Sometimes, you suppress who you are. People hurt you, even burn you. You then come to a dangerous conclusion: you are not just different, you are a freak and it is all your fault. I had to kill who I was. Impossible of cause. When you lose self you are not alive.. I told myself I was going to walk with my feelings on my sleeve, that I would let myself go. I felt diluted for so long. It was good. I spoke for the first time. I learned their ways and it was good. I could not breathe though. I only caught a breath when I was with specific people. But that is not the story. The story starts after it all, after the pain of gradually losing self disappears. When you wake up and find yourself back in your own skin. When you open your eyes and find darkness, black and familiar, welcoming. The light starts to hurt your eyes again. I suddenly realised I was apologizing. This was who I was. Why had I been hiding? Did it give me anything? This is the man I am. Who cares what the world says. Is it not that the greatest contribution I can spare to the society is being myself? Then I remember society. I realise I created one around me. You cannot avoid them. I cant. What now? An old face in a new world. Im numb. Im unable to move. I dunno how to. But then maybe I don't need to. I am who I am. And I must proceed as such
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