I spend a frustrating amount of my time wondering why I am not “enough” for certain people in my life. Anybody, really.

I am by no means a perfect person. I shut off. I cease to communicate. I am alone with my thoughts a lot. I don’t reach out when I know I need to. Yet, with all of these faults and many more, I don’t deserve to feel less than I am. I don’t deserve to question why people don’t want to be in my life. I am more than what people think of me, or don’t think of me. I am so much greater than I allow myself to be.

I am alone an awful lot. It’s emotionally exhausting– my mind like a broken record, begging to know why I don’t have anyone. I have my mom, yes. But who else? No one. I have no one.

It’s pathetic to admit how happy I am when someone messages me to ask how I am or what I’m up to. Lately people haven’t reached out to me at all except when they need something or when it’s convenient for them.

I try to remind myself that it’s their loss.

I always forget.

I have done so much with my life thus far. I could have found myself down a different, more destructive past. I didn’t. I pushed through. I graduated high school. I went to college. I made the dean’s list. I worked full time. I joined an honor society. And soon, I’m graduating. I’m continuing my education, and most importantly, moving away from the toxicity of this area and making a life for myself outside of my comfort zone.

There’s days I don’t want to crawl out of bed because the only thing I am capable of doing well is crying. When I’m in bed at night, engulfed in the deafening silence, I question why I am so alone. I should have friends. I should be having fun. I should be doing this, or doing that. I am not.

But there’s also days that are pleasantly surprising. People in general can be so sweet and thoughtful. I try to be one of those people. I’m not always successful, I can be a real bitch– but it’s a progressing endeavor. I try to compliment people more. I try to smile more. I try not to let the intimidation or insecurities of others define the general population. I’m not religious or spiritual by any means, but I try to ask God for better days. He doesn’t owe me anything, but I ask anyway.

At the end of the day, I know the only person I have is myself. I know that she is strong, sweet, and powerful. But she has bad days too, sometimes bad months; but she’s allowed to have those. We all are.

I try to remind her that the only person in the whole world that she has to impress is herself, but she’s forgetful and sometimes messy. But every day is an accomplishment. Every day is a work of art, even the grossly bland days.

And eventually all of this will seem silly and laughable, because life will be beautiful–just like her– and she will owe it to no one but herself.


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