I have spent my life doing my best to find a happy medium. Somewhere in the middle where I can be me and still make others happy. Where I can be me and matter to others.
Seems after 38 years, that is simply not possible.
Feeling worthless right now and knowing my words matter to none. My online journal of life is just that.
I grew up never mattering, too loud, too needy, too young, a girl, not strong enough, not capable enough. I couldn’t possibly know anything.
I was a good girl and did my best always, stayed out of trouble, played in my room, let mom sleep to the best of my ability.
Always got good grades. Always at the top of my class, creative and musically inclined, I did everything I could, setting curves, but never that perfect Mensa genius just barely missing that mark every time.
I learned everything, and more often than not doing extra schoolwork just because, otherwise I’d have been bored.
I made artwork for those I love to show my affection, but I was too messy and it created too much junk. There was never enough places to put it, so it became trash.
When I did learn things there was always someone there to tell me I missed something or that I only had part of the picture. I was too young to understand, I didn’t get it and never would. I was always wrong even when my grades said otherwise. When I didn’t want to do something because it didn’t sit well inside of me, I was told tough just stuck it up and do it.
I let them poke me and prod me and tell me to do this that and everything else. I cared about them and wanted to be the best I could be, hoping it would somehow help. I took my vaccines, and they made me sicker. I took my allergy medicines and they helped but didn’t fix things. I went to doctors with Mom and pleaded for help and got told I was just being a whiney teen, that there was nothing wrong with me.
After 7 years of multiple detoxes and navigating food allergies, taking allergy meds daily and giving myself more than ample nutrition and exercise. I’ve managed to loose weight. Thyroid function is better but not healed. Depression still comes and goes. And inflammation is still rampant daily.
Obviously, I must be wrong or I’d be in a whole different state. But doctors were more wrong, because everything they did either solved nothing or made matters worse.
I’m left wishing that my words mattered. I’m left wishing I had finally made it over those 2 percentage points keeping me from genius. I’m left wishing I had really solved the problem and healed myself. I’m left wishing that my artwork was accepted as the outpouring of my heart. I’m left wishing that my inner knowing mattered to anyone. I’m left wishing that my efforts to find middle common ground actually worked. I’m left wishing that the middle mattered enough to get fighting to stop. I’m left wishing that those I care about actually heard me and understood.
Because deep down I’m still just a scared little girl wanting so desperately to feel loved and accepted, but even to just feel better consistently to feel healthy. I have faught so long to try and fix so many things, and I’ve done it all alone because none could hear me or understand me, and the rare occasion they did it didn’t seem to matter anyways.
All of my middle ground is invisible to the extremes. All of my efforts look like a fight to the extremes instead of the compromise I intended.
Haves and have nots. Black and white. Rich and poor. Vaxxed and anti-vaxers. Healthy or sick. Sinner or saint. How about everyone for everyone helping everyone BE. All races, all ages, all incomes, all identities and preferences, reaching within and listening to their bodies and their inner being and doing what that says, because it’s always right for the person that can get there. Then maybe we’d all have better choices, and better answers, and better solutions for everything we’re facing. We’d all find new ways to BE.
Why am I always wrong? Why am I always too much to handle? Why is nothing I believe, of value to others? Why is my battle so worthless to anyone else? Why doesn’t anyone hear me when I explain that the extremes don’t work for me, but that I see they’re not really working for anyone else either? Why don’t I ever get freedom to choose? Why are freedoms only for those that want to fight?
Why am I even here?
May you know your answers and feel your inner self. May you be accepted as you are and may you find acceptance for others too. May you know why you are here.