I’d like to think that I’ve outgrown this phase of my life. You know, when you’re young, and incidents like this haunt you for days. Getting older has helped me become remarkably thick skinned. Sometimes, some things manage to pierce through, though.
I like to think that I’m unafraid. That I’m stronger, ballsier, in-fucking-destructible. Maybe I am, sometimes. Other times, I am not. When I stay up at night, after all the lights are off, and then sit on my bed in the dark and comb my hair, I am not. In that moment I am back to being a scared sixteen year old, who’s father cut her long hair off because it might attract boys. I forget to look in the mirror while getting dressed sometimes. Because somewhere, I’m still that girl who never had a full length mirror in the house, because she wasn’t supposed to think about her appearance.
I’m still that girl who wakes up in the middle of the night at the slightest nudge of the bedroom door, because I haven’t outgrown my fear of the people who live behind it.
I may be a lot of things, but more than anything else, I am caged. Im struggling to redefine myself, to reprogram myself, to lose the conditioning I was given every day of my life. Some days, I like to think that I’ve walked far away enough. But fact remains that at the end of the day I have to turn back, and head back to my charade of a home.
And that is the true meaning of being trapped.