If you really knew me, you’d know about the little white lies. Little white lies I don’t quite remember, little white lies I would falter to defend, little white lies that still haunt my shoddy memory.
If you really knew me, you’d know I have nightmares about ants. Big, fuzzy, six-eyed ants.
If you really knew me, you’d know I constantly worry about losing my first dog every time he looks up at me. You’d know I’m afraid to leave home if it means leaving him behind.
If you really knew me, you’d know how fragile my relationship with my father is.
If you really knew me, you’d know how alone I like to be, both in and out of my depressive episodes. And it might eat you up inside, wondering whether what’s going on behind my bedroom door involves lightness and laughter or dangerous tear-fall.
If you really knew me, you’d know how much I talk the talk versus how much I walk the walk. Maybe you’d lose a little respect for me. Maybe you’d appreciate my faults. Probably not the latter.
If you really knew me, you’d know that simply moving my limbs is often the best I can do in a day, in a week.
If you really knew me, you’d know that when I feel most broken, I yearn to put myself back together with words first.
—fiza
A big hug to paying subscribers Sam Kruger, Arielle Lewitt and Salima Makhani.
Prompt from Noor Tagouri with #TheIsolationJournals, a 100-day creativity project to help make sense of these challenging times.
Complete the sentence: “If you really knew me...” You can write one or many of these statements. Then sit with them. Ask yourself: What would your life be like if people knew these things about you? How would your circle of friends change? What about your job?