Atop my roof, I can see the world from a birdās eye view. I can see the colors of all the cars, hear the blaring sirens, feel the wind in my hair. I can think my thoughts all to myself. I can contort my face into any expression. I can jump and smile and skip and scream. I can dance and sing and swing around the chimney. I can cry with my head in my hands. I can cackle like a supervillain, or hold my head high and grin like a superhero.
Heroism and villainy constantly clash within me; they are a battle within my hollow bones. They may exist to tear me apart, to make me wonder who I am. Or, perhaps, they may just exist to combat my boredom.
I have always been bored, because I have always been dull deep down. I have never been someone to know. I masquerade as an individual. I simply become anyone I like, even a little. Anything that impresses me, I emulate. And I am easy to talk to if you talk at me. I will smile and nod and listen, even when I donāt care. I am a creative only to myself; I am compliance personified.
When I first came to know myself about a year ago, it nearly killed me. When I was able to step out of my mind and look back at my life, my chest ached and my heart cracked with the force of my hatred. My body heaved with shame. My mind spiraled. My hands closed around my throat. My eyes closed, unable to see it all for a moment longer.
Change is a strange thing, because it always feels like just pretending. I want to commit myself to changing, but I feel stuck, rooted in the version of myself that weighs me down just by existing. The past is in the past, and in the present too, at every waking moment in my mind. I have always been good at faking it, but I never quite make it far enough.
Only when I am alone can I be me, can I be true, but I donāt know if this trueness is goodness. I donāt know if I would choose fairness over the need for validation. I donāt know if isolation is the cure or the disease, but it is built into the fiber of my being, and I cannot tear it out from my flesh or hollow bones.
I crave connection, but only my ideal versions of it. Anything else lets me down. I let me down. Everyone lets me down, and joy turns to suffering in the blink of an eye. I wish I could rip my sensitivity out of me with a strong and sudden pull. Instead, I am stuck in myself.
Ever since I was young, I lived within the bounds of my own imagination. I could never stay rooted in one place for very long. I had to escape through thinking, leaving, creating. I could not exist within my mortal body without feeling the dread of myself pushing down on my shoulders. My creativity robbed me of my reality. Now, my reality is all I can see and feel, and I want to get back. I want to crawl back into my fantasies and lay myself to rest there, but I canāt quite find the entrance to my dreamscapes anymore, and I am terrified. Terrified of thinking too much, or too little, of myself and of others. Of failure, of change, of stagnationāof all of it.
Life is a series of fleeting joyous moments and chronic disappointments, and sometimes I smile and accept it. Other times, I lay on my roof and stare at the sun, and wait, wait, wait.
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Iām sorry I havenāt been posting/commenting too much, Iāve been experiencing some writerās block and havenāt been in the best mental state as of late. If anyone has tips on how to be easier on yourself and/or not drown yourself with your own negative thoughts, Iām all ears.
Still love and appreciate you guys on here so much :)
About the Creator
angela hepworth
Hello! Iām Angela and I enjoy writing fiction, poetry, reviews, and more. I delve into the dark, the sad, the silly, the sexy, and the stupid. Come check me out!
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Black Lake
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Comments (6)
Cackle like a supervillain. Being able to contort your face into any expression. ((Your rooftop gives you the perfect amount of freedom. Heroism and villainy may exist to combat your boredom. ((Oh that's the kind of out of the box thinking I always get from you, and each time, I feel giddy when I read it into my understanding. Your creativity robbed you of your reality. So now your reality is all you can see and feel. (((I think the best thing to do (even though this advice is 23 days late) the best thing you can do is not to focus on yourself but what you can do for others. Big or small. Small is a good and acceptable place to start. The compassion and attention you show to others will return to you. You might be doing all of this already, and with that in mind, keep doing that. Resist the urge to ask yourself if you're doing it right. Love you and all that you are right now! Heres a huge hug ā¤ļøš¤
Hello lovely Angela <3 I have comfort to share with you but I'd rather do it privately, as it would be sharing parts of myself that I'd like to keep between just us. If you'd like that, you can reach out to me on IG at @aspenzphoto If you don't feel like it, that's okay too! You are loved and accepted by your friends here. The world needs your sensitivity and insight. It's a strength, not a weakness, but it's hard to feel that way sometimes.
Hugs, Angela ā„ļøā„ļø This is incredibly relatable, how one copies another's persona when socialising, how isolation is when we can be ourselves, or how imagination helps us be ourselves but leaves us drifting and stranded from reality... I'm so sorry! I don't have a resolution for you. But a lot of people have said that writing helps when their emotions are turbulent, even when there's a block trying to stem the flow of creativity. I have come to realise that writers often put parts of their real selves in their words, which may be why it helps. I've read a few of your pieces now and learnt a bit about the writer behind them. And I can say with certainty: the REAL Angela Hepworth is a phenomenal person. ā„ļøā„ļøā„ļø
I'm so sorry you're feeling this way but I don't have any tips š„ŗ I often just let myself cry and it helps me feel better. Or maybe you can talk ChatGPT. I've tried that a few times and it made me feel better as well. Sending you lots of love and hugs ā¤ļø
But you are magnificent, Angela! Why be so hard on yourself? Remember, you are your own best friend. It's the world's job to try and get in to make you feel bad, not yours. And this writing was so honest and you know, we've all been there, in the throes of self loathing. My tips? Don't over-analyse. Acknowledge how you feel and move on. Chances are it's something that's out of your control anyway so why dwell there? Off you go. And ground yourself in things that please you. Do something well even if it's something trivial and revel in the fact. And you know who you are and none of us are perfect. None of us. And we're loved anyway because of that. As long as you're trying your very best, even if that's just keeping your head above water, then you're winning. Keep on keeping on! Chin up and remember that a woman you don't know very well at all but who holds you in high esteem regardless is rooting for you, has faith in you and all that you are and let that buoy you at least for today. And I mean that, sincerely.
I'm sorry you're feeling this way. Unfortunately, I don't have any tips, I've always been too hard on myself and have no idea how to stop it. I hope you feel better soon.