Something more, I don’t know what it is but I know I need it. Lately, I just feel so hollow, anxious, empty. I hate it, I hate how life feels in the moments when it is not insane with busyness. I miss peace, rest, being able to breathe in deeply and finding a sliver of solace. Something more, but what? It seems like the only thing I have more of these days is exhaustion, stress, worries… No wonder my heart feels like it’s being suffocated daily; I think it actually is. Can a heart stop from lack of purpose, passion, hope. If so I might need a paramedic at my ready because this heart barely has the gumption to keep on beating if this is all life is meant to be. I want more, I need more, I crave more.
I used to look at people and think “why on earth would you do that.” Now, however, I look at people and see different levels of pain. That ostentatious outfit is clearly a cry for help in a way much deeper than the superficial. It is the cry of “see me.” See me for what I am and what I’m not. See me for the human being I can’t help but be. See me as a person before you judge me as a lost cause. The person “whoring” around is more than an easy lay, within every intimate moment given away is a whisper of the heart “love me.” Love me, make me feel important here now so I can vanquish that voice that says I’m nothing. Prove to me right now that I am, that I am something, someone who has some type of worth. I want to feel this forever, but I will take what I can get in this rapid half an hour. The wallflower shrinking away inwardly after every harsh word, every bullied moment, every taunt reverberates with the echo… “Feel my pain.” Feel my pain, I’ve been ridiculed and made the butt of every joke my whole life. Can’t you see that you are slowly killing me. That my whole world is simply composed of all the ways in which I fail to be as superior as those around me. I hate who I am but I also can’t help my basic composition. I am not you, please stop persecuting me for it. I used to look at people and see their immediate exterior. Now I look at them and see the cracks they try to hide, so desperately. All I want to say is that it is okay, I am human too. Some fissures run deeper than others, but none of them invalidate me, nor you.