Why I'll Never Publish

I always wished to be a good writer.

The reality is I’m not. I just think and I write.

That’s the problem.

I have never been shy in front of a camera. Ever since I was a little girl I would be filmed. Something about being perceived through a camera is comforting. Because, in my head, no one is real. Real people don’t exist. Not behind the texts, the comments, the views, even on dating apps. Nothing is real. That’s dissociation for ya (it’s not called disassociation - that means to no longer associate. Dissociation is a way of disconnecting from the body to avoid feeling emotions that are too overwhelming for my body to feel).

Writing though- It’s me on paper. You can feel my pain. You can see who I truly am. You can see through the brick wall I’ve spent my whole life building. You’ll realize I’m not as strong as I pretend to be. I’m not as confident as I pretend to be. I’m not that girl.

I’m me.

That’s worse.

I’m the words that can’t seem to escape my mouth. I’m suffocated by sentences I’ll never say; by the emotions I’ll never share. My veins filled with self-hate I inherited from my mother. My bones filled with anger from my father. She needs to be hidden because who would want to get to know her? Not me. My voice is small and frail, and so am I.

My writing is my shame and my core. It reveals who I am. And I’m not ready to share her with the world. But to be loved, it to be known. If nobody truly knows me, how could they ever love me? All I know is, I can’t keep running.