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The difficulty of stepping out of the fake, and into real role, opening the voice, must be accepted as part of the journey? Everyone around me refuses to see the desperate need for something real to happen, some truth to be told them. Not this slow descent of accepted ignorance, fear, and control...from lack of control in so many areas. Driving sickness created by the obvious need to remain in oblivion, self-chosen denial, because i'm afraid. I'm a female just like her, like them, but cannot attatch myself to them, they that stay silent, willing to please...who? Again? Play the role, as you've been taught, since no one was willing to say, there is another way. A different way to respond, to be. To give and recieve energy. In shedding this role, the struggle begins deep in my blood, ancient back, the questions stay on my tongue, refusing to be quieted. Much should not be, as we can see. Ugh, to recognize that you CHOSE to allow this! That you chose to remain empty for so long, willing to be filled, defined by others adding what is theirs'. Tasting bile, angry, angry, self-hatred coming up from my center, terrifically fighting to protect from giving me away any longer...determined that this life shall be redefined that some form of revenge, validation, appeasement for where I've allowed myself to go, in tasting the flesh when nothing else could comfort, when that was the only way to feel present... I see it in their eyes, how comfortable they all are to play their roles so well, yet behind the mask of comfort, of satisfaction, is bitter, bitter questioning, buried, depths of rage, jealousy, pain, and fear. They are too busy enabling destruction. No longer can I play this role. They will not ask nor encourage their children to ask the questions our young are so good at bringing to our attention. We will learn to ask, to probe. Aren't we the aliens? Aren't we already here? And why do the eyes show so much to me, that it's difficult to gaze steady at times? Why is this in me, if I'm unable to truly speak frankly? Like I need to be allowed...Am I allowed to really write what I want to say? The old role died, trying to death me with it. No matter the consequences, I will remain here, struggling to allow myself this real fit.
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