
Must
Go on.
I hide the pain in my eyes, from those who are intuitive enough to know that for me, they will always tell you everything. I hide it in a few layers of super-max luscious lash mascara. Not waterproof... not crying is not negotiable.
I hide the lifeless numb feeling I carry inside me, visible in the paleness of my always rosy cheeks. i hide it with the fake pink tinge that symbolizes happiness and a vibrancy for a life I do not want to live.
The adornments I choose, are to distract you. The sparkly stud earrings will hopefully catch your eye and keep them away from mine. I don't have the strength to explain the hopelessness you see in them.
I cream my body, imagining the armour I am covering my body with. Instead, I notice the new bruises I've been gifted with after a day spent in bed. I laugh. No longer a joyous laugh at my silly clumsiness & penchant for bumping into things, but instead a bitter one, at my body's incapacity of healing such inconsequential things & my stupidity at not realising earlier that poking yourself in the leg should not leave an angry bruise for days.
I zip up my power dress & slip on my heels. I'll add the bracelets that jingle as I walk, I want you to hear me walking down the corridor & feel happy to see me. Even if I'm not happy to see myself. The self I love, weighed down with hopelessness and shame.
Shame that I feel incapable of living up to the strength that others perceive I have, and I do not believe in anymore. Shame that I, the encourager, have no encouragement for myself. Shame that I am allowing my positivity to be overshadowed and drowned with despair. Shame that I know & recognise all this, and don't want to stop it.
Finally I square my shoulders with the resolve that, even though I think I'm incapable of beating this right now, nobody else can ever believe the same. Resolve that only very few people will know how powerless I really feel.
The rest of the world will see me as they always have, Strong, Happy, Vivacious Mel.
Not the Mel dying of cancer.
This show
Must
Go on.
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