I hate it with every fiber in my being. The mere sight of it, the six letters in their exact placement, hate it. I know its the person that makes the name. The person that brings life to everything they associate with it. I just never felt that way with my name. It’s a part of my identity that I wish could be taken away. Parts of my life that I wish I could erase from people’s memory. I am not that person anymore. I am not that name. Still the legions of people who knew me before, thats all they can say.
My name makes me feel like a second choice. That my name had never been chosen for me, which in reality it hadn’t. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know the backstory of how names are given. If I could go back I would change everything. Change my name and the stories that go with it. Maybe I would be less afraid. Maybe I would be less timid. Instead I sit and watch my hands shake, and shoulders cringe when people call me by my name. I hate the way people say my name. I hate that people think they know me. I hate that no matter how many times a person can change, their name seems to follow them. That’s not me, thats not even close to who I am. Still this name follows and I can’t help but try my best to escape it.
The more I make excuses, the more I lose a part of myself. A name doesn’t make a person, but I don’t feel like myself anymore. Names make you lose a sense of your identity. Names make you into someone that people expect you to be. I just can’t be that person anymore. Every new person is a chance to start fresh and new with a new name. A chance to be someone bigger than my past expressions. My past follows in the form of introductions, between people who think they know me best. I cringe, then smile, and hold out my hand and pretend I don’t hate the sounds. But I hate the sounds. I hate that, I hate my name. This name isn’t who I am anymore. It never was and it never will be.
That’s not my name, even if you say it and I answer. It’s not my name to me.
Life has been nonstop since the beginning of this trip. So much that at times I feel suffocated with the day to day activities. Some days my body can’t take it and other days I can’t help but force myself to solider on. I put my mask on better than everyone, but being so far from home doesn’t make sense, to force myself to be who I am at home. I rinse off the day and go on my way. Barefaced, hair a mess and pray no one notices me.
When you get older you stop caring about how you look to people. You reach a point where the only person you really care to impress, is yourself. After turning 30, you lose a sense of insecurity about appearance. What I used to care about in my 20’s, has completely disappeared in my 30’s. I have always been insecure about my weight and appearance but when you’re far from home, you really stop giving a shit. I don’t care what people think of me. I reached a point where the mirror holds two faces, Who I see and who I feel. Sometimes I don’t even know who I am anymore. When you face yourself without masks, without makeup, without any trace of your superficial self, you get a sense of who you really are. I am not my eyeliner or mascara or any of the thousands of creams I use on my face. At the same time, I am not the barefaced individual I see before me. You lose a sense of identity after years of hiding beneath masks, but at the same time you’re faced with the reality of how you really feel about yourself. As I inch closer into my 30’s I realize that every year I lose a layer of insecurity that I thought I needed before. I realize that going out of the house without makeup isn’t the end of the world, even if at times I felt as it was.
Lately I just want the rains to weigh me down and absorb into my skin. I want the water to match the streams that fall from my face. I want a lot of things. Mainly to slow down enough to truly enjoy the rain and not run from it. Running for cover to shield myself from the downpours. I want to breathe again and honestly feel the air rise and fall in my chest and into my lungs. I watch as the shell of my former self breaks down at what she used to love. I feel my heart turn to glass and know that at any given moment it will break. When you are occupied with your surroundings you push everything you feel deeper inside of you. I wish I could put into words how it feels. The faster moments come, the sooner the come down. Slow down, relax, feel the weight of the rain on your skin. I just want to stand in silence in complete aw of this large city. Sit and watch the views. Watch as the sky clears.
There was something peaceful about watching you sleep. Knowing that for once you would have nothing to say. Keeping everything inside, when in turn you would die to tell everyone. Inside where no one not even I would hear. Moments like these don’t last forever. Eventually that moment between night and day, we are bound to wake up from. At this point I didn’t care about anything. Not this time, not at this moment. Not the feelings, not the honesty about these reactions. I don’t think I ever slept for fear of waking up and knowing you’d be gone. Gone to reality. Gone to someone else. Gone to the person you were in the daylight.
For those moments when you slept, I loved you so much that my body ached. I loved you so much that it hurt my head. I knew this couldn’t last forever. Doing all these wrongs, never made a right. The morning would wake us and back to the carriages that were already turned into pumpkins. Back to the terrible reality that awaits us. Back to the doors to our souls we close so tightly behind our hearts. But when the night skies fight with the daylight thats when I loved you best. Thats when I felt everything and in turn said nothing. Maybe I was always dreaming. Waking up never felt as good as this moment. I could love you forever if I wanted to. I just don’t think I can. I don’t ever want to wake up.
Doing all these bad things, never made me feel good. Wanting you now, never changed who you were when we woke up. Even good nights have bad mornings. Even you will wake up to be as rotten as the rest. But that moment where the night fights with the daylight, is when I always loved you best. When my body ached from my head to my toes. When no matter how many times I cried out to you, you stayed right where you were. The only times I could have you is when the night would fight with the light. I know I have to wake up from this. I know I have to wake up to who you really are. We are the most terrible people in the most perfect lighting. But at this moment, this current state, even terrible people can sometimes be beautiful too.