It’s 2:40 am and I’m tired. Not that that should be surprising anyways. These days I feel like lethargy is just a part of my personality. Perhaps the only part of my personality I can be sure of for now, anyways.
I’m tired because I’m pretending. It’s all I loved to do as a kid with my friends, pretending we were whatever animals, whatever job, to the point that our parents would ask us to stop pretending so much. But I never did stop.
I’m not actually into cars or hiking. I’m just trying to make this a good date for once. I don’t value intoxicated weekends as highly as you guys do. I’m just here for the pictures. I love electronic music a lot more than you think I do. I just don’t want it to seem so, in front of your lovely but anti-mainstream self. I don’t know how to answer when you ask, “How are you?”. Because I don’t want to know and you don’t either. I’d rather not tell you when something you’ve done bothers me. I’d rather not deal; I’ll let you what you’d want to hear. I don’t agree with half the bullshit you’re speaking. I’ll just play along to keep this conversation going, to be acceptable. It breaks my heart to know you hate your body and maybe even yourself. But I struggle in the same ways some days. I don’t believe in the same things you do anymore (could you ever forgive my liberal, atheistic, hell-bound self for this one?). I’m just keeping my mouth shut because I’m the only one in the family who could cause a shit storm like this. I think I might actually love you, you who I can’t be with. But I’ll still go out with guys who I force myself to like more than I really do, still leave you out of all conversations regarding relationship melodrama.
Would it be less tiring to be real with myself, at the least? Am I strong enough to face my fears and flaws and unwanted feelings for a few minutes before I fall asleep at night? Probably not. But could it be that such a self-acceptance is plausibly attainable? Are we all just pretending in front of the other out of the same apprehension?
I won’t know how to stop pretending on the outside until I figure it out from within. I think I’ll start tonight, when the lights go out. The darkness and all its stillness will wring out those parts of me I never let drip, for the fear of waves I might sink under. But I need to be okay. I need to learn to be okay with my vulnerable self, every single part.
It’s okay that I don’t like rear wings or the itchy feeling in my nose when I’m hiking up my hometown trails. It’s okay that I’m not as into, or really, at all into being drunk as some. I think my liver will be thanking me for that one. It’s okay that I like the music that I like, and it shouldn’t matter that some people not might. In fact, I’d like to start trusting my music-major-validated taste even more. I don’t know if I’ll ever enjoy the “How are you?”s, but it’s okay to not be in a default happy state all the time. It’s okay when people annoy or disagree with me, because I certainly do the same. I don’t know if the world could ever work with everyone living in a single perspective. And it’s okay to voice how I truly feel, disagreements and all, because I don’t need to fit into the expectation of never having an discomfort-arousing opinion. It’s okay to look the way I am, this color, this curve or not. What am I bringing myself down for? More of society’s expectations? It’s okay that I’m secretly the black sheep of my family, and as much of a burden as it is, I will accept myself even if they won’t accept me. And it’s hard to believe, but I will be okay with or without that guy.
Reaching the surface, just before sleep now. To keep breathing and stop pretending shall resume when I wake.