Haven't been on in a while, I'm sorry!!! I'm back though!
I'm not sure who I am. Who am I? Do I belong here? Am I suppose to be alive right now?
Religiously, I've never known who I truly was. I've felt lost, wandering on a broken, beaten path trying to find. Well, me. Everyone else seems to know what they believe in and where they stand while I'm here still on this earthquake, shaking and struggling to get away. I get asked what I believe in and I always lie. I say I'm an atheist or I consider myself "uncategorized". But the truth is I don't know. I've never known and I've never been comfortable with anything.
As a person, I don't know either. I've lost so much that I don't know what I have anymore. I just wander, person to person, hoping to fit in. Hoping that someone will grab me and just hold onto me and say that's where I belong. I want to find where I belong. I mean yeah, I have my share of friends and people I love. But I just float. I'm just kinda, there. I've always just been there, the outsider, the one who doesn't fit in. I could never fit in. That's all I've ever wanted, to be normal.
That's all I've ever wanted. I just want to be normal. Normal parents, normal family, normal me. But that's what I'm not. Im not like everyone else, I'm... Different. And I hate that. I just want to be like everyone else and fit in and be normal. It's all I've ever dreamed of. To just be normal...
But yet my attempt at it failed. I didn't have any friends. When I'm myself, not normal, I have friends. I have people. But why? Must it really take so much to have people like me? I don't want people to see the real me. I just want to hide that from the world and just be normal. I hate being different. I hate being the outcast, the last choice, the only one eating alone at lunch.
Even as my non normal self, I'm the outcast. I'm the distant one. Why? Where do I fit in? Where am I suppose to go? All I want is answers.
Yet all I get is confusion. For all I know, I most likely have bipolar depression because of my dad. But he didn't tell me. He didn't care to let me know why I was going to therapy for a year every Tuesday. Why? What's there to hide? I always find out the way I don't want to. I always find out on accident. And I hate that. I hate... Me.
People seem to like me. Somehow. But how can they when I hate myself? When I don't even know who I am?
"I apologize for being different."
~Sleeping With Sirens
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
Log Of A Dead Star
Não FicçãoI only made this to bring out some confessions. Confessions that deep down I can't talk about, but I can write about. So that's all this is!
