I laid in bed with his arm across me. The room was dark and the house was still.
I sobbed as silently as possible. At first it was just small tears. A thought crossed my mind and it disturbed me. But the more that I thought about it the harder I felt them come. A tear rolled down my cheek and hit my shoulder. And noticing this I started to cry even harder. As quietly as possible so not to wake him. My mind raced and all these words came flooding to my mind of what I wanted to say, and then…just as quickly they disappeared.
I tried to get up without waking him, I grabbed my glasses from the nightstand and made my way downstairs.
Here I sat.
Something had been bothering me for a while. And for some reason tonight it was making me feel worse than I had felt in years.
This sense of not accomplishing what I was here for. What I needed to do. What I always wanted to do.
Since I was a kid I wanted to be a writer. Always. And throughout the years after there were several other professions that I thought I might be good at: psychologist, dancer, actor(I haven’t been onstage since the early 90’s, I miss it so), and singer. Writing however had always been my main goal. My first love.
I never went to college. Well, I made it to Community College. I barely made it through high school. Not due to lack of intelligence. No. My emotions have always been my downfall. I’ve always felt more then and seen more than the average person. Senior year I had one teacher say that I was probably one of the most hypersensitive people she had ever met in her life. And it was meant as a compliment. She later explained that she noticed I had a strong but not developed properly sense of intuition. She was right. I can still walk into a room and pick up on the energy around me. I can figure out whether or not someone likes me, who is nervous, or who is hiding something. When you’ve been this way for most of your life it can make you feel uncomfortable in most every situation. There are few people I’m truly comfortable with, people I feel aren’t judging me in some way.
This “gift” unfortunately stagnated me over the years. I led with my heart rather than my head. I found myself in situations that weren’t ideal, and I often made choices that probably weren’t for the best. Thankfully I learned lessons from each one.
I never had the chance to become a psychologist or an actor. And only now am I trying to be a writer. Through here at least. Which I’m thankful for this opportunity. My words perhaps will be seen by some and hopefully understood.
Back to earlier. Back to the tears.
Lately the jealousy I feel for others who can accomplish and be who they are, get out in the world and make a difference has been overwhelming. The things they can do that I cannot: travel, live, create. This jealousy has been eating me up inside. I get angry that I didn’t use my youth when I had it to go out there and try to be something. Someone/something that I always planned on. Oh the dreams I did have when I was younger. I used to write them down in notebooks. Plan them out .
Yet those damn emotions and bad choices always stopped me from proceeding.
Now I feel more stuck than ever. It’s this illness. My brain for the most part works fine. Unless you count the fact that there are times I forget the meaning of words, how to spell them, and sometimes when I write I later realize I left out words in sentences. My eyes however are a different story. I no longer trust them to drive from any close distance. I can travel fine around my town and just a bit beyond but any further, especially into the city is terrifying. This limits pretty much every possibility that is set in front of me.
I can’t see friends. I can’t go to shows.
It’s breaking me down.
Listen, I’m strong. I really am. For someone who for some god unknown reason was dealt a rather unfortunate deck from birth on, I’ve survived. And for years anything that came my way I strengthened.
Yet there are nights like tonight where I cry myself to sleep.
Where I wonder when I’m going to get my chance.
It has to be my turn sometime, right?