February 29th, 2012by ivansings
i look like a normal girl. twenty years old, 5â€™4â€³, blue eyes, blonde hair, skinny. quiet. smart. funny. i play the piano. sometimes i read keats, and i like dipping vegetables in ranch dressing and my favorite dress is blue and slinky and soft.
but hereâ€™s a secret: iâ€™m scared of cameras.
everywhere i go, i know theyâ€™re there, recording and tick-ticking. every time iâ€™ve wanted to spend the day naked or steal a book or cheat on an exam, iâ€™ve stopped myself because of the cameras. i feel guilty when i babysit for my friends, because i spend hours sitting on the couch watching TV after the baby goes to sleep, because i know theyâ€™ll watch the footage when they come home and think me lazy.
iâ€™m damaged, okay? my motherâ€™s doctrine of parenting was to invade, control, search and destroy and infiltrate my brain and Â my notebooks and my bed. i wasnâ€™t safe in my own head. i moved out when i was sixteen, but she can still hear what iâ€™m thinking.
i know this is paranoia. irrational. iâ€™m on drugs to soften the blow.
but they donâ€™t stop the recorders from ticking and beeping and blinking, microphones taking dictation.
who am i afraid of? who is coming to get me?
i donâ€™t know. no one. everyone.
i will be punished.
i should be shot.
i would hate to be captured on film, never able to die.