We are all just pretending!

We are in a world full of pretenders and we are all just pretending! We put on a show of things, for the benefits of others, or for our own personal benefits. Chances are, you are one of the pretenders.

This pretentiousness starts from an early age from the moment we are children. It begins since childhood, in a world of make believe, when as a child we pretend to be superheroes, play with dolls and pretend to be mothers, play with toy swords and pretend to be pirates. As children, we learn to pretend and to feed the imagination. It’s innocent, is it not?

But when does it change? When does pretending become a mental survival mechanism? Pretending not to be hurt, when someone says something ugly? Pretending to be strong when your grandfather just passed away? Pretending to know more than you really do, on that job interview? Pretending to like something so as not to avoid hurting other’s feelings? Don’t you ever feel like such a sham or a fake?

I wish I could give up with that feeling of a pretender. I am trying and I am partly being able to.

I have witnessed so much pretending, that for a long time it was hard to distinguish between real and fake. I went straight from candidly believing that everybody who pretended to be my friend, was in fact my friend, to becoming overly cynical and questioning everyone’s motives. Such as: Why is she so nice to me? You can play endless mind games with yourself when you start questioning everyone’s motives and behaviours, when in all honesty, you should be questioning your own.

A hard fact of life is this- you have people who will want you to fail, and who will pretend to be happy for you. You will have people who will tell you that everything is normal, because they need it to be normal, or you just might leave them behind. There will always be pretenders.

Pretending gets normalized. We tend to hide behind fake social media accounts (I’ve been doing it too), because people are rude, cruel and because we feel embarrassment. Some don’t want their co-workers, their friends, even sometimes their own family members to know the private hell they are going through, all the while pretending that they’re perfectly okay!

I’ve seen mean people pretend to be nice, sweet people pretend to be hard, the scared pretend to be brave, and the evil ones pretend to be saints. You would be surprised at how many people will be relieved when you stop pretending. You will give courage to others, and you will no longer give people a reason to pretend around you.

It’s extremely liberating to tell people now that I struggled with my own insecurities, never feeling pretty enough, or good enough. That I was one of the best pretenders this world has ever seen. That I struggled to pay my bills when my ex boyfriend gambled away my money. That I struggled with thoughts of suicide. But I am still a work in progress and I presume we all are.

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Hard to dissociate!

It was a night without stars, a sleepless night, during which all these unanswered questions are being asked at irregular intervals and these torment our hearts that are already very fragile. Going back in time, I found myself faced with a reality that I had often wanted to conceal: “Love” and I had not been getting along for a long time. Not that I had ceased to believe in it, but I felt that I had often lost myself, given a lot and received very little. And when I had received, it didn’t last for a long time. Hush! Let’s turn the page.

The result was unsatisfactory. I had most of the time been with someone not made for me, with the wrong one who was unable to invest in the long term, or was not ready. As soon as it is a question of feelings, I badly want to escape. As I lay on my bed, feeling insomniac, I decided that it was over, that I would not give in more even if sometimes loneliness weighs too much.

I had my lot of liars, cheaters, I had my lot of feelings played with, guys who had almost promised me the moon and who were not even able to pick up their phone to say that they would not go further with the relationship that we shared. I had my share of bogus excuses. I have had really enough. I had given my heart to people who did not know the value of love, the value of loving them to a point that you forget who you are. I regret having been in the arms of men who lacked etiquette and tact. I had never been appreciated for who I truly am.

That day I decided to love myself more, I knew how to say “no” without being afraid of being rejected. I was no longer subject to the power of others and was no longer a mistress of their games. I decided that I deserve the best. I so wish people realised that when you love someone, you love him or her the way he or she is. We are not here to change people around but to embrace each other’s difference and live.

When you start a relationship, everyone comes with their story. It all depends on what we want to share or unveil. It all depends on the degree of self-confidence in the other. It is not always easy. People are not identical, neither are feelings. Each and everyone have his way of life.

Everyone makes his choices and that our choices belong to us and do not have to be judged, from the moment when respect and trust are not undermined us, rather it helps us gain experiences and be more mature. Sadly enough, I struggle a lot to be able to dissociate myself from people whose attitudes make me sick and they drain me. Tell me; are you able to dissociate yourself?

