I wonder what it will take to be truly happy. I don’t think I’ve ever really been happy. I’ve had many happy moments, but I always go back to that negative place. There is so much that happens in life. I wonder about my purpose. I’ve taken it upon myself to build everyone up around me, but I wonder if that is really my purpose. Am I supposed to be everyone else’s strength; everyone else’s solid ground; every one else’s rock? Who will ever be mine?
I think I know why I don’t have friends. When they start seeing the real me, when I begin to trust them and believe in them, they change. And the wall goes back up. Whether they lose interest, whether they tire of my craziness, whether they get creeped out by the intimacy of a real friendship, I don’t know. They just change. And I go back into hiding.
They usually don’t like my life choices and judge me on them as well. That’s ok. I live with my choices. I know the consequences. I am more familiar with regret than anyone could imagine. But I’m stubborn. I don’t like being wrong. I don’t like being a failure. I will wallow in my regrets to prove that I’m not a failure.
I don’t feel like I’m living my life yet. I feel like I’m moving through the motions, waiting for reality to come find me.
It’s so easy to be alone with my own thoughts. I’ve been told I over analyze things. That may be so, but it keeps me safe. If I see the impending doom before it gets to me, it won’t hurt as much. My thoughts keep me company when everyone else has left. My thoughts are what keep me warm at night and what keep me moving through the day. In my thoughts lie all of my hopes and dreams of lives I’ll never have, all of my musings and inside jokes, all of my judgements, all of my paranoias, all of my feelings.
I avoid my feelings, almost as much as I avoid my memories. I have so much anger, there isn’t much room for anything else. Except maybe sadness. But usually that comes from my anger. What is funny is no one knows I’m angry. No one knows that anything is wrong. Is it because they don’t care? Is it because no one has room in their inward view to see me sitting in the corner just outside the corner of their eye, suffering in silence? Would anyone want to? If they saw me, would they stop and try to help, or would they pretend like they didn’t see me? It’s like the beggar on the corner that when you notice then, you pretend you were looking at something interesting on the other side of the road, so you don’t make eye contact, so you don’t see the desperation in their eyes, so you can’t feel guilty, or the judgements you make on them to keep from having to take responsibility for them, to make you feel better about denying them a little bit of humanity, the jungements on their life choices, or judgements on their opportunities, or your opinion of their work ethic.
Have you ever stopped and spent a dollar on a cup of coffee for a homeless person and sat with them in the ashes and listened to what ever they wanted to talk about? There is a lot of life bottled up in those sad, tired, worn out faces. A lot of wisdom, a lot of heart.
That’s what I need. Someone who has the time and the heart to sit in the ashes with me, to just listen to my soul. To allow me to unload by burdens, even for just a moment, even for just a breath.
The day I find a friend like that, is the day my world will change.
Until that day…