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    dots Submission Name: I'm not real.dots

    Author: awastedsky
    ASL Info:    22/f/AZ
    Elite Ratio:    5.1 - 116/151/98
    Words: 483
    Class/Type: Prose/Dark
    Total Views: 568
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2707

       I'm living a double life, and I always have been.

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsI'm not real.dots

    I've never been good at handling life. I say life, and not stress, because I'm excellent at handling stress and yes, there is a difference. Always overworked yet graceful in the constant sense of over-obligation, whisking from one duty to another with a smile on my face, organization in my head, and never with anything but complete and utter composure.

    I learned young that being so busy that I never had time to relax kept the thoughts banished from my head - good thoughts, bad thoughts and everything in between. Or could one really classify any of them? Regardless, I didn't want to think any thoughts, no matter their category, because thinking was scary and thinking inspired realizations and realizations appeared to take me out of their comfort zone. So downtime became a foreign concept, much to my relief. No more thoughts.

    But every once in a while, a day off from everything happens upon my lap accidentally. And I find that being too busy and suddenly stopping to think works quite the same as going too long without sleeping - you dip straight into the heart of a REM cycle without hesitation. I sat down one morning, on a day with nothing that had to be done, and realized the scary thoughts of my life were taking over my head. Obligations in my personal life to which I did not want to attend. Personal ties I had neglected. Conceptions and ideas that could do with becoming something that I'd forgotten.

    My husband is perfect for me in many senses, one of which he helps me not attend to these obligations. He doesn't neglect them with me; instead he accomplishes them for me to the best of his ability. Doctors appointment to be made? He does it. Bill to pay? I hand him the money and he pays it. Trip to the store? I'm too ill and he's on his way. The illness never invented, but what is truly being ill like? I'm not a liar, but agoraphobia doesn't appear to describe what I have. My fake work persona leaping into a crowd to entertain all seems like an odd split from my normal, introverted self who hides her phone on the daily because she is fearful of hearing the voice of another on the phone.

    I like my husband best when he is strong for me. I tire of being fake strong in my fake life when the real me is meek and afraid. I like him best when he says that it will be taken care of, whatever it is. When he protects me from the outside world I fear. When I rest into his arms knowing that it will all disappear soon.

    But if you met the charming, outside-me, smiling with the booming voice and the bright eyes and animated motions, you'd never know this.

    Submitted on 2011-06-06 19:02:25     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      This reminds me of a medical condition called the Impostor Phenomenon, which is described as the capacity to create a persona to meet the need of any group or situation while simultaneously fearing that someone will discover the "person" that is being displayed isn't real. This usually involves successful people who fear that an audience will realize that they are unworthy/underserving of their success.

    By the way, the ability to create masks is the beginning of effective fiction. Just a thought.

    | Posted on 2011-06-09 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ]

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