Persuade yourself to believe the fiction you take part in for this life. I can’t hide anymore. These sunglasses don’t suffice so well as they used to. Neither does this starless night sky. I’ve run and I’ve hidden, I’ve showed myself true. I’ve scattered my own ashes and I’ve proven what I could. There’s nothing more of me. I’m withering away. I’m deteriorating in front of my own reflective glass. As I step out of the shower, I can’t help but shed a few tears. I can’t look at myself in the same way. I’ve been told not to ask for help. An independent woman is one to look up to in this day. But we aren’t looked at the same way, the way that we should unquestionably be. We aren’t cherished for our soft curves; lusted over for our muscular legs. We are expected to be plastic, painted, and fake. Our eyes are to be toxic, our kiss—sensual and surreal. Our feet are to be petite, our stomachs feminine, our teeth white, our hands crossed in our laps. Our legs always closed. We are expected to do only what permitted and when told to. We aren’t the goddesses we used to be looked at as.
I am sick of this days society. I am tired of being sick of the way my life is lived. I am in love. I hold very closely and dearly the ones I adore. You know who you are, don’t question yourself, don’t question me.
I am sick of using the words ‘I’ and ‘me’ all the time. Am I really so self centered? Selflessness is a hard practice to proceed in, now-a-days. I can’t believe the things you have to sacrifice in order to be looked up to. Do you know that I look up to you? Do you know who you all are?
I know who have pieced together the parts of my puzzle. I know who will remain, if they so choose to do so. When I look at magazines and pictures, when I watch movies, and listen to the rock stars that I envy. Paramore. America’s Next Top Model. American Idol. These things all remind me of who I cannot be and will not become. These things all remind me of my future that is a fantasy.
So many things I will give up to give you all pleasure. Too many things. What is left of me? For me? What else do I have to give?
I am so insane. I am so lonely. I am so scared. I am an 18 year old girl living in a materialistic world. I am a woman living in a modern day fucking conformist environment. I will not comply. I will not reconcile. I cannot any longer give to you things that do not exist. I am sorry, to all of you, to those of you whom have looked up to me. To those of you whom I have looked up to.
Don’t look at this as written by me. Look at this as something you all want to say to each other. Look at this as a short story, without an ending in near site, partially existing phrases that aren’t really fact or fiction. Look at me and tell me your darkest secrets. I won’t promise not to tell. I won’t promise to be perfect. I can’t give you anything anymore.
This is me. This is who I have become, the girl I was afraid of all along, the girl I am not capable of saving myself from.
I will continue to starve myself of nutrition and education. I will continue to deprive myself of the lifestyle I know I deserve. When you step in, do your part, tell me—I will be waiting. I am not saying that I have done no wrong. I am not claiming to have finished what needs to be finished.
I am just simply stating, that I am done.
With what? I am not sure.
But with something. That’s for damn sure.
I’ll see you all around.
pee.ess. My fiance is home from Iraq.
