When The Aperture Shuts.....

"You will soon learn that only by hastily skimming the errors of the past can we hope to mostly avoid repeating what we dimly remember them to be in the future."

Vulnerability is a foreign, tricky sort of creature. One I'm torn between viewing as a positive and the catalyst of my demise. I don't let my guard down easily... Until very recently, not at all. I find myself envying those who aren't affected by the opinions of others. Is that something learned or owned? Both? 


From the time I was young(er) and naive(er), I was reminded to be ever-vigilant of what I portray and how that's perceived.  I was taught etiquette and social grace... The subjects to avoid in civil conversation and those to be altogether suppressed. Taught that black is slimming and certain hairdos will "add pounds". Everything I was - scrutinized at length and a red-lined report card handed out accordingly. I knew shame and humility. Fitting in and neither being seen nor heard. And all was right in the world. 


As time went by and experience piled up, all of that seemed a load of rubbish. I began questioning and venturing outside those isolating walls. Pushing limits. Boundaries. Buttons. Questioning. Discovering. Growing. 


It was so entirely liberating shattering the status quo. Rebelling merely by being. 


Still... there were always those nagging little insecurities tattooed upon my DNA. The what ifs and what thens leading to what nows. Consequences for my actions, even if only carried out within the confines of my skull. Self doubt and loathing. The pity tea parties I've referenced time and time again. 


As evolution tends to dictate, there was a period of adaptation to my environment. Of falling back in line and tucking the unsavory bits deep down inside. I found I often defaulted to the path of least resistance as a result of my years teeming with trial and error. All of this is to say the character I portray is merely the result of the traits met with the most positive response. For several years, now, this calculated effort has proven to be the sweet spot of an existence. For several years, now, I have been slowly, methodically and unwittingly killing myself. 


To have a taste of freedom... That delicious moment following an elaborate performance when you run off stage and strip off all the layers of this facade... Off with the wig, the makeup, the shoes, the dress.... the corset falls to your now bare feet simultaneously with the moment the stockings are tossed aside.... When you run naked through the emergency exit and the cold, night air hits the sweat of your scalp, sending chills racing across your flesh,... Forcing you to exhale for what feels like the first time since birth. Your eyes slowly adjust and focus in on the expansive ceiling of twinkling stars above. THAT is a freedom so exquisite, you can hardly contain the smile emanating from somewhere within your soul! 


In that single, perfect moment... To so much as consider doing it all again in a matter of hours... Well, let's just say fleeing the scene and going permanently on the lam doesn't seem the slightest bit unreasonable, irrational or insane. Yet every day, for bloody YEARS, I wake up, rinse and repeat. Despite resounding cries of "everyone LOVES Annie", my anxiety has been at an all time high. With disturbingly rare exception, I'm shielded from any negative remark or harsh word. The worst insults seem to come in the form of basically pointing out the obvious.... About my tendencies to flake out on plans or the fact that I'm never on time anymore. Even those criticisms are softened by excuses of "that's to be expected, you've been through a lot". I'm living a pretty sheltered existence, here, folks. 


But something has changed.


Actually, a LOT has changed.


Too much exposure? Perhaps the perfect amount. 


The stars are blindingly beautiful tonight.













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Kitty

Monday, May 16, 2016

When The Aperture Shuts.....

"You will soon learn that only by hastily skimming the errors of the past can we hope to mostly avoid repeating what we dimly remember them to be in the future."

Vulnerability is a foreign, tricky sort of creature. One I'm torn between viewing as a positive and the catalyst of my demise. I don't let my guard down easily... Until very recently, not at all. I find myself envying those who aren't affected by the opinions of others. Is that something learned or owned? Both? 


From the time I was young(er) and naive(er), I was reminded to be ever-vigilant of what I portray and how that's perceived.  I was taught etiquette and social grace... The subjects to avoid in civil conversation and those to be altogether suppressed. Taught that black is slimming and certain hairdos will "add pounds". Everything I was - scrutinized at length and a red-lined report card handed out accordingly. I knew shame and humility. Fitting in and neither being seen nor heard. And all was right in the world. 


As time went by and experience piled up, all of that seemed a load of rubbish. I began questioning and venturing outside those isolating walls. Pushing limits. Boundaries. Buttons. Questioning. Discovering. Growing. 


It was so entirely liberating shattering the status quo. Rebelling merely by being. 


Still... there were always those nagging little insecurities tattooed upon my DNA. The what ifs and what thens leading to what nows. Consequences for my actions, even if only carried out within the confines of my skull. Self doubt and loathing. The pity tea parties I've referenced time and time again. 


As evolution tends to dictate, there was a period of adaptation to my environment. Of falling back in line and tucking the unsavory bits deep down inside. I found I often defaulted to the path of least resistance as a result of my years teeming with trial and error. All of this is to say the character I portray is merely the result of the traits met with the most positive response. For several years, now, this calculated effort has proven to be the sweet spot of an existence. For several years, now, I have been slowly, methodically and unwittingly killing myself. 


To have a taste of freedom... That delicious moment following an elaborate performance when you run off stage and strip off all the layers of this facade... Off with the wig, the makeup, the shoes, the dress.... the corset falls to your now bare feet simultaneously with the moment the stockings are tossed aside.... When you run naked through the emergency exit and the cold, night air hits the sweat of your scalp, sending chills racing across your flesh,... Forcing you to exhale for what feels like the first time since birth. Your eyes slowly adjust and focus in on the expansive ceiling of twinkling stars above. THAT is a freedom so exquisite, you can hardly contain the smile emanating from somewhere within your soul! 


In that single, perfect moment... To so much as consider doing it all again in a matter of hours... Well, let's just say fleeing the scene and going permanently on the lam doesn't seem the slightest bit unreasonable, irrational or insane. Yet every day, for bloody YEARS, I wake up, rinse and repeat. Despite resounding cries of "everyone LOVES Annie", my anxiety has been at an all time high. With disturbingly rare exception, I'm shielded from any negative remark or harsh word. The worst insults seem to come in the form of basically pointing out the obvious.... About my tendencies to flake out on plans or the fact that I'm never on time anymore. Even those criticisms are softened by excuses of "that's to be expected, you've been through a lot". I'm living a pretty sheltered existence, here, folks. 


But something has changed.


Actually, a LOT has changed.


Too much exposure? Perhaps the perfect amount. 


The stars are blindingly beautiful tonight.













No comments:

Post a Comment