Alone

I’m a shell of the person that I used to be. I could sit here and try to explain who that person is, but I don't remember. I just know that she wasn't like this. She didn’t sit in her room for hours on end, staring at the ceiling, imagining a life she never got to have. She didn't lay in her bed all day, mind racing full of thoughts that wouldn't make sense to others. Constantly comparing herself to others, trying to please others when she cant even please herself.

I've come to the realization that the people I've met throughout my 21 years of life aren't for my growth, but rather I'm for their growth. I'm the trash can that they use to dump their problems in. I listen, I provide input, I let them cry, I let them get angry. I'd like to think that i've helped these people, all in different ways. I push my problems to the side, because they don't matter. I strive to make other people happy. I get a ping of joy when i'm able to put a smile on their face. Just a touch. And when i leave after spending the day with someone that i was able to make laugh after being so upset about something, back to a place that i can't even call a home anymore, i'm back in that dark place that i can't talk about with anybody. Because the second i talk about it, i have serious problems. I need help. I need to talk to somebody, and that's something that I just can't seem to face right now.

Everywhere I go seems so foreign to me. The house that I grew up in, that is filled with so many childhood memories, whether good or bad, doesn't feel like home anymore. The room that i've slept in for as long as I can remember, is filled with sadness and darkness. The light and the fan blades collect dust because they are never used. Trash everywhere, never wanting to clean, never having the motivation to do anything. Things stay untouched and unmoved, everybody saying it's just me being lazy, not wanting to clean it. I do. I really do want to clean it. But the mere thought of pulling the warm covers off of my body, and dragging myself out of that bed that's molded just right to the way that I lay all day and all night, haunts me. I never want to leave my bed. It's the only place that provides me comfort and security because nothing else ever has. Because when i get up off of that bed and leave that room, i see the staircase thats worn from all the years of us running up and down it. I walk down those stairs and see the living room where we all used to hang out and watch movies in, the dining room where we all used to eat dinner together. and then the kitchen. The kitchen where we make our food, where I relentlessly hunt for just something to snack on, whether it be a cookie or even just a glass of water. But now i look at it and i see the bottles filled with pills that i was going to use when i was 16. And all the memories that are supposed to fill me with contentment and happiness, fill me with sadness and discomfort. Because those days of being a carefree child are long gone, and I never thought for a second that I would never feel that joy ever again.

I've never had a problem with being alone. I definitely did at one point, but not anymore. After going through all the friends that i've gone through, and being let down by every single one of them, i'd rather be alone. I have no one to try to please. I'm learning to grow into the person that I want to be, rather than the person that they want me to be. But there will always be that feeling of emptiness in the pit of my stomach. I can never tell though if it's from the longing of wanting someone that actually cares about me, or if it's the hunger for an actual meal after having a cheese stick for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I'm done trying to please everyone. I do what I want, when I want, because we literally only get one life to live. And I don't want to be on my deathbed when I'm older, wishing I did the things that I wanted instead of doing the things that people expected me to do. And everyone will hate me for that. Being so reckless and stupid, but i dont care. they already hate me, and i'd like to think its pure jealousy, because i'm doing the things that they were too scared to do. the things they wanted to do, but didn't because they didnt want to disappoint anybody, putting others before themselves. theyre just jealous. because i have no one to put before me. its my life, and im going to do whatever i can to feel that joy i felt when i was a kid.

So although i'm alone and sad and empty, i'm going to live my life. Whether that be constantly filling my room with things that i most definitely dont need, or going on random road trips, or doing whatever i want. Because no one can tell me that i can't, they can only advise me not to, because it's not a good idea. But i won't listen. Because right now, in this moment, i'm the youngest i'll ever be, and i'm not going to let any opportunity slip through my fingers. I look in the mirror and see that 16 year old with the full pill bottle in her hand, tears streaming down her face, not wanting to live another second of this shitty life, and all i want to do is make her feel that ping of joy by seeing her at 21 years old, doing what she wants to do and being who she wants to be, not somebody else's version. Because this is our story of life, and we’re going to write it.