I have this need to…belong. I used to think that meant to someone. Now, I’m not sure what it means. With someone? Someplace? I don’t know.
And I’ve had this…this feeling for a long time now. Years, in fact. That I belong with the people who are with me, now. Now as in then. Now as in still. Now as in years down the road, I hope. And so I have been waiting. Patiently. Waiting for some sign or something that I am where I belong. Where is not a permanent place. Where is a state of mind. Sometimes you share Where with other people. And I have been waiting to know that I am sharing my Where with a person who wants to share Where with me, too.
I don’t know if that is the case. I keep hoping, and hoping, and sometimes I pray. I don’t know to whom, but I pray that if there is something out there, it will help me figure out if this is my Where. Or help me cope, if it isn’t. But I have no definite answer. I have received no definite answer. And so I keep waiting. And hoping.
I hate waiting.
And so I think it is time to move forward. To stop waiting. To make my own Where, and figure out how to survive on my own.
My worst fear is being alone.
I wanted to die, yesterday. I woke up, and the whole day I couldn’t stop thinking about what a relief death must be. An end to the waiting. Isn’t that all life is? Waiting for death? And I couldn’t do it, because I could never do it. Even though I want, so badly, to stop waiting. To stop feeling like my life is a string of mishaps and bad karma, like a lesson people tell their children. Eat your vegetables, or you’ll end up like her.
I did eat my vegetables.
I thought if I boxed these thoughts away, did some spring cleaning, that some normal person would emerge, and I could live a normal life.
What is normal, anyway? Some stasis. Maybe I should be grateful.
At least life inside my head is always interesting.