Are socially anxious people always acting? Always completing a stage performance? “Lights, camera, action!” every time they leave their home?
I deserve an Oscar. Countless times have I stepped up onto the stage of life and performed until I felt weak. Feigning fascination until I feel faint.
The mask seems glued to my face now. Suffocating. Itching. A false self fused to my skin – painful. No one knows who the hell I am. Heck, I don’t even know.
All my life I’ve asked that same question. “Who am I?” I’ve asked personality tests. Relatives and boyfriends. Strangers on the Internet who read my work.
None of it is real, concrete proof of selfhood. No solid, tangible identity for me to point to and say, “that’s it, that’s me…”
And so, I’m Nobody. Who are you?
S. R. Crawford 