Shame

I carry a lot of shame. Shame because of what I represent to certain parts of society. Shame because to keep a mask on I have had to act in ways that contradict my principles and beliefs. Shame because I have not been the person that I wanted to be. Shame because of certain things of my past. Shame because of how I think. Shame because of what I want.

My shame has been imposed by society and by myself. I am smart enough to know when the shame comes from other people and when it comes from inside my mind. I want to make things in my life that are real not exist; to never have existed. I never had control of them being in the first place and I can’t make it go away. I’m embarrassed of certain aspects of my life, which I do the best to hide from the world under a mask. I can’t hide from God, though.

I get angry at the fact that I carry shame. I get frustrated because I carry shame. I get sad because I carry shame. I get desperate because carrying shame is a never ending task. I get tired of carrying my shame and embarrassment, but it will be worse for me if other people find out my secrets. No one can know the truth about my past and my present.

My mask hides my shame and inhibits me from living a plentiful life. I constantly worry about being found out as a fake person: I might have already been found as fake. I bury the truth in the depths of my mind so it could not be accessible in day to day conversations. Every once in a while, though, I can’t escape the torture that my shame provides.

I just have to endure my shame for now. I am just not sufficiently ready to work on what I am ashamed about. I still don’t trust anyone enough to share this with. I might never find that person… and I am not including God as a person for this sentence. My shame is and will screw with my health in more ways than I can immediately feel, but I just have to endure it and exist.

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