Let me tell you a bit about myself. I’m writing this in the
back of a bus at ten o’clock at night. People are looking at me strangely,
happens but it could be because I’m writing this out by hand. I’m twenty-five
years old. I have never been in a solid lasting relationship. I doubt I ever
will be. I’m coming to terms with this. I have been told I’m beautiful. I can’t
see it in myself. Again I doubt I ever will. I have a poor self image and
little self-love. I try to help people anyway. In the end, it’s not about me.
It’s not so bad living life alone. There are paths best walked alone. They are
paths that are easier walked alone. Sometimes it’s agonizingly painful being
alone. In a way, it fits my chosen lifestyle. I’m not entirely sure if this is
true or I have just convinced myself it’s true. I don’t feel a sense of
belonging anywhere. I wonder if I ever will. Sometimes, more often lately, I
wish I were living out of a backpack, drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup,
writing down stray thoughts in tattered notebooks in some strange roadside
diner, motel, anything far away from my current life. I think this even though
I know you can’t outrun unhappiness. You can change the scenery as much as you
want but you’ll still be carrying those feelings with you. I have always been
considered strange, different, unwanted, an outcast cast out but in my exile I
have found comfort and good conversation among the fallen, the freaks, the
damned, the dark, the deranged, and the ones who walk alone. Their late-night
talks, clever quips, and kind words have gotten me through some long nights
where the coffee has run dry and the thoughts come creeping, the ones that take
shape and gain strength through every misconception, twisted lie, and skewed
perception a person has ever felt, heard, or known. I have many quirks. One of
the most frequently commented on, and in some cases a frustration to some, is
my lack of phone. I don’t lack a phone because I choose to avoid people, nor is
it only a financial burden I can’t cope with at the moment. It’s in part, my
incredible dislike at being tied to something. I see people pull out their
phones and do nothing but open and close apps only to avoid the possibility of
interaction with other human beings. Weren’t phones originally meant to be a method
of making communication easier over long distances to connect people? I’ve
found without a phone I’m considerably more punctual. I don’t have the option
of writing off being late with a quick message. Some people say I’m
old-fashioned, caught in the wrong era. In truth, I don’t know what era I
belong to. I love old strange antique things, I love science fiction, I love
twisted streets leading to new places. I don’t seem to belong anywhere in time
of space. There are eras and places in the world where I would be executed,
exiled, deemed untrustworthy (I’m actually a deeply honest person), but people
have their beliefs as I have my mine. If a person is fervent in their belief of
anything it can be either a great thing or a terrible thing depending on what
the person values and how many people get caught up in the belief alongside
them and what directions the original idea is skewed. Because I don’t always
speak my mind, my silence is sometimes misinterpreted as ignorance, by people
who choose to see it that way, when, in fact, it’s the opposite. There are just
some things I don’t want to discuss or I will discuss at the right time, or
even people I don’t feel inclined to talk to. I don’t blame others for my
failures and struggles. If opportunities are like grains of sand, I don’t let
them slip through my fingers; I close my fist around them and throw them into
the ocean and let the waves crash over them, crushing them into oblivion. I am
the architect of all my own destruction.
I made the choices, good or bad. I can thank the people who offer me a
helping hand when I’ve fallen down and am struggling to stand, even if I push
them away. I can thank the people that try to tend my wounds when I’m bruised
and bloody, even though I again push them away. I can thank the people who
offer me a crutch when I’m limping and stumbling but I push them away. I push
so many people away and the failures are really all on me. I can’t achieve a
sense of balance. I have no harmony. I know there are changes I need to make
but either I’m trying to make the wrong changes or I don’t know what changes to
make. I don’t write all this for sympathy. I don’t need sympathy or to draw
attention to myself. I write this because these are thoughts that are asking to
be let out and sometimes all you can do is let it out. Maybe someone will read
this and take something from it. I don’t know. I can’t know but it’s there in
case.
