The Faces We Wear
I have been writing a book. It will be published in a few weeks, hopefully. It is about a guy who pretends to be other people. Won’t give away more than that - spoilers can’t be good for business. You must read it when it comes out - I will share the details in this space. Anyway, as I was writing it, I had several crises of faith - Will it be a good read? Would anyone buy this? This is boring. Am I writing this character right? And in all this, I looked closely at myself, to draw inspiration for the imposter I was writing about. For as long as I can remember, I have had trouble understanding myself as a person. Often I have felt like an empty vessel, driven by the faces I wear. Let me clarify - my life hasn’t been a very happy one so far. There were several deaths, abandonment, and separations that marred my journey, and not being the bravest person I know, I used denial to cope with these situations. If I didn’t believe these things were real, they wouldn’t affect me, right? I think