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Showing results for tags 'i’ve tried to write about this before'.
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At first it was my words that I said I would protect. Then, once that was gone, I said I wouldn’t make friends. It would be professional. And after I grew too close and realized too late, I said my age. My face. All of that was gone. My voice was one piece of identity I was determined to hold onto. Even though the odds of you knowing me in person were low and the odds of you finding me because of my voice were lower, my dad’s Red Scare-esque attitude towards my identity running loose on the internet was enough to keep me as a listener. But then there was that one little lapse of judgement, just once, just for a few seconds. It was quiet in my room. My breathing kept getting picked up, so I moved the microphone away from my face, twisted the cord in my hands. There was so much you didn’t know about me. There still is. Logan said he was leaving. His voice was as high-energy as I had expected. Not valley girl. I remember wondering what you guys imagined my voice sounding like. I knew I wouldn’t ever ask. Jess said something I didn’t quite hear. It made sense that her voice sounded like music. Logan repeated, my phone’s going to die and Jess replied something I couldn’t hear over my pulse in my ears and then I did it before I lost my nerve. I’m a calculating person. I have a hard time making snap decisions. But here I was, clicking and catching my breath and suddenly I just wanted to say hi before you left. That was it. But even though my pulse was still in my ears, I could hear a gasp from Jess’ mic and Logan make some unconscious little “woah” because I had said so many times that I wouldn’t say anything. And then I laughed. One more piece of my identity lost. I won’t say lost. Given. I gave you my voice. It makes me sad sometimes when I realize you don’t know things about me the same way my friends in real life do. You haven’t seen me break down in a classroom and then deliver a flawless presentation that was the cause of said breakdown ten minutes later. You haven’t seen my face light up, haven’t heard me scream at a basketball game. You haven’t rolled your eyes in unison when a new person tries to say my name. But you know other things. You know me, differently but the same. And I said I wouldn’t give myself to you. I’m glad I did.