First and foremost, life is fucking hard.
Anyone can tell you that. Regardless of who you are or where you came from, life gets rough, typically at the worst times possible. No amount of money or love or support can deter mental illness, death, despair, doubt, dread. Sometimes things just happen.
They can happen a lot.
Nearing 21-years-old, you’d think it would be easy for me to find company. You’d think I’d find comfort in those surrounding me, those that envelop themselves in my world. I don’t, and it’s not. Every day is a battle for a purpose, a struggle to keep going, question after question. Why is it worth it?
Well, why isn’t it?
I never saw myself as the “college type.” I never saw myself as any “type,” really. I’m just a person trying to float in and throughout the world, just trying to get by and cope with life on things other than drugs and alcohol. I’m trying to be the person 5-year-old me would have been really proud of. Thats right– I said it. Me. I am in this for no one but myself.
Driving through northeastern Pennsylvania on this dreary Saturday made me realize a few things.
- This area fucking sucks.
- I am meant for more than what I allow myself to have.
- I don’t need anyone’s attention or affection– just my own approval.
- Life goes on.
I know so many people struggling to find themselves because they are afraid of what others may think. It’s such a freeing sensation when you no longer give a shit what others think. It’s an epiphanic experience to do things for you, and not for the Facebook likes or reacts or the “this” or “that.”
Heartbreak is the number one game changer for everyone, in my experience and less-than-expert point of view. Heartbreak changes people.
I’ve gone through heartbreak, one or two or three or however many times.
Each and every time I am changed into a stronger, better, braver individual– someone who respects themselves enough to let go. Or try to, in the very least.
I’ve spent the last few years curating my purpose in life. Is it this, is it that? Why am I here? What am I doing? Is it all worth it?
Who the fuck cares?
The real questions I should be asking myself:
- Am I being the kindest I can be?
- Am I doing what makes me happy?
- How am I contributing to the world?
- Am I a genuinely good person?
There’s only so many times we can cry over who we are– or who we aren’t, for that matter– before you let go and allow yourself to glue the broken pieces back together.
I spent so much time feeling alone that I forgot how to feel any other way. I forgot to feel loved, I forgot to feel happy, I forgot what it meant to be me.
If being alone is the worst thing I can be, I’ll take it. In a world full of like-minded individuals, I’m bound to find company sooner or later.
So here I am, writing this in a Barnes & Noble, quietly listening to the clinks and the clanks and the chatter of those around me. They’re similar, for sure, if they spent their Saturday night reading or studying as opposed to getting high. We’re all in this same building for a similar reason.
Maybe one day instead of sitting alone, I’ll be here with someone. Maybe then someone will be listening to our chatter instead of vice versa. Maybe then..
And if not, that’s okay too.