I’ve realized that I’m not really one person
and neither of us gives a fuck.
Neither of us is really whole
or worth a damn.
– from “What is the Moment of Truth?” by Fractured
I’ve visited this topic before. Once in the blog, and several times in conversations and journal entries. Recently, however, I received a letter from someone I think very highly of, and it has me thinking along these lines again. She said that it was almost like I was two people. The one who writes, and the one I am around her.
She’s right, of course. When I mentioned, in some previous post, that I was shy, several people commented that they couldn’t believe it, just from the way I wrote. When I go back and read myself, I see that I am a different person inside my mind than I am in person.
I write as if I am who I want to be. I say things here that I wouldn’t say in person. Here, I am fearless.
Let’s face it, though. Aside from a handful of people who know me in the outside world, all of you are strangers. There are no repercussions to being fearless around you. I revealed to this world of strangers what I had never spoken about before, and it didn’t change my life. Yet I still won’t talk about it in person.
The real question, I suppose, is why can’t I be fearless everywhere? Why is it so hard for me to open up? Why do I have these walls? More importantly, what is left of me that is worth protecting? Hmmm. That’s more than one real question.
I really don’t even remember when my walls went up. I just know that, at some point in my life, I started guarding myself. What have I missed out on because of this? How much life have I wasted out of fear of getting hurt? It’s time.
This brings me to the next, inevitable, step of my Renaissance. I need to live my life without walls, and I need to start today. Whether something grows between us or not, I’m not going to let this wonderful girl who wrote the letter wonder who I am anymore.