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I’m afraid of books sometimes. They reveal truths that I’ve never spoken aloud, they tell stories of people who are scarily too much like me. But then I feel comfort knowing I am not the only one who has thought these thoughts, fiction or not.
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I had my weekly therapy session today and we discussed some stuff from my childhood that I realized isn't normal. It was somewhere between describing one specific incident that started a snowball of other stories to arise, pushing all these suppressed memories to the forefront of my mind. I cried silently, brushing away the tears quickly and moving forward with my story. My therapist noticed this and asked, "Why aren't you letting yourself feel these emotions? You're not allowing yourself to cry." I laughed, swiping at the continuous flow. "I don't know," I shrugged. "My dad never really liked crying."
I thought avoiding getting close to people was a tired old cliche, a book trope, something uncharacteristic of me. Yet, here I am, pushing away people who try to get to know me. Not because I dislike them or because of any wrong they’ve done me, but simply because they are much too good, too kind, too worth it to get tangled in the web that is me.
I think I don’t let go because I did what I was supposed to. I used open communication, I asked for clarification before making any judgments, I did the mature, adult thing. But you didn’t take it that way. You said it was fine when it clearly wasn’t, you created distance, and now you act like you can’t even see me.
But today I beg myself to let go. Because holding onto you is bad for my health.
Yesterday, a girl asked me why I switched from being an English major to a PR major. I almost told her the truth. But instead I told her the same excuse I tell everyone whose asked: I want to make money, I’d said.
Sometimes, I want to tell people why. Sometimes, I feel like it’s unfair that I feel the need to lie about it. Sometimes, I think about the reason why and I just cry about it, because I let myself believe that my major was reflective of my intelligence and worthiness. Sometimes, I just want to tell someone the truth.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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I think about you the most when I am on this app. Probably because you remind me of feeling my heart ricochet out of my chest. Probably because you remind me of loving what does not love me. Probably because you are written in between the fabric of my existence. I think about you the most when I am writing. Because you are traced on the curves of my brain.
