I want to make my life something I would want to read about. I want to make memories, find love, and all the crazy things people in the books I read get to do. But there seems to be something stopping me.
It seems to be me.
How can I make friends closer than a sister if I never talk to anyone? How can I find an adventure if I’m scared of getting hurt? How can I fight when I have no cause?
I feel like a wasted lump of clay. I know I don’t have it bad at all, and that’s part of what sickens me. I have no right to feel this way. I have endless opportunities, hundreds of people supporting me, some pretty great friends, but what? Why do I still not feel like I have a purpose?
I struggle with the most basic of things. Often I’ll forget to take a shower, feed the dogs, or switch on my phone. Things that should come naturally. What is it that makes me want to change the world when I don’t even change my clothes sometimes? (I know, some brutal honesty coming out here…)
What is here worth fighting for? C’mon, give me something! A dark corner is rising and gaining power in me, and it absolutely terrifies me. For if there is no good left to fight for, what’s keeping me from flipping? From being drawn away like others I see daily turning away from this whole thing?
Give me something to fight for! If you call me a weakling, I will be. If you call me scared, I will be. But tell me I’m a soldier. Dress me in armor. Teach me to fight! I don’t want to be like the rest. The rest are idiots, living in mediocrity! Don’t let me die wishing I had never lived.
Don’t let us leave.
Never tell us we are too young. Don’t tell me to wait. Tomorrow is never promised.
“All who live, die; but not all who die have lived.”