Confessions to a stranger

1. I get angry sometimes — really, really angry — and that’s okay. My fists turn into flaming steel and I want to punch something thick, something solid. I want to throw things at the wall or sprint until all the fire inside me is put out, or yell and cry until the world apologizes for being a cruel place, an unhappy place. I get angry sometimes, but I will learn to control it. I will tame myself.

2. There is this hole that I sometimes fall into, helplessly, a hole that seems to have infinite depth and a dark, commanding gravity that pulls me down, down, down. I dread sitting at the bottom of this hole feeling nauseous from the fall, but it is sometimes difficult to claw my way out.

3. Sometimes I worry that I am not truly human, because try as I may, I can never fully comprehend what you are feeling. I will cry for you, and laugh with you, but I will never quite cry as many tears or laugh as loudly as I know I probably ought to. Empathy should not have to learned, but I am going to learn it anyways.

4. I am not a fighter. I am afraid of confrontation, I am afraid of upset people, but most of all, I am afraid of being the one to upset them. My insides bruise as easily as a peach bruises, but I do not have its hard core. I am delicate everywhere — breakable — though I am trying to grow more resilient. Next time, I will stand up for myself, and if you need me to, I will stand up for you too.

5. I think that boom box scenes exist in real life and that someday, someone will lasso me the moon or propose with a cereal box ring engraved at Tiffany’s.

6. There is a bright orange sign on my forehead. “Detour,” it says in large, flashing letters. Turn the other way — drive around me — this is road under repair. A dangerous creaking sound emanates from a crane as it tries to lift my heart and scaffolds hold up my bones, temporarily. I am trying to stand without them, but it may be a while under all the construction signs are taken away.  

7. The synapses in my brain are not as quick yours, my neurons not as clever. I’m intimidated by people who are more intelligent than me — and more than that, I sometimes even resent them. How can I not feel small when they so clearly spell out my incompetence?

8. I feel naked and guilty and vulnerable with my confessions lying here at your feet. Sometimes I fear that I am defined by my weaknesses…and perhaps that’s my last confession.


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