My Turn

What do you see when my reflection comes into focus in your viewfinder?

Do you see a freckled porcelain complexion whose appearance seems quiet, perhaps even coldly shy?

Perhaps you see a mutant misfit incapable of making it in this life. A fragile museum artifact that must remain protected with bubble wrap and locked away.

Click to the next slide…

Now here you’ll an image of a dimpled grin, the gatekeeper to the broken brain. You’ll see hazel eyes that hold a tiny spark, within that spark are the silent scars that are stitched into a human heart. A heart that beats for 2064.

Every single slide you skip forward to will always capture that dimpled grin and those spark embedded hazel eyes. What you won’t see is the internal struggle that wages, the side effects of a misfit’s anxiety.

A clenched chest… deep breathing goes into effect in hopes that focused oxygen will aid from the dizzying room possibly going dark. Headphones cemented to eardrums, injecting lyrical morphine into the cerebral thunderstorm. A fond numbness is wished for so that the booming thoughts that scream disaster will calm.

While I mentally whisper that everything will be ok and that everything will run smoothly, my anxiety is in the process of conjuring up its own destructive plan. Meeting unfamiliar humans, speaking to an audience of any size or a project that involves getting lost within my thoughts and breaking off a piece of myself… boom!

A tiny fleeting moment of titanium confidence, then an ear piercing whisper…

“My turn…”

Don’t get too close, it’s dark inside…-Imagine Dragons

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