*This is quite full of angst.
I am alone and empty. Lonely and invisible. Somebody touch me. Put your hands on me, please, please, make me feel. I have so much space inside me, so much room, just waiting to be filled, to be seen, to be held. Sometimes I believe I have much to give and offer but find myself uncertain where to go with my desire to give. Who would want or accept it? I love. But yet…all too often this isn’t enough. Tossed away, discarded-it’s not enough. Am I enough?
Enough for what? I don’t know. Does my presence, my very existence, make a difference? And I’m not in the mood to answer my own question with my existential talk and philosophical thought. Right now I’m questioning my ability to achieve my self-identified purpose-for who else gives me purpose but my own self, my own heart? My purpose of making the world the tiniest bit brighter, doing what I can with what I have, giving what is needed, asking or needing nothing in return. Life is hard enough so I try and sometimes, rarely, succeed in making it a little less challenging, a little more hopeful, a little less burdensome. Most of the time though I miss the mark.
When will I stop playing this game called “Insignificance” that has followed me for years? (Again-I’m not responding with my intellectual beliefs). I create my own place, my own purpose, my own significance. Yet I’m feeling hollow, intangible, fuzzy around the edges. What good is any of it really? Sometimes I wish I could have a George Bailey experience, but I know that’s impossible. It’s not possible to know for certain how you’ve changed others, changed the world, altered the course of history and experience. Obviously. But I was supposed to die and at times I wonder how things would be different if I did. Pointless speculations really but who said anything about being logical and rational all the time.
I don’t even know what I’m saying really, just writing in a stream of conscious way. I just…I feel my heart will overflow with all the love, concern, and attempts at compassion and empathy I have for people (not all because I’m not a saint), and well…good for me. That only gets people who are suffering so far although I recognize I am currently devaluing the role of empathy in relationships. Yeah, I know I am. But seriously. Perhaps the biggest thing I have going for me is my ability to love and the intensity in which I do so, but that’s not so very special if you think about it. It’s not a solution, not a problem-solver, not life changing, not really. (Hello self-debasement).
Alone. Immaterial. Unmemorable. Vanishing. Overlooked. Unseen.
Could I be any more melodramatic?
I don’t often think about what I want since all too often my wants are directed outward toward other people. And my needs, well I need what every human needs. I guess I don’t always know if I’m needed though this tends to occur rarely and in the darkness when I’m alone. Other times though I’ll be in a room with people when out of nowhere the thought “If I simply disappeared, what would happen?” appears. The world will seem to tilt, as if I’m being squeezed out, pressed into a sliver of myself, and I wonder to myself who am I kidding? You aren’t much.
Angst angst angst. I don't feel like I'm 25 years old or writing like I'm an adult.
What do I want? I’m not referring to an academic sense but what do I, the me inside, my spark, what do I want?
I want the void to be filled. I want to be loved, missed, trusted, and wanted. I want to be someone’s somebody-the person that makes their breath catch momentarily, their worries fade just a bit when I come around, and whose arms and touch feel like home.
I need to go to sleep. This mess of drivel is coming to a close.