THE PATHETIC TRUTH ABOUT BY EXISTENCE

[thepathetictruthofmyexistence]

the most committed relationship i’ve ever had is with my bed. and even that’s mostly me crying into it.

[thepathetictruthofmyexistence]

sometimes i think i’m a loveable person and then i remember no one has ever actually loved me.

[thepathetictruthofmyexistence]

sometimes life feels like being back in childhood, standing in a room full of adults who are talking about something important, and you can tell it’s important, but they lower their voices when you walk in.

that same quiet hum of you don’t get to know yet. except now i’m grown, and no one’s lowering their voice anymore — they just live in a world i can’t seem to reach.

i keep waiting for someone to let me in on the secret, to hand me the missing page of the manual. but maybe there was never a secret. maybe everyone else just figured it out, and i didn’t.

[thepathetictruthofmyexistence]

romantic history: 0. imaginary relationships in my head: 573. emotional damage: incalculable.

[thepathetictruthofmyexistence]

if they say nothing’s changing, i believe them. if they say they’re not going anywhere, i believe them. and then i find out, weeks or months later, that while i was standing still, they were moving pieces behind the scenes.

by the time the truth reaches me, the game’s already over. and i’m still holding onto promises that have already expired.

[thepathetictruthofmyexistence]

everyone around me is busy hitting milestones — engagements, promotions, moving into their dream homes — and i’m just here collecting dust like an unopened book on a forgotten shelf.

it’s like life is a party i wasn’t invited to, but i can still hear the music through the walls.

[thepathetictruthofmyexistence]

sometimes it feels like everyone else got a copy of the script and i didn’t. they’re out there hitting milestones like checkpoints in a game — new jobs, marriages, babies, houses — and i’m still on level one, staring at the tutorial screen wondering what button i’m supposed to press.

i keep telling myself life isn’t a race, but the truth is… it feels like it is. and i’m not just losing. i’m not even on the track.

[thepathetictruthofmyexistence]

turning 30 soon and realizing my entire romantic history could fit in the margins of a notebook page. everyone keeps saying “you’ll find someone when you least expect it” but at this point i’ve stopped expecting, stopped looking, stopped… everything.

i’ve watched people meet, love, marry, divorce, and remarry… all while i’m still standing in the lobby of my own life, waiting for someone to even notice i’m here.

it’s not even about wanting a fairytale anymore. i’d settle for being chosen, just once.

[thepathetictruthofmyexistence]

me, standing in the middle of my own life like a guest who arrived too early: i think i was built for background noise. i think i was designed to be tolerated, not loved. everyone else gets to be someone’s favorite person, and i’m just here—polite laugh, nodding along, walking home alone.

there’s a difference between being lonely and being unlovable. lonely is a storm that passes. unlovable is the climate.

and i’ve learned to decorate the weather.