High school. I remember sitting on the bus. Staring out the window, I felt an incomprehensible chasm between me and the other students. I leaned my head against the smudged window, felt the cold air seep through to my arms.
I am adult. I have fantastic days. Days when I laugh at all the jokes and solve problems as easily as though they were kindergarten math. Then I have horrible days. Days when I sink my head deep into my pillow and the tears soak the cloth. Those that love me seem far away and distant. The simple arithmetic becomes complicated calculus.
I don’t belong. I’ve never truly belonged. In high school I didn’t understand the jokes or have any best friends. In college I found a few misfits with whom I finally felt understood my confusion.
This. So much this. As an adult, my wandering mind feels at home around fellow wanderers. Perfection is a lie and brokenness the free-setting truth. There is no amount of organization, rising earlier, goal setting, or healthy living that will fix me. I am an eternal mess. Someone that loves completely without question but retreats into her turtle shell once she is hurt. I feel loneliness and pain more often than I feel happiness and contentment.
I know the facts. I have friends. I have family that loves me. The knowledge does little to affect the emotions. Like a bird on a solo flight above the earth, my heart glides through life.
I experience joy. The warmth of a hug from a friend. The snort of a laugh from a joke. The overwhelming forgiveness from my Heavenly Father. But peace and inclusion eludes me. Doubt and anxiety pursue me.
I am not afraid. Writing liberates me. It frees me as I release the burdens of my thoughts. Life is beautiful and I will continually seek the beauty in the ashes.