Venting being a clown

[Lavínia]

I've always had trouble keeping going. The idea of engaging in something that isn't eternal, but that doesn't have a clear conclusion, made me go around in circles, spinning with waves. I endured in agony. I hurt myself. I deceived myself, I skinned myself so as not to hurt anyone, turning words that I could expel into burns. I wanted to have control. I didn't. In all this time, in this back and forth, in this seesaw that tends to continue, I've only been able to connect with one thing. Having a sense of security. A goal, an idea of capacity: Lying.

It's been a while since I've lied, I've been exposing myself, even at work. I talk, I'm moving my mouth looking into my colleague's eyes. I see the lines on his expression, I feel my feet. I feel my hand. My mouth is dry. I hear the vibration of my skull with my words, are they mine? Is this a flow? Do I have control over what I'm saying? I don't. It's open, it's impulse. I finally understood what it means to be yourself, to watch. To see, to look and to try to understand what this sincere impulse wants. It is fragile, so weak, one mistake will destroy it, and since things don't end, they just keep getting ruined, I will lose it sooner or later.
I will lie again. I will put on smiles. Painted ideas, like a child, but with care. I will make an effort, for real. I am taking care of my body again. I will study. I will talk to people, I will smile. I will smile more. More. More. More. I will be an image so, so constructed, connected and concise, that they will never doubt that I am a human being. They will know that I am a person. I am a person, it is easy to believe when you lie. That way I will know that if everything falls apart, if this ends, if this image is torn apart and eaten by the hungriest wolves, lake rodents, I will still be alive. I will still have control. Because it was not me who failed, I am not the sin. I will be safe