As long as I can remember, I wanted to hide and leave the world be.
Wanted to grab my book and read in the comfort of my mind.
Put it in my bag and go to the river, 5 minutes away from my house.
Contemplate loaded questions of my unyielding soul.
I used to wander off into the stories, into other worlds, I’ve been to the places I’ve never really seen.
I’ve been to the places that don’t exist. Tending to my broken marrow, my face was stern and my heart was stone.
When I was little, we had geese and I frequently lost them in our neighbor’s veggie garden, eating cabbage.
That’s how of an avid reader I was.
Too compelled, too frustrated with reality that my only escape were worn out pages of a book from the local library
I’m uncertain of what came first, my love for seclusion or affection for books, but both came together with an aversion to be seen.
I was an oddball.
I was smart, I was pretty. And once upon a time, I was popular.
Eventually I realized I didn’t belong there, however straight A student I was, however I danced, sung and did everything the popular girls in our class did, I still didn’t belong. That wasn’t ME.
Far-off, I came to understand that, in fact, I did want to be seen.
But I never wanted to be defined.
As a girl who struggled all her life, as a girl who were always too emotional, cared too much and sold her vital force for the love she couldn’t take.
I wanted to be so many different things
So many different people
And I craved to be seen
I wanted to be me.
But nobody understood
Not that I understood who I was exactly when I was 15.
“Risk being seen in all your glory”, was a quote I came across.
And unfortunately, I don’t have the balls for it.
I’ve been struggling to define myself my whole life only to realize, at 23, that I don’t want to be defined, I don’t want to be one thing, I don’t want to be a girl who wasn’t enough, I don’t want to be the girl who was cheated on, I don’t want to be the girl who is on the verge every single day, I don’t want to be the girl who barely gets out of bed, the girl who has depression, a girl who struggles to live, to breathe, to persevere.
I don’t have what it takes
And even if I do, I’d drive it out in no time
I want to be seen.
But as all those years ago, when I thought I wasn’t worth it, when I thought nobody could possibly love me, nobody would want me.
Who would ever look at me? I’m hideous – I thought to myself.
Who would ever love me? Not like this, not the real me. – I cried in my bed.
I hope you have the courage to be seen. I hope you have the undeniable love for yourself.
I hope you are proud of everything you’ve done
I hope even when you lose a fight, you never beat yourself down for it
I hope you have all your pieces put together
I hope you’re whole and happy
I hope you put yourself out there no matter what
I hope you don’t let people bring you down
I crucify myself for every little thing; I cry myself to sleep, because that is the only way my tortured being would get tired, and given the late hour, zonk out. I daydream of the ‘Promised Land’ where I will be seen and loved and cared for like I never have been before.
As Jim Carrey said: “Risk being seen in all your glory.”
Even if your glory is a pathetic ball of insecurities and hurt, risk being seen.