I wish I could be like you and simply life live.
To those who are always ready to find someone, willing to be swept off your feet and to fall head first to the greatest love affair you could ever imagine, I envy you.
To those who find friends, no companions, and talk to them every day or more often than that so that they can qualify to be your best friends, I long for that sort of thing.
To those who just live and never ask yourself what you should be doing with your life or why things haven’t gone as planned on a nightly basis, I sometimes imagine what it would be like to be you.
See, for me, life just isn’t that simple.
Life is a lot of what if’s and should have been’s and honestly, I’m sick of it.
I’m sure social media feeds this sickness, but I can’t seem to get rid of it.
Bombarded daily by people boasting about how good their life is, even if it’s not true, drives me crazy. But then, the times I’ve worn their shoes and done the same, it feels somehow satisfying?
I been on the outside of mostly everything for the majority of my life and I wish I could say that I’m used to it and that I’ve found contentment and peace with where I find myself, but I’m not and I haven’t.
Never once since I discovered what it is to think and think and think have I thought to myself, “you should do what you’ve always wanted to do” because I feel held back.
Now, there was a time in my life where I felt that I was always holding back and all I needed to do was just find the keys to unlock my potential, but right now, all I ever have is the sensation of captivity, where the bars have become something I’ve come to expect as I lunge for whatever food my captors bring me.
See, I used to think that I was like Superman, holding back in a crowded city because I knew I could hurt people if I wasn’t careful enough, and somehow, maybe, that soothed my mediocrity. But somewhere in the mix, it became my norm to hold back, no longer did I recognize it for it had been in place too long.
Like a caged bird, no longer did I recognize the cage.
That’s where I find myself in life, imprisoned by the very instincts that once sought to free me.
Am I caged by laziness or by my own doubt, that I have not figured out completely yet.
This brings us to where I think I differ from you.
You may or may not think that I am a part of your life, but I am.
I am the silent observer; watching you from a distance and supporting you even when you’re not aware of it.
And, you too participate in my life.
You are the vines that bind me and the hope that eludes me.
With every flashing smile that you show to the camera, it’s another reminder that I’ve failed to do the same.
With every flicker from my computer screen filled with the list of your accomplishments, it’s another click back to the distractions I have ready and waiting for me.
“I don’t get to live like them” I’ll whisper to myself, but I don’t find comfort in these lies.
“One day, you’ll bury these fears and build a monument to your joy on top of them” but I don’t understand my fears enough to fight them and I don’t know what brings me joy enough to find them.
Hear me out, I am jealous of you, with a rage unspoken and a passion unknown.
I wish that I could just act on these emotions and not feel like I’m selling them short, but her I am, unable to do anything but write them down.
I wish that I could have friends and not feel as if I have to be something that I’ll never be able to be for them.
I wish that I could just have a relationship and not feel as if I’m not enough for them.
I wish I could talk about everything good going on in your life and not wonder what it would be like to be you and then snap back to reality and feel like I’m missing out on what it is to be a person.
There’s just so many things I wish about that I never act on and never admit to that eat me up from the inside and if you knew the kind of pain I felt as I made another silly gesture to accompany another pointless joke, then you too would probably do your best to avoid conversation like I do most days.
What’s the point of talking if all you ever do is talk about every but what you want to?
That’s how I feel and maybe these feelings are just something I’ve made up, another mental block, another spiritual barrier, but maybe they are there for a reason.
Regardless of which, I do know that I don’t want them.
But, I know that ignoring it is simply letting the problem become something worse.
And I know that not talking about it lets I grow stronger because pain multiplies in silence for “pain demands to be felt” so here I am feeling it out.
I’m talking about it because that’s the only way I know to face my problems.
I’m outing my agonies because once they have been put in the spotlight, they can no longer pull the strings on this marionette.
If you’re secrets become center stage, they can longer no direct your life from behind the scenes, so here I am, no longer letting them stay hidden in the rafters.
Now, instead of reading love letters I wish I had written I’ll write obituaries as a farewell to my problems.