String Puppets
In the past I understood it more. I experienced the feeling of being in the grips of an ultimate control freak, or perhaps, the ‘emotionally kept’ woman who was scared to death to be herself, always wondering when the next explosive emotional time bomb was going to explode and fly off the handles for any given reason. Memories of hiding silly things, such as voice mails from my best friend that could have been interpreted as something else. “Well, why’d she say it like that?” It would always be my fault. I was always in the wrong. I’d end up hiding practically everything around her, including the “real me”. I ended up being someone else and crawled into a shell of fear. Who am I? I had lost myself for a while before I finally realized that the “real me” was dying to emerge from this Stepford Wife that I was created into. I’d find myself lying about the smallest of things, as opposed to the “real me” being very bluntly honest. “This is me, take it or leave it.” I missed that sonnvab...