Running away from my problems should be considered an art. The way I avoid my own insecurities by smiling and helping others feel comfortable makes me Pablo Picasso, Frida Kahlo, or Vincent Van Gogh. All my life, my greatest quality was being me. I'm afraid of what others may think of who I've become. Now, my life has centralized around this elaborate con I've orchestrated. Separating my acting from reality makes me question my own authenticity. Who am I? Even worse, I question if anyone could ever understand me or love me for who I am. Knowing they can't, I run.