This brain is a network of complicated, scattered, undecided nerves and signals that usually end up being a mess. I admit that. That’s me anyway. A disaster. A poison. But anything that I can control, I do that. I manage and “try” my hardest to have it all in my head.
Most of the time, thoughts just slip away. It comes out so spontaneous, I have to let them out. I am not good at sharing it verbally. I wish people could understand that. I want my own space alone, my time alone. I can’t deal with it right away, I need more thinking. That’s me.
I hope I can change that fact. But my genetic makeup is something made biologically, I cannot gain or lose it. This is who I am, and what I ask is a little of patience and understanding. I can’t be a rainbow every time. I can’t be the pretty butterfly when in the inside I am a parasitic mosquito. I can’t be the Barbie doll when I’m all feeling Chuckie.
This world expects too much, and unfortunately I can’t save myself from that. How can you compete with the baseline of beauty?
My only safe place where I can be me is in here. I can write my heart out. I can be who I am without pretending. My mask is nowhere to be found in here. I can be my true self because nobody expects anything from me. Nobody listens, nobody cares. Nobody will judge me. Nobody can hurt me.
This had been my security blanket, my comfort zone. I don’t need the reaction and the thoughts. I just need my words here.
That, at least, is what I believed. But not anymore.