Why am I here, in this room, in this house, in this city? I feel like I have walked away and detached from all of the things that once made me feel human. From the people and places and things that once upon a time made me feel whole.
I keep thinking to myself, how did I get here?
To the bottom of the bottom, where hope does not live.
I guess it’s a lifetime of subconsciously believing that just around the corner, just up the mountain, just a moment away, finally being good.
What’s good have to do with it?
Good means that I am loved, wanted, and needed.
Needed, I became good at being needed, I convinced myself subconsciously that the only way to be “good” was to be needed, and whatever it took. I laid my life down many times for the betterment of others; It didn’t matter if I was hungry, tired, needed rest, or time alone, I gave it all. I gave all of myself over and over again until there wasn’t much left.
I thought it was love. Giving and pouring until there wasn’t a drop left.
I was starving for love, a touch, a loved one to listen.
An empty broken vessel, with nothing to give.
It’s been lonely.
