I have, perpetually, lived an existential existence.
I don’t belong here.
I’m quite certain that I never have, nor will I ever. It’s as I’ve always floated above the ground without the capacity to physically be grounded. I’m constantly seeking human interaction as a means to justify my existence. I “want” to be here, however I’m beginning to understand that I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ve never truly felt welcome here. In this place and in this time.
I’ve endured “therapy” since I was 8+ years old. Why?
I’m broken. READ THAT… I – am – broken.
There is no reason to have upset about that. I am. How many of us on this planet, in its current state, are not? Skipping the witches.
I constantly look for human interaction when I can. I occasionally “bump” into someone to have the ‘single serving moment’ that I can suggest “I am sorry” to, typically, be faced with an “It’s okay”.
I believe that I have disassembled the construct of love for my own desire to want to be with someone. I truly believe that I have been so “in love with the idea of love” that (through my own actions) I have deconstructed the basic concepts of “love” that I have shared with those that I have… “loved”. I have wanted so much, to connect with said person that I end up negating their desires. What if THEY want someone. What if THEY want something. I objectively negated those ideas and thrust my own desires forward. What a horribly negative and selfish thing to do. Furthermore, what bothers me is how much this is in contrast to how I think two people should love each other.
I don’t belong here. Why? While the ideas of suicide have “ping-ponged” back and forth in my mind, I begin to understand there really are few places to go. Unless I want BLACK. I don’t believe I do at this point. Where to go from here? I don’t know. I don’t even understand “why” I am here. Better yet, “why I should stay”. I’m, sort of, left with the empty idea of having to stay here until it is answered.
Parts of Rilo Kiley’s – “A Better Son / Daughter”
Sometimes in the morning I am petrified and can’t move,
Awake but cannot open my eyes,
And the weight is crushing down on my lungs I know I can’t breathe,
And hope someone will save me this time.
And sometimes when you’re on, you’re really fucking on,
And your friends they sing along and they love you,
But the lows are so extreme that the good seems fucking cheap,
And it teases you for weeks in it’s absence.