I feel like life is meaningless. Or maybe just my life. (Let’s not be egotistical, after all.) I think I lost the plot. I know this is fairly normal for twenty-somethings like myself. My whole life up until this point has been about getting to the next step- good grades in school, a part-time job, getting into college, getting a better job, moving out, graduating, starting a career. And once that’s all done… now what? Traditionally speaking- marriage and a family and a white-picket fence should be next on the docket. But…that’s not for me. I don’t want to end up in suburbia; there’s something so empty and depressing about all those cookie-cutter houses all lined in a row. And personally, I could go without kids. I think if I met the right man who really wanted a family I could be swayed. I don’t dislike the idea; it’s just as I am, alone, I like the idea of adventure better. Maybe I’m still too young to imagine a family. I come from an average home- we didn’t travel much. I feel like there’s so much out there for me to see and experience but I don’t know how to go about it. And… I don’t want to do it alone.
I think that’s what it always circles back to- I don’t know how to be alone. I’m so accustomed to this idea of a partner. Someone I can trust implicitly, someone to stand by my side, someone who will travel the world with me. Someone to laugh with and play with and love. But I don’t. And as I seem to lose the ability to connect with people on any sort of meaningful level more and more by the day, I start to worry… What if that’s not in the cards? It’s not that I’m not well liked- I don’t want to come off as arrogant, but I get approached quite a bit. Doesn’t seem to matter though, as there’s only a small handful of people I’ve ever felt a connection to, been attracted to, and trusted. And none of them worked out or stuck around. So now what? The most frustrating part of this is the fact that there’s really nothing I can do. I have no control in this area. I can’t help that it didn’t work out with the few people I wanted by my side and I cant see the future to know if there’s another person around the corner who will pop up and change everything. And I refuse to just sit, chin on the windowsill, waiting for this hypothetical stranger to appear. Searching for them is maybe even more depressing. I can’t just wait as my hope wanes. I have to try to change, to shake this dependence and become someone else, or rather, a different version of myself. I’m not sure if it’s possible. This need for another is so intrinsic to my base self, I might not be able to alter it. But I have to at least find another goal, a purpose, a reason for living. If I have a driving force behind my life, I feel I can shake off this loneliness, this impending hopelessness, and find meaning again. I just…don’t know what that purpose is.
I used to be a writer… I enjoyed it. But I was too afraid, I think. Afraid of failure. Afraid I wasn’t good enough… but then again, maybe I was writing for the wrong reasons? When I write like this- I’m really only writing for me. I post it because, eh, why not? Maybe I need to keep writing for me. And if no one likes it, oh well. At least then I’d have a small structure with goals, a taste of purpose again: get to the next chapter, finish a small novel. Just to say I did it. And I can save up my money, I can find ways to start traveling on my own, maybe. It won’t be ideal. But I can’t carry on like this. I can’t live just to simply be alive, wake up every morning just for the sake of existing and nothing else. It’s crippling. It’s miserable. I feel hollow and guarded and sometimes even downright angry. Mostly at myself. Because my life is fine, normal, privileged even. And I have no reason to be staring hollow-eyed across an empty room every night or crying myself to sleep. None.
I just need to find a reason, a purpose… Something that makes me important, even if it’s just to myself. I need to find what makes me, me.