Confessionality

Guarded. That’s what I am. Barricaded into an impenetrable box where I have reasoned that no one will ever bring me harm. I live in it, smiling at everyone on the outside, convincing them that I’m happy. I watch them, detached yet connected and all-too-curious, wondering if anyone will figure me out (and praying that they won’t).

It goes in an endless, paradoxical circle. I overcompensate for my social awkwardness by making a show of myself. Play the part like this is some game to be played.

I’m the sickly sweet friend.  That bubbly, confident, peppy, easily excited, terminally optimistic, and hopelessly clingy creature that appears to love everything. But not naturally so, not ever.

Inside, I’m quiet and indecisive, but strong-willed and opinionated. I am a thinker who is more often than not blinded by his deeply rooted emotion and yearns for the deepest of sincerities; a loner who’s afraid of his own shadow. Every day, I look in the mirror and it scares me to think that this is the box I’ve forced myself into, and that this is the person I’ve forced myself to be.

This fake persona is one I have adopted as a cover-all, bits and pieces of other people, other personalities, that I have pickpocketed and stitched together, making a personality that I’m now ashamed to call my own. It’s a shield, an umbrella in the rain; something to separate me from myself. I’m afraid of being hurt because I’m such a sensitive person, so I hide it with colorful social gallivanting. Be a ray of sunshine and they’ll be too blinded by your light to notice the hurricane brewing in your eyes; be an unconcerned social nonconformist wrapped in shallow I-love-yous and giveaway hugs and they’ll all be too stunned to see that every negative remark, even the slightest hint at you all-too-obvious faults brings your inner self to his knees, in tears.

If the people who know me could see what it’s like on my side of the barriers, they’d be shocked. Over here, there are still some rainbows, though they lack the polish and glitter. And I still feel happiness, excitement, attachment. Yellow is still my favorite color, I’m still a dork, and I still love to play games that make me scream like a little girl. But here, there are struggles.

It’s that constant battle between what I think and how I feel…and which persona I chose to show to the world. I struggle every day with all the feelings I hold back, all the things I choose not to say, or the ones I do because I feel like I need to talk all the time, just to keep away the silence or (most likely) to keep myself from thinking too much; I fight with my feelings of depression, with life in general, and with the logic I can’t seem to disengage.

And that is where my problem lies. I know to most that it doesn’t make sense, the tanglement of emotion and logic. But my logic tells me that I’d rather play-act this person I’ve created as a crowdpleaser than let down the walls and risk the pity, the questions, the confusion, that feeling of separation. When I act, I feel closer to people because the persona allows it. This is the persona that I made friends through, and the one that will probably drive them away from me. I’ve been informed on more than one occasion (usually by my best friend) that my “personality” is irritating , and I completely understand why. My clinginess gets in the way, and it gets worse when I’m feeling down (which I think is a normal human thing to do).

After years of wearing this fake personality, it’s become a part of me. And that terrifies me. Even now, when I get up the courage to lower the walls just a little bit, my fake personality seems to outshine the real one.

My mask scares me because it’s slowly taking over. And now, looking back, I wish I could revert to what once was.

I hate what I have become in order to escape from what I was afraid of being.

I just wish I could say that you looked absolutely beautiful today. My nervousness and inability to form sentences when you’re around prevented me from telling you, but I wanted to every time I saw you…

To You, 

I constantly find myself struggling to find the words for what you mean to me. I don’t know how to voice to you how you make me feel like singing every time you’re close, how I cling to you because you are the reason I put any faith in myself. I tell you that I love you and I tell you every time I see you that you are beautiful and I try my hardest to get you to smile. 

But it’s not enough. 

All the words in all the worlds aren’t enough.

I wish I could be more like you. 

You’ve helped me get over my fear of losing people because of my fear of not being good enough. And I will never stop thanking you for it. 

I wanted to be a rocket ship when I was little. 

I love it when you smile. Your face lights up and it’s beautiful. And I wish I could kiss it for hours. 

I want to die a hero. 

Sometimes I hate being so empathetic. It gets me into so many emotional situations. And I just can’t say no to people if they need my help. 

I had my first kiss today. It was beautiful.

I can’t help but feel like maybe I’m driving people away. He’s stopped talking to me and she’s refused to come over every time I’ve asked. But part of me hopes that they’re just busy. And I’m scared to think that maybe they’ve figured me out, and maybe they don’t like what they see…

I’m very good at reading people and reading between the lines when it comes to figuring them out, but I couldn’t tell you where we keep the pasta strainer if you asked me. 

I always feel bad when people give me gifts – even when it’s Christmas or my birthday.

If you haven’t noticed, I have a very contradictory personality. 

I’ll follow my brain before I follow my heart.