I was born on a Wednesday…
I don’t know if that’s an exciting fact to know about me, but it's very much true. I’ve been told so many times that I should tell my story. I’m just not sure which version everyone wants to hear.
The version of me who lost their best friend at 5 years old?
The version of me who was bullied constantly for years?
The version of me that lost the passion?
The version of me that was hurt countless times by countless different people who promised me they loved me?
The version of me that so desperately wants to be happy?
No wait, I know.
The version of me that lives in the depths of night. Because no one knows who I truly am. Only what I have let them see. Only what I can bare for people to know.
It's easy to say, "tell them your story". I don't think my story is revolutionary. I was born and I am currently living...sorta. More like existing in-between whatever surviving and living is. I'm trying my best.
I don't think that is something someone who is struggling wants to hear though. Shouldn't I have some resolution to my problems like the fairytales?
Isn't there supposed to be a prince charming or princess charming to save the day?
Isn't that how we know that the story is near the happiness?
My story doesn't have that. Not even close to that. Whoever has written my story before I have lived it, really wanted me to have some interesting character development.
As much as I want to be an inspiration for those who come after me, it’s hard to be so inspiring when I don’t really have good words to describe the notion: Keep Fighting. I literally have almost given up too many times to count. It took me gaining a sister to keep going. Otherwise, I would’ve just been another lost name amongst the billions or trillions of others.
Have I had good times? Of course.
Have I had bad times? It seems like those are more common for me as of recently. I don’t know how to end the cycle of pain.
So I don’t know what people want to hear. My poetry is my outlet because I don’t know how to verbalize the pain I’m in. Yeah, it’s sad. But that's my currently reality. I wish it weren't.
I'm often staring at the screen trying to figure out what to write in my poems to not only have it feel real, but be the truest version of my heart. Sometimes that's hard considering that my heart has been shattered by the ghosts of my past.
How am I doing?
Is this okay?
Like I said, this isn't a pretty story.
There are days where I can't walk or talk. There are days where I don't want to walk or talk. Neither is a choice I am knowingly making.
I have a job that is killing me on the inside, and the people on the outside want to kill me. You wouldn't think that would be the case for a 20 something year old to have to deal with.
I should be thinking about the cute boy in glasses smiling at me in the cafeteria, not what time it'll be okay to leave my room to walk around outside because I need to avoid certain people who have threatened me.
I should be thinking about the fun I will have spending time with my sister, not the impending doom of a countdown to return to my reality and how afraid I am to leave her.
I should be thinking about how excited I am to pursue my passion projects, not the fear of everyone turning their back on me the second any sort of success comes my way.
There is no room for me to breathe right now. I wish I could breathe.
Is this the story that will have people on the edge of their seats for? Maybe?
I don't know if my story is important to tell right now. Maybe one day it will be.
For now, I was born on a Wednesday. And I am trying to live a life worth telling a story about.