Sometimes, when I am by myself and the door is locked I like to pretend. I pretend that every lie I have told about myself is a true, and I pretend to be this amazing person my friends think I am. I pretend that I am unafraid and strong. I pretend I am fierce and loyal. I pretend I am deep and passionate. I pretend I am spiritual and faithful. I pretend I am elite and intelligent. I pretend that people can't hurt me, I pretend that emotions are foreign to me, I pretend that I don't care about other opinions. Most of all, for everyone I love's sake, I pretend that I don't cry when I realize it is impossible to be this person. I pretend that some where inside myself this strong, fierce, deep, faithful, brilliant, independent girl is sleeping deep within me, waiting for a chance to show the world her presence.
However, the lock turns, and the people fill the room, and the pretending ends, they are lies once more. I wish that some how, some way, I could tell the people I love that I am not this person. I want to tell them that my body holds itself high, and my soul sinks lower in the back of its seat. I am foolish, though. To think that if they found out that they would stay by my side. After realizing that I am nothing more than a fragile coward who is so afraid of breaking she has built a new and foreign person around her just to be accepted. Who wants to love someone who is weak? Who wants to love someone who is cowardly and hides? I apologize to you, the reader, to have to read my haughty thoughts in what seemed to be an interesting blog. But, you are a writer. So at some degree, you must understand the depth of insanity that comes with lying. For, what is an artist with out his lies?
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