Weight(s)

I feel so empty all the time. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve lost so much over the years. I’ve lost so many years. All of it just feels like one endless slog towards where I can finally begin… beginning, but I never seem to get there. I just slog and slog and slog and never get anywhere. I really don’t think people realize just how much I don’t feel like I’m “allowed” to be or do anything. The thing is, I don’t have the faintest clue who I’m waiting for to give me permission. I know it’s supposed to be me. I mean, it has to be. Right?

Beyond that, I hate me. I mean I really, really hate me. I’m soft and weak and pitiful. My emotions run rampant. My fears corral me. I’m the bull in the china shop stomping on the shattered remnants of whatever I was supposed to be if I hadn’t been born me. If I hadn’t been.

Why am I?

I never had any support growing up. Well, a few teachers tried to support me but there wasn’t much they could do when we were constantly moving. It was rare for me to spend an entire year at one school. Outside of that though, no one in my family supported me. To my mother I was a walking welfare check, at least it very often felt like that. To my siblings, the ones I grew up with anyway, I was an easy target because I was quiet and meek. I feel like I was cheated of so much. Now, I don’t really care. Why should I? I Just want to be left alone.

I really don’t know how to connect with people. I’ve never really felt close to anyone. People are like inscrutable aliens to me. I’ve learned to read emotions and I tend to be deeply empathetic but none of it feels right to me. It feels like I’m faking all of it. Like my tendency to mimic people when someone is talking to me. I don’t mean to but I’ll slowly begin to copy the way they talk, act, move. I’ve even gone so far as to imitate accents. It’s all subconscious. I’m not sure where that comes from other than my fear of being found out as “different”.

My teachers often told me I was special. Now, I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an insult. Being special means you’re different. Being different means people notice you. When people notice you, bad things happen. At least, that’s been my experience. Get a good grade on a test. The teacher compliments you. The other students resent you. Win a pointless student award. Same thing happens. It goes on like that. Do anything that garners attention and you’re dog food.

I just realized that I talk a lot about my childhood. I don’t talk very much about myself after, say, my mid 20s even though I’m now in my 40s. There’s a reason for that. Not much has happened since then. I’ve kept my head down and out of sight. Don’t really go anywhere and don’t really do anything. It’s been quiet. So quiet. Quiet enough to ruminate. On things and in ways that-.

Don’t want to be here anymore. Feel like I’m being crushed by my own existence. Every second that passes adding untold pressure. Tick… Hate me. Tock… HATE ME! Tick… Useless. Tock… Pointless. Tick… Empty. Tock… Trash. Tick… Go away. Tock… GO AWAY! Tick… You’re not needed. Tock… You’re not wanted. Tick… Just disappear. Tock… It would be better if you had never been born. Tick… Everything wrong is your fault. Tock… Everything wrong is because of you.

Tick…

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