Insanity: Who I Became to Be Loved

But where am I supposed to start?

I honestly don’t understand how so many people know how to live this life. It seems like they have it all figured out, but I feel like I’ve been stuck in the same place for years.

I mean, I have all the answers, right? I have two Christian parents. I went to church consistently, but I still ended up failing—if that’s even the right word. What’s crazy is that there’s a part of me still hoping for something.

Hoping that someone can hear me through all of this repetition.

Like a broken tape recorder going in circles.

With nothing but questions like:

“What do you want to be?”

“Are you okay?”

“Can you help me out with this one more time?”

When will this story be over?

When will I finally be able to say it’s my book—and that I’m finished?

It really feels like I’m on a roller coaster, but this roller coaster has given me motion sickness.

I’ve been on this ride for way too long.

I just want it to finally come to an end.

I just want to be able to say that I enjoyed the time I’ve had so far, but I don’t know if those are the exact words I can say.

For years, I’ve stayed in this mindset that everything will be fine. That as long as I keep smiling, no one will know. But it seems like I’m getting too old to pretend because somehow people are starting to see my true form.

It scares me.

I’ve always hidden behind a mask that people loved, but I don’t think I can keep doing this.

It’s starting to feel like it’s cracking under all the pressure of being okay—of being Ms. Perfect.

The question that keeps running through my mind is: Do I want to stop being Ms. Perfect, or am I finally ready to be seen with all of my flaws?

Even then, the saddest part is that I feel like I might be the reason everything has come to this breaking point. I thought that as long as I protected myself, I would be fine.

That was a lie.

A lie that I don’t think I know how to stop telling.

Honestly, I feel as if my whole life is now built on lies.

Who knew that one lie could turn me into a liar for the rest of my life?

Because somewhere along the way, I lost myself.

I forgot who I once was.

I ended up cracking my own mask without even noticing until it was too late.

Somehow, that’s not the only problem.

I was looking for myself in someone else’s eyes.

I started letting people into my life who weren’t even good for me.

I started believing that if I changed, maybe people would love a fake version of me.

The version I wished I was.

The version I wish I had known from the very beginning.

The truth is, the version they know is covered in scars—some that can be seen and some that time itself can’t heal.

Scars that will haunt me for the rest of my life, lingering in the back of my mind.

This fake version of me is hurting.

But the real me—the one beneath the mask—is hurting the most.

Even so, there’s a part of me that I don’t want to forget.

Yes, I’ve hidden behind a mask.

Yes, I have scars.

But I don’t think it’s completely fair to say that I wasn’t happy during my journey.

Or that I didn’t work hard to get somewhere in life, even if it’s not where I imagined I’d be.

I still tried.

I still put my best foot forward with every step I took.

I know I’ve made a positive impact somewhere.

I know I’ve smiled.

I know I’ve truly enjoyed a few moments in this life.

I may not be perfect, but I don’t want to give up.

I just want to write in a different font.

Or maybe... just a different size.