Maybe someday, maybe soon.

The black ink ran down the pages of my little notebook. Enlightened by that lamp, the notebook was drowned. I was writing in my room when I ended up falling asleep and the ink got the opportunity to escape. With heavy eyes, I watched the black ink invade the blank pages. I had just started writing and the virginity of the white paper had already been penetrated by the black ink. The clock on my side table indicated 23:55. A new day was waiting to be lived in different ways. A new day that offered the pleasure of dreaming and the pleasure of believing once again. 11:56 p.m. We believe it, yes! We believe in the promise of the dawn, the rays of the sun that comes to awaken us. 11:57 p.m. Do you remember what color was the sky that day? Do you remember the few seconds that preceded our meeting? 11:58 p.m. I took a taxi that day, it was about two o’clock. I had put on that grey turtle neck sweater and it had become my favorite sweater. 11:59 p.m. The moment of meeting was not calculated, that of the farewell, on the other hand, was expected.I did not have the courage to turn around. I smiled promising a new meeting. 0:00 Maybe someday, maybe soon. Between the past and the future, only the present belonged to me. 0:01 It was a new day. I tore the blackened pages of my notebook and with them the date of my calendar. I plunged into the bed, dreaming of the color of the sky that he would make that day. Maybe someday, maybe soon.

Because being committed is too mainstream!

I read between the lines and I listen between the words to stories of people around. I read about the desire for sharing, for tenderness. I read about desires and needs, and I understand that we’re all human in the end. I sometimes read about the fear of loneliness. I read about the fear to trust, about the aching heart that wonders if the wounds will heal. I read about abandonment. But I also read about hope.

I listen to resignation: “love is not for me”, “it’s my last chance”, and worse: “who would want me?”. I see people embarking on relationships without emotions and feelings. Happiness for two, I believe, is perhaps only an illusion.

Celibacy chosen and therefore accepted is a source of peace and harmony. Relationships that are forced can weigh heavy and can prove to be an additional burden that we drag, leading to collateral damage of all our past experiences.

I have written for a long time about these fears and doubts. But everything heals with time, patience and some form of forgiveness (depending on what best suits us at a moment), with a lot of love for oneself.

Love exists. It is not necessarily be around the corner. It waits for the right moment in order to write a story together. Yes, we come back. However, it is important for you to know about what you want, what matters and not only be satisfied with more or less, an illusory relationship, which is there only to make us forget someone else, make us move on or make us forget our loneliness.

We come back stronger, more anchored, with more self-esteem, willing to commit and to trust. Without sacrificing nor denigrating ourselves. We come back, able to say words like “no” and “stop” and be able to leave if the relationship does not suit us anymore. As for you as I listen, do not let your fears dictate your way of being, doing, acting and reacting. Trust yourself. Rebuild yourself and look at the horizon with a light heart. We come back stronger in the end. Love will one day cross your path.

Being single sometimes is negatively viewed by many people. In fact, we live in a society that promotes the fulfillment of women through the existence of a man on his side. If we follow the logic of the environment in which we live in, a young girl can be happy and fulfilled only if she has a man in her life and beware if she celebrates and values herself (too much), the man will certainly take to his heels. A very limited and reductive reflection, is it not? Well, we still have a long way to go before mentalities are renewed and evolve towards a more enriching image of celibacy.

So for now, let me unleash the chains of your ills and by my linguistic art allow me to penetrate your wounds from a broken heart, with my words. Be reassured that in an environment of zero gravity, you can be recovered. Being single is not a curse in itself, but rather a moment of recoil to embrace self-value and to fully enjoy life and to see clearer and be able to  view life in a more mature way. Because being committed is too mainstream!

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Innocence ripped by adulthood!

I will soon be thirty but I still feel the soul of a child in the shoes of an ill-fitting adult; a woman who cannot often cope with the demands of a world of adults who are victims of profound vices. It has happened to me several times to look back and regret those moments when my happiness was summed up not to miss an episode of my favourite cartoon ‘Cédric’. Those sweet memories with my playmates, spending holidays at my cousin’s place or getting up late were happiness. I hate this world of adults. I never feel comfortable here. It is a world filled with hypocrisy, competition, materialism where each pursues only his own interests. A world stripped of innocence!

