Tattered Notebooks and Coffee From a Styrofoam Cup

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.