Have you ever felt like a visitor in your own life? As though you don’t belong anywhere? Not among any group of people, not in any situation, relationship, space or time? A deep rooted feeling of not belonging. Unable to shake. Unbearable to carry.
Yet this is my life.
For as long as I can remember I never felt like I fit in. Not in school, not at a job, not with friends, not in romantic relationships, and not even with my family. I have always felt like “that one over there.” People kind of like me, or maybe they like the idea of me, yet no one wants to claim me. No one wants to call me their own, part of their tribe, a piece of their puzzle.
I can only get so close to people. I can only do so well at work. I can only do so much for others. Still going unnoticed, head down, and constantly fighting for a place in this world.
Being a loner hasn’t always been self imposed. It’s just that you get tired of feeling less than. It hurts more to stand along the fray of the crowd than to omit your translucence from the picture. It hurts more to stare at the phone waiting for someone to care enough to ask how you are and really want to know. And it’s crippling to continue to put trust in the wrong people who are all to quick to take advantage of your generosity and kind heart.
This is why I long to live between the mountains and the fields. My bones ache to feel more connected to the earth than to its people. The sun a more steady presence than most, and the moon more faithful than any man I’ve ever been with.
I yearn to come and go as I please, answering to no one, asking for comfort from the stars and kisses from cool breezes.
I don’t belong here. I’ve never belonged anywhere. And no one would miss me if I were gone.
Some day my time to roam will come. Some day I will find a sense of belonging within myself, and there I’ll make a home.