Holding it together

Lately, I've been holding it together with virtual glue and tape. Sometimes bandaids and string, but really, just trying to appear whole while hiding the cracks that appear with more frequency than I'd like to admit. I've learned how to function in life without drawing attention to myself and without inviting too many probing questions about what's going on underneath the very fluid surface of my life. I cover my pain in purple. I cover my fears with laughter. I am light-hearted and happy. On the outside. Just don't come too close. Don't look too long. You may notice some scars. You may see behind my eyes, a touch of sadness and longing for something indescribable and maybe even impossible.
But if you keep moving while you smile and wave, you'll see that I'm entirely in one piece. Nothing falling, nothing failing. Just a "regular" person. What does that mean, anyway? What is "regular"? Who is "normal"? Is there even such a thing?

The more I promise myself I will focus on the positive, the more I see the ways in which that is so difficult. I want to be a positive, upbeat person who is enjoyable to be around, but honestly, I also want to be...well, honest. And that means taking the darkness with the light.

But people are scared of the dark. People don't like when someone says "No, actually, I don't want to live to be 90. In fact, I don't want to be 70. I think my life will be just fine if I have a few more good years and that's it.". People think you're crazy if you say that. So I don't. Except I just did. Hmm.. Anyway, I'm not one who wants to get old. I don't want to live forever, and though I have dreams, I know many of them are out of reach. My wish is to go quietly and without anyone really noticing. Almost as if I were to disappear one day.

But for now, I'm holding it together with virtual glue, tape, and anything else that covers the cracks and makes me seem whole. Because people don't understand and frankly, I don't know if I do either.