I used to tell my ex that my biggest fear was being boring and he would always reply: “Boring is one thing you are definitely not.”
I don’t think he understood what I meant.
Every day I wake up and I put on a show. I give people what they want. Every time I meet someone—whether it’s work related, a new friend, or a fan—I wonder: Who does this person want me to be? Once I figure it out, like a puppet, I act it out.
Some days I’m a party girl who’s a mess and loves to black out. Other days, I’m this beautiful made up doll (after hours of hair and makeup and Photoshop), so girls can wonder why they don’t look like me and worship the unrealistic person I’m portraying. Some days I’m a forever-alone cat lady. Other days, I’m a dick-loving slut even though I haven’t actually dated a guy let alone fucked one in nearly a year. I guess a lie can sound a lot cooler than the truth.
I love entertaining people. I crave their attention, and I’m addicted to their laughs. I have a need to please. I yearn to be accepted, wanted, and loved. But I also know when my time is up. I tend to avoid sticking around for too long, maybe because I’m afraid someone will eventually see the real me.
The truth is, I’m just something people enjoy ‘til they get bored. When the lights turn off and the jokes stop rolling, I’m terrified you’ll see how damaged I really am—and leave.
Whenever I get too close to someone who ends up leaving, I always stop and wonder: Did I say too much? Did I share too much? Did I feel too much? Did I scare you away with my awkwardness?
Suddenly, I want all my secrets back. I want all my thoughts back.
I’m sorry that I care too much, that I think too much, that I feel too much. I’m sorry I do too much.
I’m sorry for being me.
So, who should I be today? Maybe I’ll make a joke to distract you from my pain. Maybe then you’ll stay.