In my twenties, I think my life was my stage, a stage I could not leave. I felt like my whole life was some sick performance that I had to prove I deserved to be on. I still feel this even at the ripe old age of 32. But back then, for many reasons we don't have time to get into, I felt like a cheap court jester trying desperately to make you smile so she could go to sleep at night knowing someone may have liked her, hell even love her. I needed people to love me, or else I did not matter. I became increasingly more exhausted just being me. I could not let people see me when I was angry, sad, or scared. I wasn't allowed to hurt anyone's feelings even by accident. I walked on this tightrope that I had designed for myself. Above a stage built for just me. I suppose this was a self imposed hell I thought I deserved.

After many years of healing and just surrounding myself with solid people, I finally have let myself be imperfect. It is still a work in progress. I still struggle being at all visibly frustrated with someone. I catastrophize that, that means our friendship will end. Just this morning while staying with my best friend I made her silence become a trial I put myself through. I made a whole play in my head, ways she might be upset, sad or angry and how I could've contributed to it, or if not me, someone else. It is a catastrophizing that I am prone too and I know my therapist would agree ;) . Yet, I don't want to be on this stage anymore. I'd like to come down. I have been taking a step each day since I hit 30 years old. I am taking the risk for people to see the raw me, the one that is emotional at times, one that can feel pain, but most of all someone who can burn with anger.

I'd like to take that risk. I think it is about time.

Every morning is a risk, the sun scorning my tardiness to her day, so she beats down when i work under her gaze. The pit in my stomach tells me every step is a chance for things to go awry. Instead I let my brain be empty and fill my stomach with life. I argue with the future, when i risk my gifts, her old friend bickers too. I'm glad I woke up, I'm saddened it was not sooner i chose to run towards the unknown, but then i did have something to lose, is it a risk if i've nothing other to choose.

There was one time I cheekily asked for a guys guitar at a party around a little fire. Annie fed me many bud lights. I played said guitar, I woke up with blood on my face, not knowing the name, or whomes house I was at, or period blood on my face (Annies... i forgot that AM), and her apologizing to me profusely. It was ghastly.

I'm still not over her 15 years later.