Maturing is that realizing that I’ve always been alone. I have been crying for thirty minutes as if my limbs were taken away. I am crying right now writing this. I know nobody that knows me in real life will see this. Are some people destined to be alone, a constant failure, an almost, last on the list, a backup. I have rarely had a deep meaningful conversation with a real person. I am often accompanied by the made up people in my head. I admire the trees, I feel bad if the tree loses a branch or cut in half .That’s how I feel. Like I was cut in half. Urgent! Like I should be in the ICU right now. Hooked on to machines. Surgeons trying to figure out what’s happening to me. Surgical interns researching a case that’s similar to mine. Closely monitored. But in reality, nobody sees the urgency my heart is yearning to be hugged. A pat on the back. Taking the load off of my shoulder even for an hour. The warmth of “I’m proud of you”. Holding my hand so I wouldn’t be alone. Wiping my tears. Would 911 answer my call for my urgency? It’s a random Wednesday in the middle of June, I am crying my soul out. It’s silent. Can not pull the breaks even if I tried. My body is pushing me, forcing me to get the tears out. I have no saying in it. I am missing pieces in me. I am the tree that lost a branch. Bleeding to death. A slow kind of death. That had been happening for almost twenty nine years. When is it going to stop? Will it ever stop? All the work I did inside and out on myself, was it for nothing? Was it all just to repeat the same thing deeper? Will I ever come out on top? Am I meant to be discovered after I die? I will not edit this. I will not check for grammar or missing commas. This is me. Most of my days. I have cried more than I smiled but in every picture I had taken, I’m smiling. Writing to the void knowing nobody would read this is the only comfort I’m feeling right now.
