I realized that deep down, in truth? What's there is nothing but a scared, lonely child, a young girl who I've at times described as being huddled in the corner, in the fetal position, curled up and afraid of the world around her. And, really...the more I think about it, the more I realize that that is the reason why I decided to make a blog in the first place. I realize nobody's here to read...but on the slim chances that someone were to read my blog, then it would be all the happiness in the world I'd need.
Because it'd be proof that I existed. That person would have seen me. They'd know I was there. They'd know I have had a life. And luck permitting, they'd go, "You HAVE to see this" to a friend or two and spread the word about me. That would be all I'd need in order to have a smile. Because it'd let me know...what I wrote made a difference. It doesn't have to be anything life-changing. But merely that my existence made someone's life even slightly better gives me validation.
I want my life to mean something. I want to have existed in such a manner that people are glad that I've been there and sad if I were to leave. To some extent, I have accomplished that already...but only on a small scale. People have said it's true, but I'm sure that I wouldn't be that terribly missed, given that I've disappeared before with little mourning. Every impact I made is simply, well...I know this may seem selfish of me, it might seem ignorant, and perhaps even arrogant, and to be fair it is, but...I feel like what I've done is not nearly enough, that I can do so much more.
I want people to like me, to interact with me, to have seen me and liked the picture...but not because I'm presenting an idealized version of me. I want them to see the full me, and to not only like it, but potentially maybe even love it. I want them to see me. I want to see them, seeing me. And because this doesn't happen, I realized why I have such bad gaming and reading (TVTropes) habits. It's because...it's because they offer me an escape.
When I'm playing a game, when I'm reading about a story...in those moments, my mind is allowed to be distracted. It's a way to escape from reality, and to allow my dreams to run wild. And then, for said dreams to take a back seat to some fun which I just play around with. The games, the reading...they allow me to dull the pain of my reality, they allow me to not think about how I've got nobody there. In the games, in the reading, I'm allowed to see the triumphs of good, I'm allowed to see love develop and epic tales unfold, and I love it all...because it keeps me from thinking about how in my own life, how in my own story, there's no epic fight for this 'hero', there's no love interest, the family members are as normal flawed and potentially hostile, there's nothing but the life of a person who is clearly stuck between two worlds: half normal, half not, getting the worst of both worlds and the best of neither.
They're like a drug to me to avoid thinking about that, in that too much makes it worse and can even create a self-fulfilling prophecy. Butyeah...I really, really wish that I had someone there with me. Failing that, I really, really wish that there was a way that people could much, much more strongly show that, yes, they acknowledge my existence.
It's a very lonely, depressing place to be, especially since I have to keep telling myself that I have existed positively, that people DO know about me, that I would be missed if I were to vanish all to keep my already-low opinion of myself from degrading further. I'm not nearly the pleasant person I often pretend to be. This, and so, SO much more, hangs over my head on a near-daily basis.
And right now, I feel like ending the conversation, because my mind's drifting very, VERY painfully to a dream that I don't see ever happening no matter how much I wish it were. I saw my female self in a romantic relationship with a person. I didn't see what they looked like or even their gender, but I could see the tender love and care and general affection I, as a woman, was giving this person and knew we were intimate.
It's something I want...so badly. I want that small happiness. I want it so much. But I'm tearing up as I write this because of the pain in me reminding me of why that isn't viable...of why my daily dreams of this or similar are just that, and no matter how hard I pursue them, they'll never become reality...and it hurts.