Wednesday, July 1, 2020
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I'm going to drive everyone I love away from me and I'm going to end up alone with no one to rely on and no one to mourn me when I die.
I'm fucking weak, I can't keep my masks up.
I can't summon the nerve to ask for professional help.
I can't keep people from glimpsing my pain.
I'm going to keep snapping at everyone until they give it up.
They're going to see that I'm lying, that I'm playing them, playing myself to think I'm being genuine.
Who am I kidding, this eccentric sweetheart act is just that- an act! I'm just pretending to be someone people will like, I'm pathetic.
No one would like me, it has to be an act of some kind.
I can act the broken hearted friend, the betrayed parent, the cold demon ruler, the sick psychopath who enjoys listening to human screams. I can act the flirt, the cunning villain, the liar, the poet, the emotionless A student, the loving friend, the panicking emo. I can act and act and act, pretending to be people with different pronouns and different sexualities, pretending to be someone with a past and someone with nothing, pretending to be twisted hero and a person crumbling into madness.
Who am I, if I can be all these people and yet no one? What's an act and what's the reality? What's a bluff and what's the truth? What's a role and what's not?
Where do my characters end and I start? Where do the things I dream up end and the things that actually happened start? Where do I draw the lines between emotions I picked up from others and feelings I actually generate?
Is there anything I didn't pick up from books or people? Is there anything I can claim as just me?
Is there a 'me' to claim?
Do I have a right to tell you to be safe? What right do I have to remind you to stay hydrated when I forget so often?
Is my love true or is it an unconscious lie I tell without knowing it's untrue?
