I don't get it....
I worry.... I fret...
I drive myself crazy.
I want to appear strong, am I a strong person?
I don't watch television, have no idea even the programs that are on.
I don't have much of a wardrobe...I tend to wear the same clothes over and over again...
but it is what I am comfortable in. Does it matter that I am not a fashion guru?
Who am I?
I don't know....or do I?
Who could possibly care about me?
The real me....
The one who likes to shower twice a day, and wants to eat healthy (but loves chocolate), and read, and paint, and just plain soak up life. The one who likes to laugh and be silly and do ridiculous things because they are fun. The one who doesn't wear makeup..in fact knows nothing about it.
Who could possibly love this person? The person who likes to ride her shiny red bike with the basket around town, smiling and waving to strangers. Spending hours in the library. Who could possibly care about the person who cares more about laughing then about money? The person who just wants to connect with others....
I feel like a stranger in this world. I feel like people don't get me. I am constantly apologizing for who I am.
The writer....the painter...the photographer...who really isn't any of those things, but enjoys them. I love to write...I love to paint...and I love to take photos...does that matter?
I am not good with the spoken word. I get tongue tied and shy. I don't know what to say. And then I get embarrassed because I want to appear strong...I never want to appear weak.
But sometimes I am sad.
And sometimes I cry.
People hurt my feelings, and I bleed inside...don't we all?
I don't need much....some paint...a journal to write in...a book to read....I am happy that way.
But who would ever think I that is a good thing? Who could possibly understand that the sound of the ocean eases my heart, and children's laughter lights up my soul? Who could ever understand that I just want to be seen....I just want to be heard. I am a person.
Sometimes I feel invisible.
Sometimes I am scared.
I am ashamed to admit these feelings, but don't we all feel them? Do we?