I am on a journey, as are most people. My path splits: becoming who I am destined to be, and also sharing the truth of where I have been. I AM TRAVELING TO ME.
Shutting down. Running away. Where? I don't know. Sometimes it's just that easy: just to get on a bike and go. Go anywhere. And anywhere but here is where you want. It can take any amount of frustration to push you towards a limit. I've hit many limits, and at times I just wanted to quit. But then I look into the skies, and see a few birds fly by. And then there's that one lonesome looking bird, passionately soaring into another direction . . . That's where I want to be. That's where I see myself. Not following other peoples ideas as to what they think I should be doing. Or who I should be. Not breathing in their unwanted energy. Just going it alone. Blissfully floating. Immersed in my own fascination. However bizarre -- mine at least.
I dream about escapism. Traveling so far, no one can catch me. Being away for so long, no one remembers me. And yet I do want to be remembered: for taking a chance; for letting my feelings melt away; for trying; for leaving. Damaged thoughts, huh? But that's what I mildly contemplate: leaving.
Even when there are amazingly happy moments, I'm still not all there. I'm thinking of another place. Any place. Surrounded by nothing but nature. And maybe it sounds isolated. Maybe anti-social. Who cares! That's where I'm at. Forcing myself to snap out of it. But hoping no one notices, so that I can feel free. Away from it all. Away from them all.
People wear many masks. Some wear a mask that makes them seem in touch with reality. Some wear ones that distances them from what surrounds them. And there are others who wear a mask in which it's as confusing on the inside as they are viewed on the outside. Although masks can be needed, it often can create self doubt. Doubt as to which face is truly the real one. Believe me, it can be strange at times trying to understand who you are.
For most of my life, I've worn a mask. I can't tell you to which person that face became faceless. I cannot even fathom why a particular mask was created. It's as if I was born to recreate images -- distracting myself from what I was: a person lost. Now, not every inch of me has been created out of false pretense. But there were times when I had to "fake it to make it." Some might say it's necessary. But when you suddenly don't know which identity is real, you begin to freak out even yourself. Sucks!
Year after year, relationship after relationship -- mostly friendships, I find it difficult trying to decipher my real self. I know who I want to be. Right? And if I know who I want to be, why not just be that person? It's sad, really. I've become a good actress: a fabricated person. I need to learn who I am. I need to dissect my personality and see where I started to pretend. I need to try and be someone else. Me. Whomever that person is. Wherever she is, I need to find her.
I need to try.
The old mask is beginning to crack. Even to me it's quickly shattering. More frequently than before, I'm wanting to escape. Wanting to get away. Simply running and going for a walk isn't cutting it anymore. The playlists aren't distracting enough. Racing thoughts and banging heads aren't relieving my mind. I need more! More pain! More intense feeling! I feel that, but I keep it inside. Internally I'm breaking, and it's becoming apparent people are starting to notice.
So, I get away. I leave them. I turn off my phone. I avoid all contact. I avoid my own contact. I scream. I punch. I slap. Nobody's around to take the brunt -- that's what I'm use to. I would never intentionally hurt someone else.
After a while I emerge. All smiles. Happy thoughts? Positive statements. Pleasing demeanor. All is well. Everything's great! My mind rattled from earlier, and yet all I feel is the sting of former frustration. Reoccurring moments that I often long for -- as if I need them like water. A mask of substance; making me feel whole; less lost; more normal. But that mask is shattering. I can't even trick my mind to feel okay.
Head banging to feel the thoughts disappear. Everything goes. All my thoughts are now gone. I lie, waiting for the constant stream of colors to stop pushing through my closed eyes. The colors circle until I slowly open those same eyes. I don't make any marks, but the quickly hidden lumps give me the reliability I need to breathe. It's a way to remember.
When that mask is gone, what I felt will last. And it can't be spotted. I'm the same as before. I'm happy, again. Not before -- but I am now. I have a new mask, and this time it's being crafted more delicately -- so that no one can see the lines. No one can tell when I'm not fully put together.
I have to say, researching for one of my plays I'm currently writing has given me more inspiration to learn about my heritage (I hope you enjoy the above video I found on YouTube). Not that I was unaware of the magnificent strength in my people before beginning the research, but I still yearned for more knowledge of where I came from.
In order for my growth as a person -- or to direct this to others -- in order for someone to understand who they are, they should try and learn where they come from. Needless to say, school books do nothing to give truth to those people -- MY people. I, along with many others, learned from a young age what a "great man Columbus was." And even at a young age, just as I was skeptical of the Easter bunny, so was I about Columbus and his discovery.
Are we part of what people think? Or are we part of those missing links? And if those links are too difficult to decipher, then don't we still owe it to our ancestors to continue pushing their (our) stories? I think we should. I think we need to know who we come from. And although each of us are comprised of many people, we need to understand and accept those facts.
I AM A MULTIRACIAL PERSON. I LOVE MY HERITAGE(S). AND I WANT TO KNOW MORE.
I will continue to support and honor MY people. Why? Because my Native roots are stronger than those weapons used against my ancestors! I believe everyone has a chance to celebrate their culture, as long as we know the truth behind their stories.
We don't celebrate Black History Month by always focusing on slaves and murder, yet for some reason, Columbus Day takes place as if NOTHING EVER happened.
In history books (mind you it’s not actual “American” history) nonetheless, people are taught this tragic lie that we are made to believe; Thanksgiving, Christopher Columbus . . . It’s as if indigenous people appeared on a separate boat, and followed Columbus to shore . . . oh, and later on, they went for a walk, captured a few animals, and all came together and broke bread, as if it were the last supper. Mind you, for some, it was. Yeah, like that even makes any sense. But then again, you can do the calculation: How can an already inhabited land, whose people are native/indigenous, be discovered by a European, masking away as a pioneer of the Amerikas? And once you solve that, I’ll ask you this: If Columbus was there when our Native people were, then didn't he in fact, witness America, instead of discovering it?
Most people, who know me, know I am a political person, and I love to debate. I, however, never force my ideologies onto the next person, because it's not fair. I simply tell my thoughts, opinions, and facts, while encouraging others to form their own.
