Authenticity is My Halloween Costume This Year
I am feeling no fear today as I strip down and share a bit more of me, without a costume. I’m naked.
It all started with my morning writing prompt: “If you could describe yourself without any limitations in an open and authentic way, what would you say?”
I’ve spent my life reading into the depths of people’s souls so effortlessly, it often leaves me wondering why I feel like such a mystery, why being understood feels like a mountain only I seem to climb. It’s strange, living with this natural insight into others yet feeling so profoundly misunderstood myself.
Isolation became second nature to me, something I wrapped around myself as a shield. Maybe because, deep down, I am reluctant on how others would perceive me, or maybe because I knew too well that most people wouldn’t bother peeling back the layers to see who I really am. I grew used to being alone, convinced it was safer than being misjudged.
Death, mortality, all those morbid topics—none of that unsettles me. They’re just part of being real, something I crave in others. People label me as mysterious, confusing, or too intense, but truth be told, all I’ve ever wanted is a partner I can truly understand, someone who can match me in passion, integrity and honesty, someone who sees me for who I am without games or pretenses.
Being in groups isn’t easy for me. The unspoken rules, the power plays, the pecking orders—none of it makes sense. I’ve never been able to wrap my head around social hierarchies or pretend to engage in politics I’m not a part of.
White lies? I can’t stand them. It infuriates me when someone thinks sparing my feelings with half-truths is somehow better. If you’re direct and upfront, I’ll respect you all the more for it. But betray my trust? That’s different. It’s nearly impossible for me to rebuild that trust once it’s broken.
People often think I come across as dry, sarcastic, maybe even cold. But the truth is, I won’t put on a front just to please people, especially if it comes at the cost of my own happiness. I’d rather be real than pretend.
I get along best with those who have lived on the outskirts, the outcasts, the rejects and marginalized —people who are a little different, as well as those older than me, whose pain has seasoned them. Pain and grief, after all, has aged me too, forced wisdom onto me that I never asked for. It’s a wisdom that came from surviving, and I’ve had to learn to carry it.
Family, whether by blood or the family I create as an adult, holds a sacred place in my heart, even when they break my heart (again and again).
In the end, I’m someone who craves depth, honesty, and genuine bonds, even if it means carrying the weight of being misunderstood. All I want is a connection built on truth and the rare comfort of being seen for exactly who I am.