I wrote the beginning of this a long time ago, and believe I posted it in the Share Your Art thread, but later on I sat down and finished it, trying to put feelings, sensations and mindsets into words. I posted it on my tumblr, because I felt like getting it out there, but didn't want to put myself out there, so since I barely had any followers on there I knew it would go fairly unnoticed.
Now though I feel a bit more prepared to share it with a larger crowd. It might just seem like incoherent ramblings, or a really bad attempt at poetry, but... that felt like the best way to get the words out.
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I'm here, alone, staring at the words I'm writing as I try to understand my own feelings. I feel so empty inside and despite my best efforts I cannot seem to fill that void. Lonely, I feel like I'm constantly standing on the sideline, gazing forward at everyone else, the collective, them.
I leer at them as I fall deeper and deeper into the hole within myself, spiralling into a sense of isolation so strong there is a constant threat of tears breaking through my facade. Am I being dramatic? No doubt. Are these feelings real to me? No doubt. And though I feel them so clearly I am left at a loss as to what to do, looking up towards the exit to this hole I'm in as I try to find the answer, but I'm stumbling over my own feet as I trip through the darkness I'm in. I cannot find an answer, even though I know the feeling I crave. I wish to be a part of something. A part of everyone else. The collective. Them.
But how do I know if I am? Maybe I already am? My mind swirls and drowns in the questions, ponderings and wonderings of my own curiousity and uncertainty; What does it feel like? Could you ever describe it? Am I capable of feeling it?
I'm here, alone, staring at the words I'm writing as I try to understand my own feelings. As I try to understand everyone else. The collective. Them. But I feel as if I might as well be from a different planet, as if my mind works on a different frequency, and I speak in a different language, attempting to monkey the words and phrases of others, hoping that I'm understood, and hiding when I think I'm not. So I hide, in my home, in my clothes, in my chair, behind the frozen expression that keeps my sadness inside, like the calm ocean surface above the violents currents below.
And all the while I long to be part of something, to finally grow up, break out of my cacoon and move freely in the world. But as I look in the mirror and see a figure in make-up, flowing hair and nice clothes I am terrified, as if I'm moving too quickly, as if I'm gonna be caught and condemned for my treacherous attempts to be an ordinary person. "You're not an ordinary person" my head tells me. "You're still that awkward toad of a child that you've always been, and always will be." The chubby child who got angry at the smallest of things, who was clumsy, slow-minded, jejune and who seemed to want everything, but in reality wanted just one; to be loved for who she was...
"You don't deserve to be loved, you don't deserve to be liked, and anyone who sees you knows that you are a blundering mess. They know that you don't belong with them, that you are simply something wrong with the world. A mistake of mother nature, a glitch in the code, a piece without a puzzle. And if anyone treats you kindly? It's because your trickery has fooled them, but sooner or later they'll realize what you are. You're not even good enough to be a freak, you're simply something that shouldn't of been."