Childhood for me was silence. I never exposed a pure thought or emotion that I was feeling. I could not find the courage, or the right words to say what I felt. As a young adult, I found myself plopped in the middle of the high stakes world of the international fashion scene. My words were a mirage. I released brilliant one-liners. Considered wildly out of control, the persona I presented was an in your face, Go f*ck yourself if you don’t like itbad girl.
It was all made up. It was a mask. It was my costume. I cared deeply about what others thought of me. I took to heart their criticisms. I believed them when they said that my opinion did not matter.
When it all became too much, I went silent again. I decided to hide, in broad daylight. My mind raged on. Feelings of wonder, hurt, confusion and lust hidden behind my clear, blue eyes. I became what was considered a cold-hearted bitch. Yes, it is true. People, some of whom I cared deeply for, actually said that to me.
What nobody understood was that I always hated my thoughts and my words. Because it always seemed to me that I could never deliver them in what was considered an acceptable way. To make matters worse, the words I chose to articulate my thoughts did not express what I was trying to convey. Filled with anxiety of exposure, I could not share my ideas without worrying about how they might be perceived.
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