It is very important to pay attention to who you invite in your lives; whether on the family, professional, friendly or even sentimental level. I learned at my expense. I like to live in my bubble. I created my world where some people have the right to be invited. However, this lifestyle choice has had its advantages and disadvantages. I have known people who positively marked my existence, people who have been like rays of lights in my life. They enlightened me. I also met people who have sadly hardened me, but how do you get out of this world so brutal if you remain like a child at heart? I had to adapt. These people have messed up with my innocence. I have come to understand that not everyone has good intentions, that human beings are undulating and diverse… elusive creatures.

Fortunately, I have never violated my integrity. I made mistakes that cost me my peace temporarily, but I managed to rectify the shot on time. To be able to navigate in a world of adults, you must be a fine strategist. You must tap into your mind to anticipate the actions or inactions of others. A very exhausting task, is not it? A task that I still have trouble doing. My only consolation is the world that I have created… my bubble, my indestructible cocoon, this cocoon where I am, or I do not need to pretend, or I do not need to be at war, or everyone is happy and at peace!

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To the ones I loved.

main-qimg-1596605adde4dea9ca8f08bae6480c47-cTo those men of my life: I loved them. Badly loved! I loved them passionately with the fear of losing them. I lost them. I loved them with all the ardor and madness of my twenties. I loved them so much that I forget that I exist, denying my own self completely. I loved them by making them a priority, changing myself for them and ignoring their missteps. I loved them with passion to an extent that my heart crumbled. I allowed them to play with my heart.

We often had nothing in common. We have created memories, some sweet, those we sometimes talk about to friends when we feel nostalgic. I feel some kind of tenderness for some of these men, those who left, and those whose pictures still speak of what is no longer but was, charming, graceful, happy, and full of honest feelings.

I thank each and every one of them for making me understand something essential, something that I would have not known if they had not been there, that of valuing and loving my own darn self. Far from them thus begins the meeting that I delayed too long, for fear of having to look in the face, for fear of facing my demons. The only real encounter that is important does not include them, just the time that I finally feel at peace with me.

Looking at the mirror for long, I realised that I spoiled a lot of years, looking for the  approval of some males. I decided that now I’m done trying, I’m done experiencing failures in relationships. It’s time to turn the pages, or simply to tear those pages, to start afresh and to love myself profoundly because losing yourself for a certain period of time, is not a loss in itself.

 

Knackered

It’s one o’clock, maybe two, maybe three. I do not know anymore. My life has no more hours. It has a strange consistency. It justifies itself of everything and gets lost in everything. My life is suspended by a thread of uncertainties, doubts, paths to take, fears to appease and silences to master. My life is a chaos in which I feel like a ghost. I cannot control anything anymore. My life is empty of laughter and full of deep anxieties, which expand the night, which shake my days.

It’s one o’clock, maybe two, maybe three. I do not know anymore. I am alone at home. And I’m scared. I’m having chills, my body seems to be like a playground on which dances the shadows of this “invisible relationship” that began eight years ago and that pumped all my energy, and gave me only injunctions to remain faithful to an image born of a man which is full of certainties.

It’s one o’clock, maybe two, maybe three. I do not know anymore. I feel helpless. The silence weighs heavily and takes everything with the days that follow. It destroys my strength and annihilates my thoughts. Now that I let this man enter my life, he has all power over me. I let my mind consume thoughts of him without knowing why.

It’s one o’clock, maybe two, maybe three. I do not know anymore. This thought must end. It must end. Everything is dead in me. I think of others, those I love, but nothing holds me back to them. I then move like an automaton to the door, I open it; I look at the star and the sky. I feel good all of a sudden. I am here standing on the edge of my narrow balcony.

It’s one o’clock, maybe two, maybe three. I do not know anymore. I always have one leg in the air. Around me, there’s nothing and as if time had paused. An unknown breath keeps me from moving the other leg. An intuition like a whisper that tells me that I’m not alone, that if I jump I would not be alone, that if I do not jump I would not be alone either.

It’s one o’clock, maybe two, maybe three. I do not know anymore. It does not matter. I’m crying in my room, alive. I wish I had never felt that suicidal.