The real me.
I don’t think you can handle the real me.I don’t think I can handle the real me, which is why I spend so much time and energy trying to dress, suppress and cover.
The real me keeps up with Kardashians and enjoys every ignorant drop of pop-culture, and I know you do too…or they wouldn’t be rich. We all watch. The real me has been known to set the DVR…don’t want to miss any rubbish. The real me watches all the awards shows, red carpets and live coverage even though I pretend like I’m above it.
The real me sings “laa laa laa laa, wait till I get my money right” while I type this. Because sometimes, the real me listens to some dirty, filthy rap and hip hop.
I love it.
Can’t help it.
I’m jealous of it. Its art.
It’s real and raw and I can’t help but appreciate.
The real me has the mouth of a sailor. I try not to, but sometimes…you just gotta…I’m tired of pretending I don’t.
I have the sense of humor of 8 fraternity brothers. Every damn lewd thing under the sun I think is hilarious and it’s probably extremely inappropriate.
The REAL me likes a good love scene in a movie. You won’t catch me blushing or turning away. Bring it on, I’m not afraid. My husband has no complaints. He knows the real, real me and luckily he loves me anyway.
The real me thinks its funny.
The real me can take a joke and surely throw one your way. The real me will likely make fun of you, it’s an unfortunate self survival technique. Because making fun of myself is what has kept me alive. It has saved me. It’s what I know..so I also know how to apologize. They go hand in hand.
The real me likes to get tipsy every now and then when my kids aren’t around. Tie one on and have a silly good time. Sing oldies at the top of my lungs and laugh at everything. I like a margarita or a simple beer…which is a sin nowadays. Everyone is a beer snob and expert. Maybe I’m just insecure and lame because I feel like the fancy beer tastes terrible. The real me won’t care because if she drinks enough (which is rare) she likes to smoke a cigar. The really sweet and cheap ones from the gas station. The real, deep down me wont feel gross, guilty or in trouble…because she has nothing to hide.
The real me knows..that God already knows.
He already knows the real me that sneaks leftovers from the fridge when everyone is asleep. An extra scoop here, a bite there. The real me that over eats to stuff down the urge to go ahead and just be the real me, and let it all hang out. The real me that loses battles against pastries, bagels,calories and food journals. Clean eating plans that fall short despite how hard I try or how firm my resolve. So I try, but I want to have my cake and eat it too..and show no evidence of it.
Don’t we all?
The real me questions God and the bible and if this whole thing isn’t just a big scam.
The real me wonders if I’ve been brainwashed all along.
The real me knows I can’t say these things out loud because (gasp) what would everyone think?
Well, the real me doesn’t need your prayers.
God is always here for me, however that works. The real me knows that God is real and loves, even the real and raw hidden me.
The real me needed your true friendship …you know the kind that you thought you had already given to me and then bailed on when you found out that I was TOO much?
The real me has few real friends.. you wouldn’t approve of.
We laugh at crazy stuff and talk about the dark things that crowd the soul with the practice of keeping them silent…but when they reach the light of day the power hold they had on me fall to the ground like a pile of rusty chains.
Hold on, there’s more.
The real me likes to be alone, but its hard to do things alone.
The real me wishes she could beg for help but she wont because shes prideful. So,so, so prideful.
I’d rather die than ask you for help again. Ever again.
The real me wishes I could say that to your face but I wont. I know that deep down, the real me isn’t that polite. The real me would shrug and keep walking because the real me doesn’t pretend like everythings fine. The real me is so damn tired of taking the fall. So tired of taking the blame . So tired of being responsible. So tired of being at fault.
But the real me cant say that out loud. We must always keep up appearances.
The real me has secrets and regrets.
Darkness. Beyond what you could even imagine.
The real me has carried it a long time.
The real me is so sorry, You wouldn’t believe how sorry! I could never express. It’s buried too deep. But the real me is on her way to freedom. Digging these old things up and letting them go. So, let go and just let the real me hang on out there…good, bad and ugly, this is what it is.
We’ll see whose still standing here after.
We are all liars, thieves and pretenders.
What would be the harm if we just sat in our discomfort and exposed who really are and what we really feel?
So lets just get real.