Dear the most honest version of me,
Hello there, a version of myself that I don’t yet quite recognize.
I have to wonder…have we ever met yet? Are you a version of me that I’ve seen before? That I’ve met and lost along the way…?
Or have I simply yet to ever encounter you yet?
The sober me…was that just a part of the past? A childhood experience filled with hope and naivety…an experience I’ll probably never truly encounter again? My first 15 years…are those the only ones that will have ever seen the sober side of me? A literal child? Before the fight even began?
Is my voice always one that I recognize?
When I read the shit I’ve written…I hear so much hurt and pain…yet so much authenticity. I hear the brokenness. The despair. The unfiltered pain and bullshit.
When I write now, when I speak of my pain…is it still in such an honest manner?
I hope so. It’s my goal. My intention. To write as unfiltered as I feel. As authentic. Filled with equal parts pain and hope…but not bullshitting on the false hope side of things either.
Sometimes I wonder….
Is my voice still my own?
And I still speaking freely? Authentically? Honestly, unfiltered….without the fear of consequence? Without the fear of judgment?
Sometimes, I doubt it. Sometimes I wonder. And I think my voice is becoming too filtered.
Too muted. Turned down and quieted.
Afraid.
My blogging voice needs to be as real and open and authentic as the voice inside of my head.
Because fuck all of this if it isn’t.
My promise has always been to be real. To be honest.
My pain isn’t unique. And my goal has always been to be a place of honestly for anyone who ever feels like I do. Or have felt in the past. To be a safe place for feelings.
So who am I preforming for? Who am I providing a false sense of hope or optimism for?
Honestly, maybe me. Maybe it’s me I’m writing for. Faking it for.
Showing up for myself, or whoever else, in a way that doesn’t feel quite so authentic.
I want so desperately to feel good. Happy. Safe. Free. Loved. Accepted.
All of that and more.
To be honest, I’ve been writing with a filtered voice for about an entire year now.
I went into protection mode with my heart in February of 2024.
When shit started hitting the fan.
And. Did. Not. Fucking. Stop.
I wanted to die.
I legitimately thought I was going to.
Too many honest parts of myself had given up. Have given up.
I’ve fought like hell to survive.
But I lost a huge part of myself along the way. I lost my voice. I added a filter. And I gave up. I gave up so many parts of myself.
Honestly, I didn’t even give them up. They were just taken from me.
I don’t recognize myself in my writing so much of the time lately.
And that……? That…..well…it makes me feel fake as fuck.
It makes me feel disconnected from myself. From who I am.
From who I am right now.
I shouldn’t be writing as someone I want to be. Someone I’m trying to be.
I should only write exactly as I am right now.
Broken. Hurting. Afraid. Wanting to be hopeful, but questioning.
Not some fake as fuck “everything is fine because I’m avoidant, and if I’m avoidant, my problems don’t exist” bullshit.
That isn’t me. Not deep down. Not how I really feel.
The me that I want to feel like?
Yes. But that’s the filtered, “let me put on my face” version of myself.
Not the honest one I need to be.
This is who I need to write as. Honest. Real. Raw. Broken and hurting, but beautiful in the brokenness. Hurting, but here. Showing up anyway. Through the struggle and ugliness.
Unfiltered. But saying it anyway. Despite the fear.
Not someone faking hope. Or pretending I’m in a future I don’t always see myself in.
This is me.
Hurting. Broken. Ugly ass emotions that I don’t want to show. Afraid. Alone. Frustrated. Angry. Sad. Depressed. Hopeless. But fighting.
Always fighting.
So…yes.
Dear the version of me that I WANT TO BE.
Please don’t take over who I already am.
It’s beautiful to want to grow.
But I’m not there yet.
Please don’t silence my truest and most authentic voice along the way.
Let me shine. Unfiltered, raw, hurting, and broken.
I promise. One day, I’ll relate to it and be grateful for my acknowledgment of pain. And maybe someone else will too.
