Saturday, November 12, 2011


She lacks confidence, she craves admiration insatiably. She lives on the reflections of herself in the eyes of others. She does not dare to be herself. ~ Anais Nin

Realities ... are tough sometimes. And what's even harder is facing them, accepting them before letting them go. Who wants to admit faults? Who really admits them out loud? How often?

Well, this is my reality. In trying to get to a better place, I've felt lately as though I'm in the dark, feeling my way around and not quite sure of anything my fingers graze against. However, as is with those who are blind, I'm realizing my other senses have been forced to adapt and dominate over my sight — or lack thereof. It's as though the more I stop trying to squint into the darkness to see everything or even just anything, the more I'll begin to trust in my other senses and instincts, my intuition again.

Eventually ... I'd like to trust myself again.

So, my reality is, I haven't dared to be myself in a long time, if ever really. In some way or another, I've compromised parts of myself to meet someone else's criteria, society's criteria or simply to try and "fit in," somehow, to feel as though I belong somewhere. But the truth is, that never really works, because I can't possibly feel as though I fit somewhere when I'm not being true to myself. And I can't really get to know myself until I face this reality. So here I am, staring it in the eyes, terrified. But I refuse to relinquish my intent to embrace who I truly am. I'm tired of looking to others' eyes to "see" myself in them, to know myself. I'm tired of trying not to draw attention to myself, while secretly needing it to feel validated as a presence in this world. It's exhausting really.

It's not as though I've been wholly fake, ever. In fact, I despise disingenuous people with a passion. I can always spot them by how they make me feel ... I never quite trust them. And I never want to join their ranks.

Sure, different people bring out different parts of me, different sides of me. I think other people might be able to relate to that. Certainly, we're different around our parents or certain friends than we are around other environments, people, places, etc. However, to compromise certain aspects of myself, self-sacrifice myself — as i have in the past couple of years — just to avoid causing tension, harm, anger, frustration or pain, well ... that's not being very genuine either. And it's in that way that I feel I haven't been entirely myself, at least not since I was a child. I've been giving into fear and anxiety. And I'm tired of that, too.

So, I've decided I'm done looking to others to find myself. Because that's just not the real way of things. And while most of my close friends and family know who I am, despite my attempts as masking things sometimes, it's time for me to actual embrace that person.

Because, it's one thing to "hear" what she is to others, but it's another to believe it.

So, I've decided to toss out a few miscellaneous pieces of authenticity:

- I love mystery, whether it's in everyday things, like someone catching my eye and making me wonder what his or her story is, or just in watching the sun set, bewildered.

- I love my grams, she's one of my favorite people in this world. She's one of the only people who DOES make me believe my worth when she cups my face in her hands.

- I'm a total dork. And what's more, I love dorks, men, women. Honestly, I think everyone has a little "dork" in them and if they don't think so, well, they're in denial.

- I love nature. My grams always calls me a pagan the way I worship it, but I can't help it. Everyone has their thing, that brings them peace, whether it's their faith or a comfort food or something else. For me, it's nature. I just need to breathe in the wind or look at the moon or a tree or the sky and I'm at its serene mercy. Sometimes, I feel so much at once, I think I'm simply going to burst.

- I love music, all different kinds. My barometer for good music is the way it touches me, the way it stirs me or makes me feel, if it gives me chills or makes me cry, laugh, sing. Even silly songs, or (my once archenemy) pop music, has its place. I may be a "music" nazi, as one of my friends calls me, sometimes, but I can ALWAYS appreciate song, no matter what kind, that moves me.

- I love books, even guilty pleasures like vampire stories and cheesy romance novels. I love classic literature, poetry, science fiction, fantasy fiction, mystery, horror. My favorite kind of book is the kind that gives me what I call a "good headache." It's when I've been up so late reading for so long that my eyes are strained and my head hurts, but I just can't stop reading.

- I love looking at random people, strangers throughout my day, catching meaningful moments passing between them, or just wondering what they're thinking, what their life is like, where they're going, coming from ... what their favorite childhood memory is. I especially love looking at rough worn people, because they often are some of the best living, breathing, walking novels. Sometimes, certain people make me feel the strangest feelings inside. Sometimes it's hard to breathe.

— I love writing. It's exhausting, but the best kind of tired I can imagine. Every time I write a story, poem or chapter or blog post, I feel as though my entire insides have been scraped by a knife, extracted from inside me and laid out onto the pages before me. It's raw, vulnerable, painful and elating.

— I love fantasy fiction computer video games. If I get started on one, you won't see me reemerge into society or the social network for days.

— I love old movies, black and whites, foreign films, independent movies ... and mainstream as well. But classic black and whites, or 1940s and 50s films, I'm completely enamored of. A large piece of that is the tie to my grandma, but there's a beauty in the simplicity of how films were made then, and how actors truly had to carry every scene, that often steals my breath.

— I have really bad eyes ... and I wear contacts and glasses. I used to never like wearing glasses in public, but not as much anymore. I'm seeing the beauty in being "real" in that way, too.

— I have nervous habits, (how I channel anxiety) picking at my hands, biting the inner lining of my lip, fidgeting, visibly burning up if I'm anxious or flustered or affected by someone or something.

— I hate bullies ... angry people and the way they hurt others, like myself.

— I love romance, seeing the magic in the most mundane places or moments.

— I love making people laugh. When I make someone laugh a good belly laugh (as I call it), I feel everything inside of me melt.

— I love laughing. It's not hard to do, I'm one of the most easily amused people I think anyone could meet. But I love laughing until my stomach hurts and my eyes are watering.

— I hate anxiety. I hate what it does to me and how it makes me not myself, how it inhibits me.

— I love peace. I love bringing someone peace, but I especially love when someone, somehow, brings me peace. It so rarely happens, but when it does, I can't explain what it does to me, just that it does.

— I love feeling welcome, feeling at home, feeling safe. I hate when I feel like I don't belong, when I feel like I have to meet a bunch of criteria to be accepted, I guess that's why I never liked cliches in high school, or fraternities or sororities. The friends I had ... they mirrored my family ... they always made me feel welcome.

~ C ~

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