My entire life I have spent wanting, trying, striving to be someone I am not… the person I think I am supposed to be.
If there is something we are supposed to be; some way we are supposed to act; somewhere we are supposed to remain, then I have failed miserably.
And every day I feel that failure that I have not lived up to other people’s expectations. I have not succeeded in reaching my dreams; I have not become the person God meant me to be. I have failed, and it hurts more than I can say.
I hear them, the people who don’t know I am listening. The people who live in the expectation that a person can overcome if only they gave in some effort. “Surround yourself with positive people,” they say – and it confirms my fear, my pain, this knowledge within that I am supposed to spend my life alone.
Stay away from them, the thoughts say. They are not voices, though they might as well be. You will only cause them pain.
And so I hide away, because if there is anything I know about me, it is that I don’t want to cause people further pain.
Then I walk past them, in the stores, on the streets, and I think, I see you. Sitting there full of pain while people pass you by – as if you don’t matter at all; as if you were just there begging for drugs, for alcohol. I see you, I think. Though I may not have anything to give, though I appear at times like everyone else.
We don’t belong in this world, you and I, I think. I see you. I know you. I am you.
We are the hurting. The broken. The lonely.
Yet when people try, we push them away. Don’t try to get close, we say with our actions. My pain is too much for you to carry. You do not want it. You may try, but I can’t be happy for you – it is too exhausting – and you can’t KNOW my pain.
You can’t join me here. So do not try. Because when you try, and I fail, and you leave me alone… it will hurt more than if you didn’t see me to begin with.
But I see. I know. I am.
And I write my blog posts, and see that so many are sad – and I try to write something positive – because I am trying to do better.
But the truth is in the sadness, and the pain, so much more than it is in the good days.
I painted my kitchen, and I felt good about that – but I have been crashing for nearly a week after. People want to hear of the success, and it was, but not what it cost me.
Pity and pain do not belong here, they say. Keep them inside. Let them go. Strive, and move forward.
There are so many more struggling worse than you.
But pain is pain, and I see the pain. It is the happiness I do not understand.
I want to say that I am well. That I was able to find work that I could do, and that I have overcome.
The truth is, though, that for every couple of hours I push myself to enter their world, I need days – even weeks – to overcome.
I want to be strong. To be whole. To be able to say to all of those who came against me that I can do this – that they were wrong.
But it isn’t true, and no amount of wishing will take me there.
I can’t work. Not like that. This world wasn’t built for me – and when the effort of going to a store takes all I have mentally and physically for days after, how can I go to a job?
I want to say that I can be happy – but I can only really reach people through their pain. It is what I know. It is what I understand.
So if they are searching my life for some success… I may never reach that in my lifetime, though I strive for that.
But if they want real; if they want someone who understands… here I am, all of me, and I can not pretend.
But I see you.