My Honesty Is Evil

… Another thing to feel guilty about, I haven’t slept right in days, there’s just so much to do, how can I close my eyes? My body aches, my skin feels like fire. My blood circulation feels all messed up, like the veins stopped pumping blood, like my organs are stuck in a traffic jam. Be a good girl, go to bed, go home. There is a cab, get in it. Why isn’t your body moving? Why are you walking into this bar? Who is controlling me? This isn’t my body. This isen’t my decision. There is a satellite underground, I’m the proxy.

I probably look so cute right now. I’m wearing chucks, a dress, and I have raccoon makeup on my eyes.  The mosaic of people in the bar, laughing, talking, hooking up.  These guys talk to me and they have no idea. They have no idea what is going on, who I am and what I do. I look so normal, just another girl alive. I think that is the best part for me, to think someone sees me as normal (even if just for a second). It’s almost a high.

I was watching Dexter the other day, and it dawned on me. Growing up, I remember, they always told us to to not be afraid to be ourselves, that we’re all beautiful. My grandfather was a violent schizophrenic. He would go outside and dig holes in the backyard every night, thinking someone had buried something out there for him. He’s rotting away in some kind of prison or ward now. My grandmother killed herself. It skipped a generation. Don’t be afraid to be yourself. Haha. You should be very afraid if I act like myself. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

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