Today I wanna talk to you guys about something called metaphors. We all know what it is, or what it means. John Green wrote a whole book about it and even made a fucking movie based on that book. But it’s not like all his other books weren’t about metaphors. It almost seems like it’s the only thing the man talks about in his books.
Anyway, if you don’t understand what it means, please go look it up. I’m not gonna spend 20 words explaining something because you have a bad vocabulary list. Moving on, the reason that I have decided to write about this subject is because I stared at my blank screen for a fucking 15 minutes and this is the only thing I can come up with. Why do I need to explain myself to you? I write about metaphors because I can. Yeah. From now on I have to stop explaining myself.
So. Metaphors. I have one that I have used my whole life to explain to people what I am made of (mentally, because if it was physically I would be made of meat and blood and bones. And a whole lot of other shit but this is not a Biology class). The metaphor, I am made of bubbles. That’s all there is of me. Bubbles, more bubbles, more layers and eventually, inside all the fucking layers, in the center is the original me. A little baby pink pea. Soft and delicate. But these layers, they have grown so thick over the years that they have become me. I can’t even see the pea anymore.
Let me tell you this. Every single human being on this Earth has layers. They’re your limit. What you can take and what you can’t. Even you not liking mushrooms or mustard are layers, protecting you from vomiting. But that’s more of a physical layer (again, NOT BIO-CLASS). My layers are kind of difficult to recognize, I might say. I come off as a total bitch, and I mean this. I am a fucking bitch.
But that’s just my layer. It’s my first layer actually. It’s the one I made a few years back when the layer beneath that one (silence) didn’t work anymore. Why? But why Eliza, do you need so much layers? Well. I don’t like people. They are mean, and bad, and selfish, and cruel, and heartless. And tbh they kind of scare me. So if I come off as a bitch, they know that they shouldn’t come in my way. They’ll be gone before I know it and I don’t ever have to deal with them again.
I feel like a coward. But I’d rather be a coward than hurt. I have been hurt so many times, you don’t wanna know. I don’t need anymore pain in my life right now. Yeah, I might make excuses for what I feel. The truth? I’m scared. Okay? I’m shitting my pants thinking about relationships and marriage and even friendship. Ugh.
I used to be that girl. Shy, never said anything, no one ever knew who I was. And I guess I’d like to be that girl again. I’d rather be the one who no one knows than the one being called bitch. But the silence one doesn’t work anymore. And I have to make this layer so much stronger to hold me together.
I don’t think anyone knows how the pea is. I assume that it’s soft and fragile, but I don’t know for sure. How could I know how it’s like? For so long, fucking 10 years I have made up and put up the layers. It has been a long time since I took a sneak peek beneath the layers. And after all these years, I lost the balls to do it. Because I probably can’t hold all my shit together when it happens, when my bubbles are gone.
It’s a shitty fact, but it’s true. I don’t even know who I am anymore.
I don’t wanna close this blog off with a philosophical quote. So, peace out, suckers 🙂 I’ll see you later, I guess. Unless I die. Not from suicide, trust me. I don’t have the balls to do it. But from a car accident? Perhaps. Who knows? Only Death does. He’s the one who comes to get me.