Clouded

Clouded

I had a moment at a tantric yoga healing session.

I was nervous, awkward, shut down- and the instructor knew it. I put on a fake smile and bubbly personality. Looking from the outside in, this girl didn’t fool anyone.

I wasn’t ready to be so honest. When it was my turn to share my intentions and past, I babbled and deflected. Psalm Isadora stared through my façade and I choked. I timidly stated I had sexual trauma and we moved on.

Throughout the day my fake smile started to mold. I wanted to cry and scream and rage, but I held tight to that smile.

Beginning to crumble, I ran to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I saw my dad.

A robot. Clouded eyes. Fake smile. It was terrifying.

I don’t want to live in a fantasy world anymore. I want connection, authenticity, darkness and light. I want to grow and change, conquer and enjoy the life I have been given.

Beginning on that day, a desire grew to have clear eyes.

I saw a recent photo of myself at a party. I was poolside with my closest girlfriend. My body and hair looked pretty, but my smile was strained. My eyes- lifeless. And I cried.

I cried for the missed connections, the strain of pretending, and for my dad. A man I’m not sure has ever really lived.

Running to the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

My eyes. They were bright, alive, and full of pain. They were beautiful.

 

 

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