Cower and Run
What's my shame? I just wrote a paragraph and deleted it. Someone else on this thread, for this challenge, wrote that Prose deleted their first paragraph by accident. Oops - I just did, on purpose.
What's my shame? I am ashamed that my biggest desire is to go to an open mic and read aloud my writing. That I could possibly fathom, in any planetary system, that my writing is on par with other writers, that what I have to say matters.
Here's what happens:
I take that insecurity and put it in a glass jar. My writing is inside that glass jar, and the person I think of as my "writing self" is in there too, unaware that their words are transparent for everyone to see. Because for me, my "writing self", I am talking into a void, potentially a void where someone will see me and understand me, and relate to me, but a VOID. The internet is a void. I write posts about my trauma and don't think anyone is going to know, at the end of the day, what my name is on my driver's license - and be able to link that name back to me, the "writing self" me.
I'm hoping to dear god no one on here knows me personally.
Just like today, at the brewery, when the bartender said he "definitely knows me" from another bar he works at, and I literally could not remember seeing him once, ever. This is my terror: that I will be recognized as the name on my driver's license in a situation where *I actually want my trauma to remain anonymous*.
This, ultimately, is why I don't do open mics: because someone always has a camera, and it's always turned on to video, and I'm going to be somewhere on social media, whining about my trauma, when I had hoped to be remain mysterious, someone who doesn't share my legal name. I don't want to be OUT THERE. When I can be HERE. Anonymous and contained.
So how is this "my shame"? Sometimes I get published and become horrified when it becomes clear that - what? omg - MY name was published alongside what I wrote. Like, no no no. Because like in my real life, where I'm the girl who wears the sweatpants and no makeup to the store, and there, and at the end of the day, I don't want to be recognized as The Girl Who Has Trauma. I'm just here for eggs and milk, thanksverymuchandhaveagooddayma'am. But I do want to be seen as who I "really am" on this writing platform. I do want to be seen as my "writing self." Just don't, like that bartender, say my legal name out loud to me in real life.
Because I will cower, and I will run.