And I Thought I'd Live Forever, But Now I'm Not So Sure....

There are a million reasons why I feel like I don't belong. Most of them involve the little voice inside my head that tells me all of the bad things that I feel about myself on an hourly basis. Then there are the other things that present themselves to me in a very physical way and I just can't help but notice it repeat over and over again. A lot of times it isn't very subtle. I think that people of a particular age tend to become invisible with the herd, because they bring no value to anything or anyone. I have no family (ie: wife/husband, children) of my own. I am not particularly good at sports or passionate about religious affairs. Those things that are repetitiously celebrated in hetero-normative environments are things that I will never have in my life. Another value determining factor in the ever changing equation (or two factors rather) involve youth and beauty. It's weird that the appearance of someone ultimately determines their worth. Now a lot of folks would simply say "oh that is just not right", but if you look closely at how we define/reward youth and beauty, there is plenty to agree on. Both are constant and given privilege even if the person (who is benefiting from it) hasn't done a thing to deserve it. Sometimes it can feel like there are 2 sides to every situation, but most of the time there is always a third (and mostly truthful) situation which hides the ugly truth to human interaction.

It's complicated and vague for me to try to identify why it is the way it is, but I know that I don't belong to anyone and I don't belong anywhere. I have watched how certain people will engage one another in a room, speaking to everyone in that room, and bypassing me completely. I have been told that I am stand-offish and that it makes me unapproachable. Sometimes I think that excuse is such a cop-out, because getting to know me requires a little more than a glance or nod of the head. I have been accused of harboring drama. The thought of "drama" never really seemed so prevelant in my world, until I exposed my scars to people and they interpreted it as "thriving on drama". Every life has a story and I think that I have spent most of mine telling the same damn stories that it gets tiring to myself. I am not as apt to share these things with anyone anymore. And the "life as a tragedy" narrative that I may have implied in any scenario was never really meant to be interpreted as drama. So why would trading "war stories" be an act of drama and not one of understanding? I am not sure...but once the label is affixed, it is pretty hard to peel away.

Most of my innermost thoughts are complicated. And I suspect that most people feel this inner turmoil when faced with situations where they have to keep shining in order for others to see their light. I am concerned with the cost that this has on me though. Every moment, day in and day out, trying to be a visible and productive member of society. It is hard. For some it is so much easier than others who have to try harder. I can't understand why I have to try harder and work more and be better and love more and see things for more than they are...when all I really want is to come home, curl up in a comfortable spot, maybe share a few thoughtful exchanges with someone special, then climb back into bed for the night.