To be a character in your own life

This person constantly picks her nails, so she makes sure she always has acrylics on; she likes them painted red. The nails increase the marks on her palm she makes when she's anxious. Her rings are constantly spun, her necklace is rubbed between her two fingers, and her earring post slips in and out of her first piercing (the fidgeting is unreal). She tries to make her bed every morning, keep her room clean, and do her skincare; these are things that people who have their “life together” do; she fails a lot. Everyone has a thinking face, hers starts from her tongue running across her teeth to the pressure on the tip of her tongue from her fang. 

She tilts her head when she speaks, slightly tucking her hair behind her ear; it makes her seem endearing. She could be considered an affectionate person, reaching out to touch someone's shoulder or hand when they tell her something painful. Her tongue clicks from the roof of her mouth when she's presented with hurtful words or something that is hard to rationalize. Every time she sits down, she crosses her legs in hopes that it makes her appear smaller. She speaks with her hands to the extent that people have made fun of her before. She gets it from her mom.

She wears her heart on her sleeve, it's the most authentic shade of burgundy velvet, like the velveteen rabbit that she loved so much as a kid. The heart that she lays openly for the world to see is a forgery. She is quite talented at fooling people. I think she’s finally found someone who is deserving of the original copy. She fears that once you give it away it is gone forever, at the manipulation of another set of hands. 

She likes to rest the weight of her head on people’s shoulders, but very few people's shoulders are the right height. Her wrists are sore. She craves comfort. There is a difference between a cold distant comfort and a warm sensual comfort; sometimes when you speak with a stranger, you have this belief that a hug from them would heal you. This is the kind of comfort she craves. 

Every once in a while, a bit of an accent slips out, which she has acquired from the people surrounding her. The slight New York accent from her dad and first roommate, the Boston accent from her best friend, the valley girl from her mom, or the southern twang from her forbidden roots. Weird slang that doesn’t make any sense gets incorporated into her sentences, but she tries to filter it out for fear that it makes her sound less educated. She finds herself starting sentences with “also” even if she hasn’t spoken in a while; I think this comes from the words jumping out of her mouth in the middle of her internal dialogue. Her mom says, “No yeah,” before agreeing or relating to something; she adopted this trait. It tends to confuse people. 

Her words spin like a broken record in her head before she can finally spit them out. Internal motivation isn’t enough. She goes nonverbal quite frequently, waiting for her words to finally gain the courage to leave her throat. She has come to know patience personally. This drives her boyfriend crazy. He begs her to speak, but it feels impossible.

She wants to be someone of worth and be equated to something meaningful. She hopes that one day she will be able to live a light life, one that is not suffocating. She longs to be beautiful, but maybe more importantly, see herself as beautiful. She wants to be “better”, and to move away from the diagnoses, both medical and mental. I don't know if that is possible. Maybe acceptance is the key. 

She is confused about what she really wants out of life, to be loved or to love. She doesn't understand how to do both. She tends to isolate herself from all those who want to give her love. She’s confused if they actually want to or if it’s an obligatory chore. However, she is quite literally willing to do anything for the people closest in her life. And those who are not. Really anyone. This needs to stop. 

Not being enough scares the living shit out of her. She fears making eye contact; she's been told you can see everything in her big eyes. You must keep the steel wall high and intact. She is willing to go to extreme lengths to ensure she doesn't turn out like certain people in her life. She’s scared of kites, specifically the big ones at the beach, and claims that she doesn't know why or understand how they make her feel, but really, she fears that the explanation is too personal.

She’s afraid to be laid bare in front of others—what's even scarier is that she chooses to do it. Does she want to get hurt? We tend to hide those parts of ourselves, scared to display our wounds in fear that the conviction and disapproval of others will hit too deep. 

She loves more than she will ever allow herself to receive; she calls herself a people pleaser, but I really think it's a terrifying form of self destruction. She doesn't know any better, but she will get angry with you for not stopping her. She frequently forgets that she's stubborn. Her relationships tend to disintegrate as she simultaneously lets them disintegrate her. 

She enjoys picking up bad habits from the people she loves. It makes her think of them every time she executes them. She likes thinking of the people who take up space in her heart. Strangely, she wants to become better at the bad habit than the original owner of it. 

To experience the pain of grief is a gift. In some light, you can see that grief is the pain of having so much love for someone, or something, and with nowhere to put it. To experience love is to experience pain. She finds herself always grieving, whether it is a different version of herself, the feeling of happiness, a moment in time, or a physical being, she always finds something to grieve over, I think she enjoys the pain. 

To explain a person's existence means to understand them at their most vulnerable. To imagine how they behave in their room alone, in conversations with people they know and love and with strangers. To lay out who you are from a third person perspective is the most terrifying, it is a sort of embarrassingly painful therapy. 

But no character remains stagnant, everyone has an arc. Maybe she’ll stop painting her nails red, the red from the heart on her sleeve is enough; maybe she’ll find a shoulder that is just the right height. Hopefully, she’ll learn how to let people in, make eye contact, and uncross her legs; it leads to spider veins and we all know she doesn't want that. Maybe she’ll start drinking more tea to warm her throat, she has important words that want to escape; I think she’s getting warmer.

If you truly think about it, you are just a character in your own life, hopefully the main character, but a character nonetheless. 

March 2025