I am a chameleon.
I don’t know who I am.
When people say ‘be authentic’, this makes no sense to me.
My whole life, I have been told how to act, how to be. And if I don’t fit, I was teased or chastised, so I changed.
I changed to fit the person or the situation.
I changed to fit the box I was told to go in.
It was never comfortable, but I did my best to push in all my sparkly bit, the pieces that made me me into a box where I didn’t fit.
All to make others comfortable and so I wouldn’t be teased or told off… but even that didn’t work.
When I was able, I would retreat into a world of stories, of books, movies, TV shows.
I would sit at my desk and let my imagination take over.
In those moments, I was truly me.
I was authentic, I could express myself.
No one would tease me, no one would tell me off.
Others would like my stories and ask to see more.
Even when others wouldn’t read them, writing stories helped me to be me.
I didn’t have to fit into a box, I could write whatever I wanted, however I wanted.
I surround myself with stories. My home is not a home until I’m surrounded by books.
Stories are the place where I can be authentically me.
I am stories.
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