The Distortion Of The Self

THE LOST

I have walked a tightrope for the past twenty years. Performing became second nature to me, so much so that I started to distort my sense of self. I was molded by everything around me: my peers, my parents, and society in general, but never my true self. I was part of a space where I was required not only to be proper but also to be ordinary. Every day, I clung to the mask, which let me hide, while balancing on a suffocating tightrope—one that convinced me the path chosen for me was the only place I could survive. Until I slipped while I was running on the rope and fell into the void, and finally, I flew. 

Image Courtesy: Marcelo Moreira

I’m no product of my own; I am the molding of others.

I am part of the lost; I am on a tightrope, walking through a life that was never meant to be my own. This tightrope is safer to walk on and much easier than being myself. So, I will continue to stay here until my bones rot and I become nothing once more. 

Do not fall into the void; you do not belong there. You belong here, walking the path that was chosen for you. 

I need to be shaped by others. I will fit the expectations of my parents, my peers, and society, which all require a desirable performance. I need to be proper. I need to be ordinary. 

You need to grip the mask while you walk. Be cautious; do not slip. As long as you keep your balance, you are safe. 

…

I’ve been performing for about two decades now. This walk is becoming demanding and brutal; maybe if I start running, it will feel better. I will start running on this tightrope to feel like this molding is passing by faster. I need to become what others want me to be.   

You ran too fast; now you have slipped. You are hanging on by your right hand. Try to get back up. You need to get back up.

I’m closer to the void than I am to the tightrope. Should I let go? Maybe I will. I think I’ve done enough damage to myself. Before, I never thought that this shaping of the self, the price of staying on this rope, would slowly deteriorate who I am and who I want to become.  

Stop being ridiculous. Get back up; you will regret it. 

…

I distorted myself with a simple yearning for acceptance. I lashed out at my parents because I thought that was the ‘cool’ thing to do, and my peers would approve of my action. I aspired to be just like the American girls because they are the ones with the upper hand, the ones who get the attention I wanted from society. I lied to my parents over a thousand times about being in love with a boy because I knew that was their preferred choice. 

I feared being myself. I was afraid to be gentle and compassionate because those around me believed that to be dramatic and bizarre. I was afraid of making mud pies on the sidewalk because those around me thought it was disgusting. I was afraid to vocally love a woman because those around me told me not to accept those kinds of people. 

…

The tightrope was so sturdy at first, but the more I walked and distorted myself, the more unsteady this rope became. This path is so exhausting. I’m drained from a lifetime of performing; I’m suffocating myself every day, yet I fear my own thoughts, and I’m begging for my true self to be taken away. 

…

I’m still hanging on by a thread on this tightrope, gazing at this extravagant illusion I created. How convincing this tightrope is! I can see the end of the tightrope from here; it’s so close. I was so close to making it to the other side. My molding was almost complete. I need to maintain this status quo. Maybe I should get back up; I mean, I’m so close to the end, right? But what if I just… fall.

WAIT! WAIT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Now you will never forgive yourself. 

…

I’m falling. What a slow fall, what a beautiful void. I wonder why I ever thought that this fall would land me in the pits of hell, because all I feel now is euphoria. If this is what death feels like, then I want to die for the rest of eternity. 

I see a light at the very bottom of the void, and finally, I reach the end. 

My landing is so soft. I look back and realize that the hands of the people who have always treasured my true self are the ones catching me. They had been waiting for me in the void all along, eager to support all of me with everything they have. 

…

I see the shattered mask on the floor. It all turns into dust and vanishes forever.  

…

The tightrope was never a path of protection, but it was a path of destruction, a barrier to my being. An illusion that kept me from true autonomy. To fall never meant failing, but to finally fly. 

…

Are you also performing yourself? Are you still walking your tightrope? If you are, please fall with me. I promise that this void is not empty, but it’s a place where you have always belonged. Let go and fall into your true sense of self. The tightrope is what keeps you from your own paradise. 

…

Accept every piece of yourself instead of crossing to the end of that rope because we are all destined to fly. 

Strike Out,

Orlando

Written By: Brenda Nunes

Edited By: Delaney Gunnell and Sarah Franquelo

This narrative piece was written for Strike Magazine Orlando’s Issue 12: The Search For Identity. Check out the rest of the magazine and Brenda’s work, available online now!