With tomorrow looming, I thought I’d re-post this — from over a year ago, when I was having a moment where I wanted to tell you more, but instead, just reinforced the wall I kept around myself.
It is easy to be vulnerable in a mask, darlings — I am not brave; I am a coward.
My cowardice allows me to vent and bleed and show all those raw emotions that make for powerful writing — but I have a confession to make: I don’t think I could do them as me. And so I am Helena, and you all love your favourite dilettante, because she is a wonderful work of fiction.
The me that sits in the box, bound and gagged, sometimes gets jealous of the attention Helena gets, I think. (Go ahead, try to wrap your head around that meta-crisis; I dare you)
Anyhow, this is me being non-fictional and strangely personal, darlings, which is what Helena’s for.
Not much of an entry, this week, I’m afraid. Just personal musings about compartmentalising.
There’s a part of me…
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