I read a book about how to write a memoir, and there was a chapter about creating a persona. The authors contrasted their writing personas with their true personalities. Each was very funny in writing, but admitted that in person, she was more complicated. One even shared she was a bit depressive.
I like to think that the overall positive, thoughtful persona I try to nurture here is my truest self, but maybe it is not.
I am a reclusive, sensitive, intense person who is often exhausted after basic interactions with people. I interrupt Richard and try to finish his thoughts as he is speaking. I can be abrupt and I don’t like family reunions. I have a terrible sugar habit and hate to exercise. There is a smell in our house that has been here since we moved in and I can’t stand it. It is endlessly frustrating. I suffer emotionally when one of my family members is sick. I am struggling to find purpose in house work. I wonder if I will ever ice skate again, or make the time to go to a special bookstore. I regret that I don’t enjoy most vacations. I regret that the collagen and elastin in my skin gave out before I ever had a good tan. I don’t regret that I wear hats and got braces as an adult. I don’t regret home schooling. I love the sunlight in the kitchen in the morning and the sound of my violin when I am thinking about something. I sip a mug of warm milk at least once a day. I need to be courageous to be fulfilled. I keep a lot of secrets. I love dill, sourdough bread, and fashion. I wish I had a telephone friend, one who would call me, and I would never have to call her. In exchange, she would never want for a good listener. I wish I had a pen pal. And that is enough of this nonsense.