There’s a voice that pervades everything you do, like a shooting pain for every step forward. It says, “Stop everything you’re doing. You are failing. You can’t express yourself. You’re an embarrassment.”
It took time, years, to overcome the oppression. The unnatural capture, the heavy chains that held you down. But you fight it now and grow stronger, because you refuse to remain hopeless. Although you’ve escaped the isolation, a sharp realization of the world around you pervades. In every open space, you sense danger, as your body remembers the shots of criticism of the past: “You can’t do this. You will fail.” Every time you speak, the seconds draw out, like the weight of your words are too much for you, for anyone else, to bear.
You allow a new narrative to call: in the sunshine, friendships bloom, and in bedside, in notebooks, you come upon something like a voice. Inside, there’s a person with feeling, someone who’s often naive, who hasn’t acquainted themselves with all that’s in the world, but a person who you love, a person you forgive, even if no one else will.
It’s not easy to be in the world, to show yourself: the insecurities, the doubts, the vast need for improvement. It’s easier to hide the doubts and hope they go away. But admitting imperfection is better than remaining in fear.
It’s better to let go of the need to maintain appearances and speak your most honest truth. It’s better to feed the wild horse your last meal, not knowing where it will carry you, than to quell your own belly, and stay where forever where you are.
You will make your own path: strange, unplanned, brave, and surprising to the ones who once thought they knew you.