When lie becomes truth


If I have learned anything from my life it’s to be a master of my own feelings. But I wasn’t always good at this.

I used to be a bubbly, spunky little girl. I was enamored by what this world had to offer and I wanted to give back to it. I was persistent. My mom recalls me hugging a number of people, including an indifferent, old lady. She says it was me spreading my sunshine.

We moved schools when I was in third grade, and I didn’t adapt as well as I thought I would. The close-knit community didn’t seem to need me. It was off-putting, but I kept my hopes high.

I wasn’t very social for a few years. I kept close to anyone who I had any sort of relation to. I don’t remember if I knew that they didn’t want to be around me or not.

But I do remember when I cut the real me from the world. I remember what hallway it took place in; I remember what I wore on that day: rain boots with dark blue jeans and a white v-cut shirt that illustrated a fairy. I remember looking down at the ground in shame as I was being told by a counselor to stay away from the girls who didn’t want to accept my sunshine. I don’t know exactly what I did wrong I just remember feeling so sad.

I realized I can’t keep opening myself up to situations like that. I closed myself away. The next year I only showed what I wanted people to see. I developed a mask. It solidified and sealed off whatever I was disgusted with. It felt heavy. I noticed the compliments of maturity I received from parents and teachers alike, even though my emotions were kept under a lock and key under that mask. That’s exactly what I wanted.

Not for people to pry into my emotions. The mask became lighter as time went on, but I did not change. My facade became a reality. My lie became the truth. I transcended the mask. I thought by now I would have found my happiness through becoming what I wanted.

Yet I wasn’t happy. I wanted to emulate the happy little girl that would go to lengths to brighten someone else’s day. I was being immature; I was never going to be happy lying to myself or lying to others. I was bitter to this realization and didn’t want to fully admit to it. I grew tired of the routine and wanted to show the real me. But I didn’t want to be hurt like that again.

So I sculpted another mask.

One that was lighter and more transparent yet it didn’t quite reach to the real me. Instead, a version of myself that resembles real me is beginning to scintillate for everyone to see. The connection without the sacrifice. I took control of my insecurity and showed it to everyone to an extent. I show more of myself to the people I want to be closer to.

I am a master of my feelings: not to hide them, but to know why they are important.