hiding

Summer.

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I hate Summer.

I hate it with every fiber of my being. For all the reasons everyone loves summer, it’s all the reasons I despise it. I hate the heat. I hate the sun, I hate it’s warmth that embraces me in it’s brightest hug. I hate the over exposure of the sun that lasts on my skin. Turning every inch of my skin different colors that burn to the touch.

I hate it.

This over exposure of skin that showcases all my imperfections. The sun doesn’t allow me to cover up my insecurities and flaws. Instead my skin is out for everyone to see and judge. I can’t stand that feeling. This feeling that with every bright ray of sunlight, I have to hide an inch of myself. I want to cover every inch of myself in layers, hide every inch of my insecurities, but I can’t. Instead I hide behind closed doors until the heat of the afternoon rays, turn into moonlit skies and breezy nights.

I want to hide every inch of myself until I am ready to appear. Hide from the masses until I am perfectly okay with myself. I hate that you can’t hide from warmth. You can’t hide from the sun that follows you like a shadow every step you take. Every freckle burns on my skin from these memories of the past I just want to forget. Closing the books on summer looks and yearn for the layers and falling leaves of fall. Let me have one more day of Spring. One more day of overcast skies and foggy mornings. One more day of layers that hide my skin from the sun. One more day to hide these scars from the world, another day of long sleeves that keep all my wounds secret.

I am the worst person to myself when the sun comes out. All I want to do is disappear until the sun goes down. Do we ever really forgive ourselves for the things we say as the sun illuminates our face? We don’t. I can’t help but become the monster everyone says I am. Its the monsters in ourselves that we are often afraid of. What’s one more?

Summer comes. Summer goes. I can’t wait for the heat to leave this town and leave this lingering feeling it leaves upon my skin. In the shade, behind a veil of layers I will stay. Watching the leaves dry and fall from the trees until there is nothing left to shed.

6/7/2006

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9/10/2015 – Day Twenty – Four

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The weather has been changing. Before you know it, it’ll go from sunny days to overcasts skies. From summer skin to winter coats and layers. I hate the summer and it’s over exposure of skin, that I never feel comfortable showing. I am in no way a prude but my insecurities seem to make me more conservative. It’s a piece of myself I never like to show. Its this never ending process of learning to love your body, when you’re still in the process of accepting this skin.

I could lose all the weight and still feel self conscious of my skin, and the abnormalities of my body. I’ve watched my body go from big to medium to large again. I’ve watched my skin stretch and rest on different parts of my body. And all I’ve wanted is to cover up never show the world. Hide under layers of clothes to distract myself from what’s underneath. I wonder if I will ever get over this feeling. If being so body conscious changes over the years. They say it changes when you get older, but what if it doesn’t. I have to pretend to be comfortable and accepting, when I just want to rip my skin off. Take this image I see of myself that I know no one else can see, and pretend it doesn’t exist. I want to hide behind trees and behind overcast skies. Where shadows can mask my body and its abnormalities. We are praised for our bones and our skin that stretches over our skeletons. Sometimes when the weather changes you can’t help but remember this is a process. Bodies have this ability to change but I don’t feel like that.

I have become so comfortable with hiding at home and avoiding the outside world. Avoiding a million different emotions, in favor of hiding in this misery and self pity. It’s the heat that drives me crazy. That makes me believe I can’t be myself.  I can’t hide from the heat, I only expose myself more to keep from being hot. But in the cold, I hide behind layers of fabric to hide what I don’t love about myself.  I’ll never be perfect and I’ll never be pretty. I’ll be stuck under this skin that stretches for as long as I can see. One day I’ll be more accepting, but in this unforgiving heat, I can’t see myself pretending.

9/1/2015 – Day Eighteen.

I didn’t think I would make it.

If I had to be completely honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted too. I counted down the days dreading this trip. Then before I knew it, I was pleading to stay. It doesn’t make much sense to run from one chaos toward another. Running away just adds more to the wanderlust, instead of satisfying this hunger of leaving. It’s watching all the darkness in my life transform into different shades of color, instead of variations of black and grey.

