I might be fake. I know I’m not fake. But I might be. Because I cover it all up. As honest as I am on paper, very rarely will that honesty spill out of my being in real life. Very rarely will I be okay with someone seeing me as I am. Because I expect to be rejected. Which is why it’s so very hard for me to reject.
I had a hard week. Maybe one of the hardest, in a very different way. In a way that I can’t process. Because I’ve been on the other side, almost. I can’t write about it, but I’ve talked about it. I feel like I need to keep talking about it. Because I’m not sure if I dreamt it.
I am not a burden. But sometimes I believe I am. Sometimes, when I have constant communication and suddenly no communication, I feel like a nuisance. Sometimes, when I can’t process something, I ask for help, and it gets blown out of proportion and that becomes everything. Sometimes I feel that my problems are all that I am. But that’s not all that I am.
I am fun. I am small and, some might say, adorable. I am an adventurer. I love the people in my life. I love when people see my potential. Because I have potential. I am human. I am creative.
Thursday night, I was gathering my things to leave the house I was at. And my three friends were on the couches. And suddenly I broke down and sobbed. I don’t sob. Not in front of people, for sure. It all spilled out of me, for a moment. That kind of vulnerability is terrifying. I want to be strong. I want to be sane. But I am far too aware of my insanity.
So yesterday I felt lost. Yesterday I felt empty. I still feel that way. And I’ll be honest. I thought about old coping mechanisms. I thought about my options. I could become numb. I could close myself off. I could disappear. Instead, I went and bought a hamster. My hamster is great. Because I’m great. I feel like a child. But I am so content with my decision. Maybe, someday I’ll let you meet my hamster. Because I am not fake. I am real. I am a real human with real issues, and a real hamster. (It’s less commitment than a dog).
