Sometimes I sit and wonder; if this is all there is to it. Living in a home that’s not mine; eating the same old worthless food I cannot afford, regaining my thoughts and recuperating through rest on a bed that shakes because of it’s excessive use by another, in a time before. Wanting something that is possible for others but seems out of reach for me. Craving the comfort that others receive by their partner yet I’m stuck in an everlasting cycle of disappointments. Thrown into the fire and complications of a long distance relationship by a family member yet with their life? Everything is going perfectly. What is so good about her; about them and what is so wrong with me?
Is this it?
Going from home to home; job to job as if stability and consistency is uncomfortable to remain in my life, in my situations. Desiring something that seems only possible for fairytale stories that we hold dear as children but then…
We grow up and realise that…
Life doesn’t work out that way.
Well it hasn’t for me. The entrance of sin has caused for the fallacy and deception of the eye; the lust of the heart and the yearning of that which was once our birthright. Now? We fight. We work. We labor. We struggle.
There’s got to be more. More than going through pain unnecessarily. Experiencing the rain, storms and thunders to an excessive standard that the perfection of the semiotic terms “sun”, “happiness” and “joy” becomes impossible to believe. Wishing on a star; holding onto the hope you’ve carried from birth that, one day…
Things will get better. When do they?
How long must someone wait for something they’ve been dreaming about for their entire lives? Time is running out. Recent situations and drastic experiences my conscious being has surpassed through has provoked that dream to become more than just a hope, an aspiration or a goal but to become my reality. I can’t wait any longer. I’m tired of waiting. Patience is fed up with me and I, her.
Something’s missing. I feel empty and dissatisfied with the life I have been given. I feel alone and futile. That the air my vessel intakes and breathes out is a waste of time, energy and space.
Something is missing and I don’t know what it is.
Is it the comfort of a husband? Is it the sexual satisfaction that comes through laying with someone my heart loves? Is it the enduring satisfaction due to the presence of a baby; my child? Is it the awaiting of the rewarding career I am passionate about? Is it the independence and freedom possible by having riches, wealth and material things? Is it the companionship? Is it the existence of a car or a job?
Something is missing.
To go through primary school to obtain SAT’s, to progress onto secondary school to achieve 10 GCSE’s; to struggle moreover. To get into college to attain A-LEVEL’s. Then to jump one last hurdle; university, to gain a BACHELOR’s DEGREE (BSc). All of that; to be at a stage in my life where it seems like nothing is working for me but everything is working against me.
Why do we go through it? The pain, the gain, the near misses and some successes; the disappointments and heartbreak; the brief moments of sunshine, happiness, joy and laughter that, around the corner, is snuffed out by the darkness of hurt that seems to remain longer than the length of that tunnel of light and right?
Is this all there is to this “life” we were given without permission?
I didn’t ask to be messed around by those who I perceived to be for me. I never deserved to be treated like the shit pigs breed, sleep and live in by those who showed a side of them that spoke “trustworthy”. I didn’t want to be thrown into the midst of sheep that had wolves clothing masked throughout their persona and agenda. I never wanted to be let down. I didn’t want to struggle with the #1 thing I despised from an infant yet now; it has become my story. I wasn’t worthy of having my name carried through lies, deceit and gossip down to the sole fact that “I have a good heart”. I didn’t deserve it.
There was no warranty for that.
There’s got to be more. Than going to church every Sunday seeing, hearing and enduring the same thing; week in, week out. Seeing God move at the altar but, in our seats? Nothing. The same old… same old.
There’s got to be more. Than seeing “church people” preach, teach and deliver an honourable exhortation, that sparks a standing ovation and applause of a judgmental and “holier than thou” audience, on the elevated platform we label “altar” that seems out of reach and unstained by sinners yet those same people… preach, teach and express something different Monday to Saturday. There’s got to be more.
More to the backbiting, gossip and hypocrisy that lives in the church and sleeps with the brethren; with those we are meant to call “brothers” and “sisters”. More to the “norm”; to the everyday, mundanity and routine. There’s got to be more.
More to the way we live. More to how we live. More to why we live. More to when we live.
How many people throw in the towel and take their own life because they realise just how hard life is to bare? But then how many people don’t?
On this so-called life journey: some take baby steps and retake their past movements as they realise that along the way? Something has been lost. Something has gone missing. Others take a diversion as the obstacles that block route A seem unmovable and stubborn that they have caused an obstruction in the mind and deception in the ability to progress; that, unfortunately, they are strayed off-course; forced to take route B. Yet there are those that plan and decipher a way to get through against all odds. Whereas some? They are patient enough to wait.
Some can stand and weather the storm. But for others? They have to crawl.
I’m yet to figure out which one is me.