I am not ready to leave. I am not ready to return to familiarity. I am not ready to state how I feel to the faces that believe they know me best. Maybe I’ll never be ready. How often can you hide from the world and remain in this hidden bliss. Where no one knows what is going on, because you keep your feelings hidden so efficiently.  If I stay here any longer, I’ll be hiding forever. If I leave now, I have to admit that I am not okay. Going away doesn’t change your problems, it just hides them with better scenery. I am running out of time. Running out of resources to get me out of this mystified existence. Its good to go home. Going home to regroup and start right back all over again. Back to the people who know me best and want nothing but what is best for me. Everything happens for a reason. Even goodbyes are never really forever. I just feel rushed. If only I could just jump back into that mind frame. Jump into these good intentions wrapped with best wishes. But I can’t.

I stand tall on the rooftops staring down at landscapes. At the countless rooftops of these buildings in my memory. I could draw this scenery with my eyes closes. How the storms have settled and gave way to the clear skies that lie in front of me. The wind in my hair and I don’t want to go home but I know I have to. With my bags packed, everything organized and placed in its right place. But home doesn’t feel much like home when you’re gone. Home is just where my things are but its not where my heart lies. Its not where the wind blows straight through me, into my bones cutting me to the core. I can paint my smile, watch the planes come and go, but they don’t lead me home. I don’t know where home is and sitting in chairs people have sat before me, I am not getting close to it.

 

High For This.

I’ve stared at a dozen ceilings in my lifetime. Studying the lights, the vents, the outline of the spaces between the moldings and the walls. Every nook and cranny. Every inch that distance between four walls could take you. It becomes an obsession to finding sanity. An obsession to hide behind the scenes to find a sense of piece of mind.

I’ve written a thousand love letters that flow along the texture from the sky from which I look upon. To thousands of boys that never mattered to the hundreds of boys that never knew. Questions unanswered by the fears of my conscious state and paralyzing present. I don’t know what I am doing anymore. I don’t know how much longer this can go on. I find sanity in secrets and hiding behind these four walls and looking high above where I can see. Maybe I should keep fucking up, feeling fucked up, and just let it all go. Maybe then I’ll find a purpose for these feelings instead of hiding where no one can see me. Or maybe I’ll just keep fucking up with my fucked up way of feeling.

I watch the morning light turn to moonlight, from the rays of light that illuminate the room. I am right here but I am miles away from here. I’ve memorized the ceilings from every place I’ve been too. Every place I’ve laid my head down. The feeling remains the same. A thousand unspoken words spread across the sky, hidden in the dark overlooking these four walls. Words unsaid in the fear of being too honest, too sincere, too fucking fucked up to really say exactly how I feel. This is my crown of thorns, my kingdom of doom in secrets held above the ceilings behind these four walls.

But you are who you are behind these four walls and high ceilings. Not someone you pretend to be outside in the crippling universe where no one understands you. I’ve fucked up so many times. I just can’t help myself. I am fucking up and I have myself to blame. These four walls and high ceilings keep me safe even when all I have is myself to blame.

7/7/2015

Just Breathe.

Breathe in, Breathe out.

Just breathe and the moment will pass. Breathe in all the light, exhale all the dark. I am watching everyone see right through me. Looking through my insides and making me feel small. Because small is what makes everyone feel grand and larger than life. I watch the people surround me, turn into giant monsters of their former selves. Piercing my skin that hides my insides. I can’t take it anymore. Pushing the feelings away and save them for another day. Any other day but today. My chest feels heavier than normal. My heart feels more than it should. The more I breathe in, the faster I see myself exhale. It will all be okay, I am going to be okay.

Breathe.

No matter how many times I tell myself this will pass, it just intensifies even more. I feel it in my bones and straight to my soul. In these moments, I want to say everything I feel inside. Tell everyone, I am not the crazy one. I am not crazy, I feel a little out of it, but I am okay. I sit in silence and wait for this all to pass. A wave of emotions just washes over me. This tsunami of emotions that suffocates my breathing. I am afraid and the fear paralyzes me. Afraid of the risk of bursting out every single one of my feelings that I keep bottled up inside myself. Everyone can see right through me. My demeanor is crystal clear and everyone is looking inside of me. Maybe they are right. I should give up all these ghosts and make myself feel fine. Yet the good days turn to bad days and I can’t help but see smoke. I’m burning up on the inside. Everyone sees it. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep myself together. I am slowly falling apart with every thought I get. My lungs are closing in and I can’t breathe.

It happens to the best of us. Even people that you’d never expect it to happen to. I’ll smile real big and pretty, if it will make you feel better. I’ll tell you what you want to hear. Because breathing never gets easier. Even I know that.

7/4/2015