I’m really struggling with this right now. That lost feeling. It’s like…one minute people are around me and then they all have places to go and things to do and it’s like they just quickly fade out, disappear, and there’s this empty silence and a shell that only I know exists. It’s ‘me’. Whatever that means.
I don’t know how to fill that shell.
“Well do things you like to do.” they say.
It doesn’t work. What do I like? Even when I find things I “like”…it just doesn’t do it.
You see, my entire life I just wanted to be loved. To feel like I mattered to someone. To feel like I was someone’s priority. Someone was taking care of me. That’s what every kid wants and needs, right? Most kids get it, and they grow and become independent healthy adults who are equipped to pass those things on to other children who need it, etc.
Instead I was lost. Forgotten behind selfishness. Last in a list of priorities that were determined based on who or what fulfilled their needs, and I didn’t fulfill anything. And so to protect myself I became distant. Independent at an all too young age. Hard. “I don’t need them.” They believed me. How could they have sincerely believed that a child wouldn’t need her parents? They didn’t care. It was excuse enough for them to continue on doing what they were doing and not feeling badly about it. They were fooling themselves.
I knew I needed them. I hated that part of me. I belittled her and made that part of me feel bad for existing. I hated the little girl I was. My whole life I’ve kept this “I don’t need anyone” facade going, and it’s such a lie. I think that’s my struggle. I think that’s really at the root of all of it. When that neediness starts coming back, I get so conflicted. I despise it but it is me and so I despise me. My whole life though it’s been there and so there’s so much of it stored up that when it wells up, it’s overwhelming. It’s so immense now it couldn’t possibly be filled. For 29 years I’ve been doing this crap. For 29 years I’ve been a fake independent adult.
I remember when I was about 8 or so, I decided I was going to run away. I’m too ashamed to tell the details, but I still wonder to myself how I got the ideas that I did. I remember my list of what I’d need in order to survive. It disgusts me.
I’ve lost myself. Or really I never found myself because I was too busy demeaning the natural parts of me because they just were so useless and only left me hurting. I was too busy figuring out what NOT to be so I didn’t get hurt, that I never got to just ‘be’.
It got me nowhere. It got me further and further from…from I don’t even know what.
I really hate life.