How many times I have wished for a metamorphosis, to discard the me that wasn't good enough and replace her with someone sparklier, more at ease, more likeable. From an early age buying into the capitalist doctrine that possessions can raise your social status (that through them you can ensure approval, be liked). Believing that being attractive to men would give me worth. Knowing that the things I liked weren't by the girls I wanted to be, and knowing this made me inadequate. I spent so long trying to change, willing myself to wake up different, and getting more and more angry at the brain that was holding me back, that was innately wrong.
How crushing that mentality; how hard to totally reject it.
In my dreams, I still transform to escape. Feathers push through skin, eyes become keener, and I jump from my old bedroom window to rise above rooftops. Some part of me still looks to this to alter my situation; still holds onto the belief that contentness could only follow such a complete transformation of myself.
photo by Vivian Maier
This could be straight out of my diary, only worded much more elegantly.
ReplyDelete(Don't change, though.)