I’ve been depressed. Not super depressed, not to the part where I’m totally non-functional, just generally irritable and not wanting to out of bed. I have been on the uncomfortable precipice where I just want to barf. But here’s my problem – my emotions can fool me, and I know this. So is the uncomfortableness here because I am trying to push past my boundaries – a good thing – or because something is genuinely wrong? I don’t think anything is genuinely wrong. Sometimes, my nature is lazy, and therefore an impedance.
It’s just that I want meaning in my life. I want to add something positive to this world. I love and enjoy my kids, but I hardly think that’s special. They may be special to me, but that’s a personal thing. I don’t feel special that yay, my uterus worked. I want to feel like there’s something good I can do. I know I owe my life and my happiness to people that cared about me. I feel a need to pay that back. I would give what I can, I’m just not sure that I have something valuable to give. That’s not meant to be fake or looking for compliments. I’m sure that I’m not the only one looking at my own mortality, my own small life and hoping I can add to something bigger than myself. I think humanity is beautiful. I love us. Yes, we are weak and petty and there can be smallness and cruelty within, but I think good wins out. I think love and compassion have more power.
So I write. Some aspects to who I am may look unique, but I know I am just like anyone else. Wanting to love and be loved. Wanting to make a difference and be mourned when I am gone. I don’t always know how to find people like me, but I write so others can find me. Not knowing my full path, but knowing enough that I’m on it. Wanting to open my heart and my eyes, and not sure if what I feel and see is real.