Loneliness

To be fair, I’ve always been an incredibly lonely person. In all my years, I can recall only one six-month period during which I didn’t feel this constant hole in my life, sucking away all my energy to burn on being alone. It was a wonderfully alive time and I’m embarrassed to admit the things I would give in order to relive it just once. 22 was a dream. I only wish I hadn’t woken up so soon.

Anyways, back to the loneliness part. It seems as though every time I think I’ve gotten past this emptiness, it finds a way to creep back in again. Or perhaps all the bright spots just find ways to dull back to background, instead. It’s not the emptiness, per se, but the lack of anything. I’ve spent my entire life just watching it go by from the sidelines. I’ve watched my friends grow up into real people, fleshed out creatures with desires and personalities. All I have been is a shell. I often wish I still held the same conviction that I did when I was 14, so then at least I could just kill myself and get it over with. Some days I believe that I’m just a touch too hard on myself, but most of the time I just feel pathetically wrong. I can’t help feeling as though I was placed here by mistake, dropped out of the pocket of some inattentive god, still an unfinished project.

I’m tired of writing about my sadness. I’m tired of sitting in my room. I’m tired of drinking alone at my favorite bar.

In defense of my current emotional state, I’m also at another crossroad in my life where I can’t tell if I’m going to disappoint everyone again or if this will finally be what I’ve been looking for my whole life. Everything I’ve ever done has become a mistake. There isn’t a moment of my life or a drop of my potential that hasn’t been wasted.