Sometimes, I hate myself.

Let me explain how my life goes.

I write something deeply personal. I go through a five minute process of fighting in my head if I should post or share it with anyone.

Sometimes, and rarely, the battle convinces me to keep it to myself, and those are the things nobody will ever see. At least for a long time.

Most of the time, I let myself go and hit the publish/send button.

Then comes the hard part.

Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap. Crap.

That’s how I feel after every post goes up, or every time I email someone something personal, or important, or honest.

It’s a terrible feeling.

You know, that moment when you say something you didn’t mean to, or really meant to, and then you have this microsecond of panic before the other person responds?

That panic is what I feel on a huge scale, and it can stretch from ten minutes to a few days, or even forever.

Because sometimes the response comes really late, or never.

Being honest is horrible.

You feel horrible until someone reassures you that they still love you/accept you/ don’t think you are a pathetic loser despite whatever you were honest about.

All my posts are so honest; it’s physically terrifying to publish them.

What’s really frustrating is that I have this really annoying defense system up in my brain.

In real life, I am all locked doors and guards.

It takes me months to become comfortable enough with someone to let them in.

I will laugh at your jokes, but you won’t hear my humor until we’ve known each other for a while.

I will say my opinion, but in a timid way that will make you think that I am a quiet soul.


Those who really know me, know that I am passionate, and vocal, and have too much to say.

More like my writing.

In my writing, there are no defenses up. I give you me.

So when I write something that expresses my deepest self, it is scary to share it with the masses.

The people who don’t actually know me.

The people who know the “who-I-am-around-people-me”

It’s such a strange combination of the most real me and the most hidden me.

When I bump into people in public and they begin to comment on my posts that they have read, it’s this mind-warping moment of “Oh, crap. This person know’s my deepest  thoughts. But I have all my guards up right now.”

It’s confusing.

That’s why i’m always scared after I post something. Especially when I hear no response for days. That’s when my guarded Me shows up, and feels terrible. “Why did you share this with humans? This is almost worse than small talk! You let yourself out, you told people something personal, or embarrassing, or real.”

But, then I do get a response. Someone mentions they read my post and related to it.

Someone else tells me they love reading my blog.

Then I feel brave again, then I know that honesty is the key to keep the world turning.

So I am honest again.

Then I hate myself.

Then I go through the process again, always hoping that my honesty this time won’t break me.

This post is glaringly honest. It’s giving away all my secrets. When you talk to me in real life, and all I do is laugh at your jokes, you’ll know that behind all those doors is an actual crazy person.

Something that I always thought I should hide.

But it’s too frustrating.

It’s so hard to have to always have my guard up, and I hate that I can’t get past those doors faster than my heart lets.

I hate that it takes just so long for me to be the same person around you that I am in my writing/in my room/around my family and closest friends.

I hate that I can’t be as honest in everyday conversations as I am on paper.

Someone once said that authentic people are the best, because as soon as you know them, you KNOW them.

I want to be an authentic person, but once you know me, it’s a long journey until you KNOW me.

So, I’ll keep breaking down the door, and be myself in my writing.

I hope that some of you can find the real me, behind the awkward, I-hate-small-talk, defenses up girl that you might bump into on the street.

Excuse me now, while I hit publish, and then hide under my covers for a few days regretting the moment I let the world in.

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