“So I am working at a management consulting firm, but REALLY I am a writer and let me tell you about this great story I’m writing.” A clever magician’s trick, this art of illusion.
Yet, I wonder if it really worked. I know people enjoy a good story, especially ones with ghosts and murder and Miss Havishams in gothic gowns, but could they see what was really going on as I un-spooled my tale? Could they see my marriage un-ravelling? Could they see this heavy black cloak of depression I dragged elegantly through my life? Could they see loneliness? Could they see through the disguise, and spot the woman trying too hard to convince herself and that yes! she had it all together and that yes, she was happy.
What happens when you set down your shield, take off your armor, and try to remain still, while involuntarily trembling, like an ugly oyster broken open, not for just 1 day, or 1 week, but for 1 whole year? What happens then to your tender underbelly?
I imagine the sun shrivels and scars what flesh remains, that pieces of you may be picked at and torn by ravenous scavengers, that perhaps you risk even dying.
And I am afraid of that.
So tell me, Friend and Reader, are you still there? Tell me that this risk is worth taking.
For in truth, I can not see the point of walking away from that which has called me.
I cannot see the point in standing, as just myself, before you. I don’t know where I am going with this, and I can not see the path ahead.