19/12/2017

20:42

In the midst of losing myself and pretending to be a lot of things I wasn’t maybe I had everyone else fooled. Maybe I even had myself fooled but not you.

Despite the front I put up and the walls I hit behind, you saw right through me.

It’s scary to meet someone who knows you better than you know yourself.

It’s even scarier to meet someone who is so much like you, you realize you can’t pretend around them.

Someone who understands the things you don’t say.

Someone who takes time to read between the lines of your awkward and fridging attitude.

Someone who can tell you're nervous because of a habit no one else has watched closely enough to pick up on.

Someone who can tell what type of day you’re having based on your tone or the dialect you choose in a single text.

I played the role of what people needed.
I played the role of what I thought people wanted.

The cost was losing myself at the expense of appeasing them.

But I never had you fooled.

You took the time to learn about every scar running your fingers over it showing me the past didn’t have to hurt and it was okay to feel these things that deeply.

You took the time to learn exactly why I was being that way and you taught me I didn't have to blame myself for a lot of the things that happened to me.

You took the time to took a care of me and accept me for exactly who I am and through your acceptance, I learned to like myself a little more.

Healing started and ended with you. 

Maybe it’s how contradicting I am.
A hopeless romantic with too much pride. A giver with her guards up high. A skeptic who believes in fairy tales. A realist with a wild imagination. A sensitive soul with a tough shell.

Maybe it’s how I can’t find the balance. How I switch from one extreme to another. How I go from saying too much to saying nothing. How I go from loving too much to staying far away. How I go from giving too much to not giving anything at all. Maybe my fear is holding me back from going all in because the last time I went all in, I lost everything. Or maybe it’s the fear of giving my all to the wrong person again.

Maybe it’s my baggage. The one I don’t really hide. The one I’ve been carrying alone for years and I won’t pretend like I don’t some help with it. The one that’s been draining me over and over again and I expect love to help me unload some of it because the way I see it, two is always better than one. The way I see it, your baggage makes you human and strong and vulnerable. Your scars make you an extraordinary person. Your tragedies make you beautiful and if I have to lie about all of that, then I might as well die.

I might as well give up everything I’ve built and everything I’ve learned and become a completely banal person. A person who gave up on their exceptional story to be a secondary character in someone else’s story. And I refuse to be that person. I refuse to be the girl who’s ashamed of her baggage. I refuse to be the girl who pretends to be light and chill and stoic when she can’t even catch a break from all the heaviness in her heart.

Maybe it’s me but this is who I am.
I can tweak some things and work on others but it’s always going to be me and it took me a very long time to like myself. It took me a very long time to accept the incomplete and bruised parts of me. It took me a very long time to realize that I could do everything right and still get it wrong because I’m not being true to myself. It took me a very long time to realize that maybe it’s me but I wouldn’t have it any other way and if that’s a problem for someone, one day it will be a solution for someone else. 

___

an open letter to Dear one.

Derwin Lionar