I think I’m always going to be alone. not like in a physical sense; I’ll always have people around me—or vice versa. But I’m never going to be what anyone really wants. I can’t even decipher what I want among all the aching I can’t run from.
I don’t know why I am the way I am. Most things hurt in some way and I have to fight through that to find any joy in life. I didn’t ask for these pains, and yet they ride everywhere with me. They are an inconvenience for others; for me, a disability.
I’ve lost years of my life to them and will continue to until it’s over. Exhausted from pity, from confusion, from disappointment, from misunderstanding. Exhausted from insecurity, from tears, from the endless space drawn out inbetween.