Two can mean so many things… two people, two weeks, two years, two books, two movies. It can also mean that something happened twice or two can refer to twins. Let your imagination run free and share your stories – fictional or not – about ‘two’ with for Wicked Wednesday.
(Please make your stories no longer than 1200 words.)
Two of Me
I often feel like I’m two people. There’s Cheryl; she’s confident, smart, funny, and sexy. She writes smut, and reviews sex toys, and has sexy fun with hot guys. She has lots of friends who are always happy to see her. She has her moments of doubt but they are few, and she shakes them off easily. She sees new things as an exciting adventure. She loves a challenge, something that pushes her boundaries. She’s willing to try (almost) anything. She trusts people but she’s not a pushover. She’s ambitious; so many things she wants to see and do, places she wants to go, people she wants to meet in person. She lives in the moment, and isn’t hampered by the past. When things go wrong, she laughs it off, and turns it into a positive.
I love being Cheryl, she’s fun……and she has fun.
Then there’s the other me, the one I don’t want to be. She’s always fighting to stay afloat, fighting just to survive. She has few real friends, and constantly worries about losing them because people she cares about have a tendency to leave her. She’s not as smart as she wishes she was, even when she works hard she barely scrapes by. She tries to be funny but often says the wrong thing, and just embarrasses people. She wants to be sexy but never feels like she’s pulling it off. She’s awkward, uncomfortable in her own skin, and it shows. New things and changes fill her with dread and anxiety. She’s scared to go for the things she wants because she’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. She can never enjoy the good times because part of her is waiting for it to all go wrong. She is shackled by a wealth of past experience, the things that all add up to tell her the bad stuff is what will always happen, it is what she deserves, she doesn’t get to be happy.
I don’t want to be her, I hate being her.
But I have to accept the two of me because if it wasn’t for the other me, Cheryl wouldn’t be doing half the things she does. The other me keeps surviving, keeps us alive, so that Cheryl can have her fun. I just need to work out how to mix the two sides. To start living instead of just surviving. To accept both parts of me.
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