Disclaimer this is a monologue I wrote for one of my characters. It in no means reflects how I feel personally.
So today I posted a video of me doing a monologue (peep it below); it took a lot for me to upload it so I want to give myself a round of applause and say “Zainab I’m damn proud of ya girl”.
As many people are to themselves, I am the word’s biggest critic of myself. I can’t do anything without a voice in my head saying that it’s crap and it’s not good enough and that is one of the reasons why I hide so many of the things that I do; so I thank God that I had the strength to push that voice deep down inside of me and say fuck it imma post it anyway.
The monologue that I recorded was a short excerpt from the play “Road” by Jim Cartwright and I preformed the character Clare. Now one of the reasons why this monologue holds its place in my heart is because I studied it for my A-Levels and because I have known this monologue for quite a while it is a bit stale and meh so I won’t lie it won’t be the best performance I have ever done, but yeah please don’t be mean and be like well that was shit. Just celebrate in the knowledge that I was able to be brave and share this with you all.
I know I know I’m not looking at the camera but I’m still developing and this is something I have learnt from.
Thank you for your time.
Peace and Love.
How dare you!
How dare you attack me like that!
What gives you the right?
If I can take myself out of my bed early to allow water to cleanse me of my sins. Why is it so hard for you?
How dare you force me to breathe only through my mouth and bypass my god given talent of breathing through my nose.
Is it so hard to cleanse? Is it so hard to spritz some edp or edt over yourself. It’s the morning for goodness sake! A god damn Monday morning.
Shame on you! Shame on you for allowing yourself to be in front of me damaging my senses. Is it fair?
Everyday I wake up and I wonder if this is really reality? Has one third of my life really gone by? Why am I still stuck in a life that I hate? Is happiness even real? Is this all I am?
These questions float around my head from the moment my eyes open, follow me throughout the day, and leave when my head touches my pillow.
I look in the mirror and cover myself with positive affirmations, pasting a fake smile on my face. This is my make-up. The reflection that stares back at me is not the me I know. This is the person that you all see, but a stranger to me.
This fake me walks around, showing people that all is good and well. Radiating this fake happy. When deep down I am dying inside. Bit by bit I slowly crumble. Struggling to keep this smile from falling down. The scaffolding that holds it up, struggling to keep the weight up and buckling from underneath.
I want to scream at people to help me. I want to cry and claw at my skin. Ripping it off so the real me is exposed. But instead I smile and continue on with this facade; hoping and willing that something or someone will come along and make a big change to my non-existence. That there really is a pot of gold at the end of this shattered rainbow.
One day I will find my happiness. One day I can stop this pretense.
But until that day, I must continue. So I cover myself in fakery, smile one last smile at the stranger in the reflection, and walk out into a world that does not know me.