It Was All a Lie

I have been trying my hardest to cosplay as a person that has their shit together, but I don’t. So anybody that thought I did, gotcha.

I was watching Meg thee Stallion’s documentary and she so eloquently expressed exactly how I’ve felt since I lost my parents:

It could be so many people in a room, and I feel like I’m the only person there. I feel lonely in every relationship in my life. And it's nothing that anybody can help.

When I heard that, I was like “THIS is it”. I feel so alone all the time, my feelings of happiness becoming more and more temporary.

I try to be an inspiration and a light for everyone I interact with, but honestly, I’m exhausted. The other day, I was so consumed with sadness that I spent my lunch crying in my car. I had a terrible thought: maybe the good is not worth enduring all the bad.

I enjoy being with my friends, but I’d rather be on my couch. I could be having the best time, but in the back of my mind I think about how I don’t want to exist. I work hard to keep my personal struggles from affecting how I interact with others, but pretending like everything is okay is draining. Remaining positive in a sea of chaos is tiring.

The most frustrating part is not even knowing what I need to feel okay. My natural reaction is always to isolate— I contemplate disappearing every day. How can I be expected to breathe life into others when I can’t even figure my own shit out?

I feel like I’m just wading in a pool of sadness. I manage to get out, shake my toes off, and life pushes me back in. It's reaching a point that I don’t have the energy to keep climbing out. Something has to change.

My parents raised someone who, honestly, does quit sometimes lol—but not on life. I know I have to keep going. I know there are so many incredible experiences ahead of me, and people I have yet to touch and inspire. But it’s scary to feel truly alone in this world. I’m so angry with my parents for leaving me here to navigate everything on my own, to be the one picking myself up over and over again.

I want so badly to show my parents everything I’ve accomplished, and maybe that’s part of the sadness I carry. What do my achievements really mean if my biggest fans aren’t here to see them? Does it really matter how cozy my space is if my dad will never sit on my sofa? What’s the point of cooking if I can’t invite my mom over for dinner?

Finding motivation for even the simplest things feels hard when such a vital piece of my life is missing. I feel lost, like I’m drifting without direction. Still, I keep going. I hold onto the hope—the delusion, maybe—that everything will be okay. I wipe my tears, lift my head, and push forward as strongly as I can in that moment.