I Write In Order to Feel Whole

As a child, I lived mostly in my head. I was lonely and had no voice in my own home so, as a result, I made a world for myself in my mind. When that world got too tiresome or boring, I would spice it up with the people and places that I read of in books. I wanted to be extroverted, to be gregarious, to be liked by everyone. This didn’t always happen. My peers often thought that I was too weird, too smart, too quiet. Sometimes, they mistook my near-debilitating shyness for aloofness and snobbery. But when it did happen, when I was part of a clique of those shiny, happy people, even when I was the center of attention, I would inevitably feel like a fraud. I’d spend hours, sometimes days, wondering if my friends would like me so much if and when they discovered that I wasn’t as smart, as funny, and interesting as they’d initially thought me to be. I wondered what they’d think if learned that my brains were a byproduct of painful childhood repression and isolation, that my wit was what I resorted to in order to connect with others without ever having to make myself too vulnerable, that my charm was a hodgepodge of personalities I’d collected from my beloved books.

I’ve gone through most of my life feeling as if I were drifting, floating by, going through the motions. I often view others, and myself, from the outside, a third party. I feel strong, long periods of wanting to connect with others followed by shorter periods of apathy and numbness. I feel like a foreigner in my own life. Void. A ghost. I often feel so much, so intensely, that the emotions threaten to strangle me. Other times, I want so badly to connect with someone, to feel something, that I’ll even accept pain, actively seeking it, if only to valid my existence.

But when I write, I can flesh out all of the emotions I have, feelings and thoughts that I don’t think that others can relate to, things that even I can’t always comprehend. I am able to compartmentalize myself in such a way that other people can finally understand me, know me, see me, even if I still feel detached or unwanted by them. Even if I am still the outsider. I write in order to fill myself. I write so that I may no longer be a shell of a person. I write in order to feel whole.

3 thoughts on “I Write In Order to Feel Whole

  1. I can totally relate to this… sometimes I look at old pictures and even there I can see how much I look like an outsider, like I just don’t belong there… and there are times when I’m afraid of saying something that isn’t smart enough or witty enough and wondering how people would react. Lots of people tell me that I’m smart and even though I do believe that and feel it sometimes, most of the time, I feel like a phony.

    I could write a whole other post on this… lol.
    Thank you for sharing.

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