Perfect Houses

I’m sick of perfect houses. I’m sick of exteriors that look prestine and tranquil. I’m sick of hiding my emotions. I walk down this quaint family street and see so many silent happy houses. How may bruises were created behind that closed door? How many broken hearts were born there? Our whole lives we’ve been told

Shove it down your throat.

Swallow it.

Accept that no one is going to want to hear about your sob story and go on with it. Really? Am I never going to be understood? Every morning am I going to have to put on a mask? Is this the rest of my life?
This is bull that’s what it is.

Everyone is hiding something. Everyone has got something deep down in their stomach that they fear other people will find out. They’re scared that when they’re friends find out they’ll pull away. They say that the honest are alone. But why!?!

Why the heck do we act like this?!?

All of us are experiencing it on some level or another! Why can’t we share it?

I see these movies where the characters admit the truth and after a bit they accept it and everything is hunky dory. I know life isn’t going to be like that. Life is messy and life is broken and shattered. People mess stuff up and they love and they hate and everything gets jumbled up, but how many times have you wished you could just express your truest emotions to someone?!?

I guess that’s why I don’t belong. Because about 95% of the time what you see on the surface is whats happening underneath. Sure I hide somethings, but I’ll tell you them to your face. What I’m really hiding is the pain. The anger. The scared little girl that is still inside. I can tell you my life story without crying now, but that’s only after years of training. I was taught emotions make you weak. When they see you cry they can hurt you. I think we were all told that. We all hate to cry in front of someone.

I’ll tell you about the abuse. I’ll tell you about the pain. I’ll tell you about falling asleep to the screams. I’ll tell you about my sister, my protector, leaving me behind. I’ll tell you all those things without a tear.

But they hurt.

That’s what I’m afraid to say. I’m afraid to say that I feel. I’m afraid that if I admit that I feel people will turn away. I’m the happy go lucky fat girl. I make people laugh. Underneath it all? Underneath it all I’m just as broken as you are.

But it’s true about happiness too. We shun those who seem overly happy. Those who are genuinely excited about life. Sometimes I just get so happy I can’t contain it. I just have to move to jump to sing. People say I’m weird, quirky, cooky, nuts etc etc. Why is that so wrong?

And I’m surrounded by these girls who hide their feelings. I tell them I want to tell our guy friend off and they say it’s mean or rude or will scare him away. Why do I care? He treats us like crap! Why should I care how he feels if he doesn’t care how I feel? It doesn’t make sense. If we really are friends he should be able to work with it, to understand and move on.

But instead we play these games. We pretend we like them, and sometimes we do, but then when they’re gone we get this knot in our stomach that begs the question why are we still friends with him?

Why can’t I cry in front of you? Why can’t I express my real feelings and keep my friends? I’m sick of all these perfect houses with their doors shut to me. I try and present myself as I truly am on the inside. I try and show you the cracks, the breaks, the sags. But I can not show you how I feel. You wouldn’t love me if I did.