Most of my life, I've wanted to be someone else. Someone more exciting, someone stronger, someone wilder. I wanted it so bad, that I made someone up. She's in my dreams...and is, and always has been, everything I ever wanted to be. This was how I learned some form of lucid dreaming. I put her through her paces..her life is shit. But, she perseveres. She's strong. Rock solid, and shows little emotion. She's elegant and graceful. She's smooth, cold...with touches of warm spots. She's dark and exotic. She's wild and crazy, living just a little bit on the edge. The dark seductress/bad girl that no man can resist. She's had many names...but the one that's been hers for a long time is Kolby. I don't know why...maybe its my own personal like for that name. For a long time, what I felt was through her. I felt nothing of my own, or tried very hard not to.
I still do this.
When I get hurt, I retreat. I read a book..because its okay to cry for the characters, but it isn't okay to cry for me. Crying is weak. In me it is. In others, its not. In recent years, I've gotten to the point where I despise crying in front of people. It shows them that they've hurt me, and it shows them that I'm weak enough to let them. Needless to say, I grew up with my nose in a book. Where it still resides, with the exception of me being on the internet. But here, I have an escape as well. I roleplay..and for a time, I can *be* someone else. My characters are an extension of me, to some degree. Self expression has never been a real strong point..but it has gotten weaker over the last few years. One of the last vestiges left to me is my writing....which has only recently been opened to others. That is me, the core of me. It is what I think, what I feel, what I want. Writing is my pride and joy, and my ultimate escape. Some days...I wonder if I really know who the real 'me' is.
The very same walls that protect you can become your prison.