And I'll keep polishing the versions of myself to escape the one I'm meant to be.

“Oh dear! Let me confess - I look ugly when I lie. But isn’t it fair, as long as nobody notices? Perhaps, even me?!”

 

I’m a girl who wants to be everything out of fomo, in case I might be left behind.

What if the ambitions I wear are not real, and I’m too busy working on myself - correcting myself - too busy being harsh on myself - not to look at it.

And guess what? I realize it not when I’m collapsing and going nowhere, but exactly when I’m achieving milestones I’ve manifested.

Whether I show it or not, let me tell you honestly, I easily get triggered on small matters. Actually I’m constantly triggered, heavy, mad at people around me, hating life, and eventually myself for losing my temper, feeling like trapped, stuck, someone has tied me to a ‘huge’ tree and can’t move, and worst part is, I know I’m tied, and others don’t, and it’s not even their fault, I can’t run away, because I don’t want to hurt them, but in this loop, I surely have hurt myself a lot, quite a lot...

And at the end of it, I find it’s not only me; everyone is like this. I’m not special, and so I must keep doing what I do every day, choose to be ‘highly’ ambitious, because I think it’d help me be free, that anyway deep down I know it won’t.

…and they say you need a break, maybe therapy. But I feel it’s not therapy that I need. Because I don’t want to teach myself to fit in the world I don’t belong in any longer.

I suspect we all put on a mask - an intense mask without realising we’ve put it on. And do you know I have observed I get triggered mostly when I’m unmasked.

Have you read that novel, The Wrinkle in Time? In that novel, there is an ‘IT’ who possesses and controls everything. Except one girl, and that girl kept hammering her brother; he’s not speaking of himself, it’s ‘IT’… speaking through him...it’s not ‘real’ him…

I feel the same voice is echoing within; sometimes that voice just drags me back to real me, the completely naked one.

Why, despite all good things around me, after achieving things I ever wanted, I still silently keep listening to the haunted echoes? That the world has never been a safe place for people like me…

Art, literature, creation, peace, solitude, a small lonely house somewhere, or a beautiful small city full of flowers and people living meaningfully, or jungles, mountains, beaches, maybe an aesthetic art store in travelling places - where every day a new visitor from a new country, a new culture is visiting to buy souvenirs for their people, and I don’t know...

And the grief of not creating shows up; the more I deny it, the more intense it becomes. As a wilder and more triggered self, I will probably try everything: the positive thinking, the therapies, the medications, the exercises, the overeating, the crying, and I wonder, just not the creation.

The easiest one. The most needed one. The more I stay away from creation, the more difficult it becomes for me to return to it, just like returning to the home, which is no longer your home.

But do we know what lies on the other side of the grief? Maybe not, that’s why our poor little heart thinks, what if this time too the grass is not greener on the other side? Better we don’t look at it - at all.

And the next day we do the bravery to ‘show up!’