12/03/18

I seem to have made masks for myself, different personalities I put on. There are so many shades of me, and everyone knows a different one.

I don't seem to be able to see me in my whole entirety.

Everyone just gets a version of who I really am. One of so many shades of who I am.
One name that tells a part of who I am.

Every thing that I am, is all part of a facade. I've fallen into using it so much that I don't know what it's really like without it.

Its become my survival mechanism, my fall back.

When I see glimpses of who I am without it, it no longer seems like me. So when people ask me what my name is, it almost feels like a lie when I tell them. I am no more this name than I am my others.
I've become the girl that the world calls for, but not myself. Unless that has become myself.

Maybe it's why I'll say things that aren't what I want to say, but it's part of the facade.
I've done this since I was 9.
My only friend left, and I didn't know what to do with this broken person she had left behind.

So I didn't do anything
I swept her away and picked another identity as if it was picking a new book off my shelf.

I have a identity, it just doesn't get used. It's become that old book that you used to cherish, and is now just gathering dust.

They say the shortest distance between two people, is a story.

I'd like to add to that.

I believe the Longest distance between two people, that you can travel in the shortest amount of time, is a name.

Your name is your identity. It tells the tales of ancestors, songs of another land, a story that only grows. A name is a mantra, a calling, a declaration of your soul.

But I've noticed that we've stopped asking people their names. We've started assigning them. We paint people with broad brushes, and then suddenly nobody has a name, a identity, you've taken it away from them the moment labeled another soul.

We must ask people their names, because none of us have the right to take away a person's identity.

I've also noticed that when someone wants to understand badly enough, instead of asking you your name, they'll tell you theirs. And when the cautiously curious finally ask, "What's your name?"

I'll be sure to make it worth your time.

I'll take you to New York, Europe, the middle of nowhere town I call home, My school, the messy desk I write on, the chair in which I draw in. I'll tell you the stories I've collected over my years, the moments that have shaped who I am.

I'll tell you my names.

Then maybe you'll find out that my name means promise of light.

I'm Eliza, but I'm also Katherine. Call me Kate, or Brighton. Say hello to Ward, or maybe try to catch Katie. Look up and you might find Bea, look down and you might spot Blue. Over the horizon You'll spot Sunny, soaring just above is Soph. Sometimes Alex takes over, or Beth says hello.

That's me. All of that's me. Each name represents a different facet, or part of the who of who I am. That's why most of you know me as Eliza, that's the name of the writer in me.

The silence of names unspoken is as dark as the place in which fear festers in.

Names are your identity, the story of your soul summed up into one word. Don't silence yours like I have.

So when the curious ask, "What's your name?"
make sure to make it worth their time.

So what's your name?