Sometimes there is just too much inside me, a duality that cannot be easily expressed. It would be so much easier if I just felt things, and followed through completely. But I don’t. There is always a ghost inside me, so indecisive, which thinks the opposite of what I’m saying. He makes me wonder who I am, if anything at all.
People, I’ve come to realize, really do believe what you say is the entirety. That you are how you act, how you portray yourself, and what you pretend in believing. They believe it so completely, because no one has time to look further. Everyone’s busy living their own lives. Which is strange to someone like me, who collects information so passionately. I love to make the people in my life three-dimensional. I keep their likes and dislikes closer to my heart than my own sometimes. But it’s not like a person can see everything in another person. There is so much in a single human being, and only a small portion of it ever gets expressed. And of that portion, a little crumb is received and understood.
I spend so much time collecting, so that I can bring out all the information later, and surprise the people I care about with it. But it is never enough, and I always feel that I am failing, that there is something more that my weakness keeps me from unearthing. Sometimes I think I do these things because I want others to look closer into me. Sometimes I think I do them because, really, I enjoy it. I don’t know which it is. There’s just too much in me.
Occasionally, people try to do the same for me. Show that they know me. It is not often that they do, but sometimes, when I have just let out all my true feelings on them, they feel obliged. I get so happy, so grateful. Finally, I think, they will see. What comes out though is often forced, and so completely lacking in information, that I just crinkle my eyes, and my soul falls to my feet. I begin to wonder what I am, if it’s not what they said, and if it is, how could that be? They say things like, oh, Marisa is the one that’s always making weird faces. Or the one that is always joking. When I was younger, I was the girl who never opened up. I think some people still think of me that way now, and in a way they are correct. Once I couldn’t tell people a single thing. But now, I am so open. Anyone would but have to ask to know my feelings on most things. But since I’ve opened up, no one seems to want to know anymore. Your only interesting, it seems, when you’re a riddle. When they think they have you pinned down, no matter how wrong it is, they are content.
I feel like a cream filled donut. I always reach in to show people, but end up grasping too hard. The filling spills and all that anyone ever ends up seeing is the crinkled pastry shell. All my other feelings are left on the ground, far from view. I say things sometimes while thinking something completely opposite. It is no wonder no one has a clear view of who I am, when I don’t. It’s no wonder I only ever come out half-baked in other people eyes.
Will anyone ever know each other? I sometimes think, because I’ve never met anyone who knew me. And I don’t really think I know anyone. Maybe that’s the way humans work though. It is so lonely though. We all have so much in us, some that we want others to see, and some that we don’t. I say things so blatantly sometimes, that others feel uncomfortable. And sometimes I am so obscure, that no one could hope to find a meaning.
Mostly I put myself into the things I like though. Like television shows, or books. But that never ends up good. It always ends up hurting me a little.
I remember watching a show with my friend Rebecca. Sherlock Holmes. At the time she told me that the detective reminded her of me. I was so happy because I had just been feeling so much that he does. He was so stupid in some ways, he didn’t even know the earth revolved around the sun. But he had honed so intensely the skills he was interested in. He was so focused, like I was. What was important to him, was the most important, and the rest fell away. At the same time though, he was lonely. No one understood him, except for doctor Watson. He didn’t make friends easily, and he was often misunderstood in similar ways as I was. I just connected to him in a profound way, and I was so happy that she had seen it. I mean if she could understand the character, then maybe she understood that part of me?
And then around a year later I told that to my other friends. And they stole it from me. I should have never said anything. I should have just kept it in a precious part of me. They said your nothing like him. And they laughed. I even tried to explain it, but I could tell no one believed me. Even Rebecca laughed and said yeah you are not smart enough to be. She was kidding of course, but I felt cheated. And deeply hurt. I never saw myself in him because of his intelligence. That was never even a part of it for me. I felt emotionally connected. But they couldn’t see it, not in the least. And I wondered who is correct? Am I the person they see me as, or the person I see myself as? I don’t know, there is just too much.
I still do stupid things like that. Point myself out in other characters, to see if they will get it. As if they will finally accept that those qualities I am implying are mine. But they almost never are. Maybe I think and act so differently, that the space in between is too difficult to accept. Just too much. Too much of me. And I will never be content with how others see me. More importantly, I will never be content with how I see me.
It is silly things like, am I strong? I don’t know, it depends. I can endure quite a bit of some things, and other things not at all. Am I nice? Sometimes I would say not at all, and other times too much. Things like this, I pretend to be strong, pretend to be mean. But then again, I don’t think anyone pretends to be weak. They just are.
Sometimes I think that because I had to learn facial expressions, it’s almost too easy to use them to get people to believe things. They go oh Marisa you are such a bad lair. But that’s because I want to be seen that way. Little things I’ll type my head or look away as if I were hiding something. Or pretend to look startled and say “no” as if it were a yes. But When its something big, I can act so normal it is pathetic. No one’s ever guessed my true intentions when I didn’t want them to, so I guess I’m actually pretty good at it.
But whenever I put on a show like that I feel pathetic. Because I know I could go through the day with ease, and yet I’ll put on a puppy face, because I want them to know I’m distressed. No other methods seem to work. But this one disgusts me and I hate it. I feel like a useless worm.
Maybe I am no one, and everything I seem to be is just pretend. I just don’t know. There is too much.