My story. That’s a tricky one.

To begin, I am that person walking down the street who no one seems to see. Average. That is one word to describe myself. Nothing special, or over the top. Average clothing, average makeup, vocabulary, and even an average life story. The only thing not average is my mind. My thinking. I was an art student. And while I no longer have a passion for picking up a paintbrush, my mind is filled with the color of everything left to imagine.

I am a child of divorce. My parents separated when I was six years old, and I forever have the memory of the day they told me what was about to happen. After that, I stayed low-key. I do not know why, but I am told that it is because of some sort of trauma I developed when my father moved out. I became soft-spoken overnight and had very little people to that I felt I could talk to. Today, I sometimes still feel like this is true. Whenever I meet someone, something tells me that I have not earned the right to make small talk with them.

Because of this, it has become very hard to express myself. My heart has hardened and this makes it very difficult to create any sort of relationship with any person in my life.

I have decided to begin writing. Perhaps sending my thoughts and ideas out into a void, where I do not need to hear criticism, I can once again feel safe to express myself out loud.