Do you see me?
Do you see me?
I am sincerely stunned by the reverence some people give me. Then I am terrified because I know this pedestal: I've lived on it and I've fallen from it. I'm not keen about doing so again, not when it cost so much, hurt her so dearly to watch my plummet. Because, you see, I took her with me; I watched her bleed and I laughed at her wounds, thinking them false or weakly inflicted.
Because the real me is terrifying. My ideal self is the one that looks like she's got it all together, yet she doesn't care; she's adaptable, sarcastic, hilarious, calm, patient, harsh when called for--authentic.
Ironic, then, that my real self is not at all authentic when all painted up for another's vision.
Um... You took who with you? I'm lost.
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