Sometimes my world feels small, so small that it’s somehow swallowed up in the grandness of existence. I exist in this state of limbo between meaning-making and coexisting with the world. I’ve never been “normal.” Or maybe it’s normal to think one isn’t normal.
Many times, I’ve wondered if there is a place for me in the vastness of it all, a little corner all my own with shoes only I can fill. But rejection is real, and though it becomes easier to deal with in my outer world, my inner world still suffers the pain of misunderstood intention.
Is it so strange to genuinely care about other people? Are others so badly hurt they don’t feel like they can let in a sliver of light, for fear of being burned?
Then I consider myself.
That’s how I function. That’s how I operate. I want to be the support, but rarely accept support. I want to hear others’ pain but don’t call my own by name.
What is this symbiosis we call connection? Simultaneously selfish and selfless, it speaks a universal language of safety and vulnerability. Sometimes it’s not safe. Sometimes we are hurt. Sometimes, more times than I’d like to remember, I’ve been on the receiving end of someone else’s painful experience.
Yet.
Yet, I still want meaningful friendships, lasting relationships, support, someone who cares, someone who receives my caring and recognizes it as a gift. I want to be known and loved for my best intentions.
Why is it so hard to believe that others have the best intentions?
These questions burn through my mind, lighting little fires, leaving little holes and mar marks.
That’s one of the reasons I write.
I don’t have to understand in writing. I don’t have to perform. There doesn’t need to be a resolution, just poetic form.
We all have stories here to tell, but rarely do we find a trusted confidant to whom we gift our time. And to-do lists, they go onward, and the inbox, always full, pulls us through the motions, pushes us to go.
In the chaos of the everyday, my brain just overthinks, slipping in and out of an imaginary world, wherein I finally sleep.
Somewhere I can feel, not think.