Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • There's just too much to say on this topic.

    Way too much.

    Too much to inform you on.

    Too much to get out there.

    Especially too much to really say it all.

    I'm not scared of writing it all out. But to write a huge part of what I am, I'm afraid that i'll start to gush it all out, no way of stopping, and flood this story. Kids can have problems and true concerns about who they really are, too. And in this story, I'm afraid I won't be able to organize my words in a likable way because I have too much to say, to say about the mask I wear in public, the unfulfilled desire to let out who I really am to the people who need to know. But, before I try to get started, I'll give you a quote from Ray Neighbor's story, a quote that will help you understand, what I'm really trying to explain.
    "I think one of the reasons people bare their soul is for people to know all of who they are...not just what they'd like you to see, but who you really are."

    I believe in those words. Really. I do want people to know who I am, but, I can't always show them. Maybe it's embarrassment of who I am... I know I love myself and what makes me, me, but I'm alittle embarrassed to throw it out there in the ever changing world. This is why I hide my true self, and walk out the door with a mind in disguise. Sometimes I let the old friends (I mean, um, the friends that have lived life a long time) take a peek, since they've lived longer and are wiser, would really understand my mindset and agree with my distate of "pods" and useless, mind-melting technology. Only my parents truly know the most. And not even they know all.
    Among friends, I wear an invisible mask. Really. I need friends. I need people to talk to, a group to belong to (see popular? story). I can't bare to be of the loners that sit alone at the lunch tables. Just can't. I'm tired of being a loner from those early years, and now I've reached a much higher rank in popularity, with alot of work, but just barely by always running after that popularity train and just barely hooking my fingers on. The friendly "hi" in the school hallways and the familiar nod is my therapy. I need to be appreciated.
    But, this social network I've created for myself is all but fake. The appreciation is not real; because among friends, I'm not myself. I'm that mask I wear in public. No longer nerdy, tree-loving, video-game hating Deniz, I dare say, But a different self. Someone cooler and more likable and more like other kids these days. And one other trait: Crazy Deniz. I usualy make friends by using this crazy me. By acting different, some crazy tom-boy, I can make myself stand out from the crowd and get noticed. It's the number one way I can make friends. And in this way, most of my friends tend to be boys.

    This new self is the real me to others. I make friendships, keep them going, and send them off in a total lie. But, I have used that mask so much and in so many places it now seems to be a part of me. That fake self I use for social relationships seems to have entwined with my true self, and now, it's the strangest feeling. I don't really know who I am anymore. Fragments of my old self still remain, but they have blended with the mask self to create a new me. But not completely. A pitch-black empty hole stands between the two personalities. Which one am I? Right now it's a horrid feeling to not know where I stand. To have no ground. I can't be two personalities. I can't keep switching forever. I never thought I'd have to ask myself the question of being.
    Who am I?

    The theme of having two selves seems to appear in many movies. The plot of someone with two of themselves, double personalities. That seems to have worked itself into real life.
    And sometimes, when the mask self takes over, And I've met a gentle kid in life, so much like my old self, We fail to make friends, I fail, because I've soaked up the talk that most of the popular kids at school use. My mask self is also a sponge. I don't know what kind of talk I should use with this new kid, and usually I end up spurting out the kind of jokes and socializing matter I learn from and use on the more "normal" friends of mine; and this new kid that I find so familiar yet so serious (I have since switching personalities been dragged into the world of stupid, hysterical middle school jokes) can not connect...Even when they are talking with someone who is at heart really like them. I end up losing good friends for popular ones.

    But I like the friends that I have. Even love them. They light up my day, even though I'm so low-class in school I end up planning conversations with friends every morning because I fear having nothing to say. As I said, I'm always running after the train of popuarity. But some good friends I've had for quite a while, some rare very trusted friends, I let out a bit of my true self to. I dare give them oppinions from my old self. Such as the fact that I'm best at telling old-person jokes, how I love nature and hug trees and, even, how I am not a fan of screened gadgets. These old friends don't always understand, though. One of them, knowing my distaste for most technology, says that i'll probably be in a retirement home by age 16. Making fun of me, off course. But also meaning it. This is what results if I show tidbits of my true self. The desire for people to truly know me will have to be muffled.

    How can I back my oppinions up if I have multiple selves, multiple oppinions, no one true self where those ideas are coming from?

    Sigh...I will have to find a firm ground for myself soon, soon enough, or I'll just slowly fall to pieces.

    (not all stories will have a happy ending)
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.