Day 1
I am done.
I don’t know at what point, but I know that at some point, I believed that if I wished for something hard enough, if I just exposed myself and waved my arms over my head and sang loudly, louder that my lungs could do, “Hey! I’m here!”, that the wish would come to me.
If I’m honest, I wonder sometimes if I try hard enough, or if I really just wave my arms, sing, and hope for the best.
I feel lately like I let everyone down. Most of all, myself.
This persona I cannot be is interesting, and happy and wild. She is not caged by people’s opinions. She is well-liked, and it is well-deserved. I am but a shell of that person. I cannot understand why I’m not liked.
But I’m done, and I know it, because I have looked at my wish in the eye, and felt it warm my fingertips, and felt it fly away and simmer into someone else’s hands. And I knew that I was done as it turned into a small bird and it nestled, eyes closed, into the comfort of someone else’s care.
I’m done, and I know it. And I want to stop. I want no one to expect nothing of me. I’d like nothing more than be free. Free of the expectations of others, that they were created in the first place because of me.
