It’s easy to say I think I have no purpose, that I’m insignificant, that I am unimportant, boring, or I am not vibrant enough. These are all trademarks of depression, but they also come from lack of confidence and self assurance. The other day, I was talking about this, and when someone said “You think you have no purpose” my eyes instantly welled up with tears, and I began to cry because they had hit the nail on the head. No purpose. Lack of significance and meaning. I know it sounds like a quarter life crisis but I think it’s more than that; it comes from not being taken seriously, not feeling valued, or even being underestimated. I’ve settled on not deserving the best in this life. I’ve even accepted the role of being the bystander in my own life story. My own life story. I know life isn’t a movie, but it kind of is. The fact that I’m okay with being a supporting character in my “own movie” is pretty sad. I don’t need this. I have value, influence, and I am not boring.
I’m so used to watching everyone else’s grand life story that I push my own to the corner because I don’t think it even compares to the bright, amazing story lines and personalities that these other people obtain. I instantly drop out without a fight because that’s how uncertain I am, and what I feel I warrant here. And then I feel like I share too much and I’m too open and then that gets me nowhere or it bites me in the ass, because karma. I thought that sharing your thoughts and feelings, and being unbelievably open with others, was a good thing. Now I’m turning from that, unless it has to do with my writing because there is no way I would be able to strip that away.
I’m over feeling intimidated by almost everyone I meet. When I tell them what’s going on in my life, I instantaneously feel as though their experiences are “better” than mine because I’m just working full time right now and trying to finish school. I’ve been out of the country once, and I hardly ever travel. In fact, I never travel. I don’t truly “experience” things, and I don’t soak all of that in like I’m supposed to at this age. I feel as though I have to keep up with everyone else so I can relate to them or feel as though my life amounts to something. I’m a narrator sometimes, literally narrating other people’s lives instead of my own. I’m always the bystander. I’m always looking in, listening in. I may vent a lot, but when you think about it, it’s nothing that extravagant and it gets annoying after awhile. I have no real story – or that’s what I believe because I lack self worth and confidence. It’s that black and white thinking that I have, and I forget that things are temporary. I have to learn that not everyone is going to have glamorous, insane life stories to tell or be apart of right away. I suppose I can find a gem here and there, regardless of the fact that I am seemingly stuck in this small Wisconsin town. I just desperately want to leave – I want to do things, and feel like my life is more meaningful. But deep down, I know those are just the self loathing, jealous thoughts. Nonetheless, I am important. I am still allowed to have a story, and to be the leading lady in it. I can.
I believe the reasons I feel this way are because I don’t know who the hell I am sometimes. I am under this phony facade that I do, but it’s not truly authentic. I’m insecure, uncertain, and I am always straying away from the excitement that I know in my heart I need and will benefit from. I’m just like everyone else. I witness these people, their lives, our conversations, and I see how they have taken control of their lives and rightfully so, are the main characters. They’re allowing themselves to be happy and confident. I envy that. I want that. They make it look so easy, so whimsical and self assured. So demanding in the most respectful way. Maybe I can be like that. Maybe it’ll happen sooner than I think.
The Nostalgic Bliss 