Why?

I feel as though I’ve tried everything.
Ever since I was little I’ve been doing what I was told when I was told. I rarely complained, I rarely did anything bad, and I wouldn’t dream of hurting someone. I’ve always had the most sympathetic of hearts, seeing through people’s exteriors and looking inside of them. I never wanted to fight anyone because I always saw things from their standpoint. I feel for people. At least I did.
I don’t know what to do.
I feel as though I’ve tried everything.
I’ve listened whole heartedly to what people have said for years and applied it to my own life. I try to find the best in what everyone says and does and model myself after them.
And yet I don’t seem to be getting anywhere.
I want to be good at something. I think that’s all I’ve ever really wanted. It’s not so much a conscious desire as a welling up inside of me. Like a storm it clouds my every emotion and sends me out to sea alone to face its wrath. I try. I do try. I have tried. I don’t know how much more I can try. I feel like for someone my age I’ve tried so much and yet done so little. Rather, tried so much and been rewarded so little, or have had so little affect. Whatever it is, it’s been me trying with no results.
I’ve always felt alone. I’ve always wanted a companion. A best friend. A pal. Someone on the same level, headed in similar direction, and wanting to do things together. That has been my dream for about as long as I can remember. I’ve done so many things that I felt I was to do, and every time I somehow hoped that I would meet that person or those people that would complete me and have the other half of all my dreams. I am an incomplete person. Worse than that, I’m a conductor with no symphony hall, no orchestra, no wand, and not even a suit. Basically I’m standing in a room with no one looking at four blank walls and saying what if.
What if what? I’ve tried. I’ve tried to find people, a wand, anything. I’ve been out of the room, or so it seemed, but somehow that barren separation has always followed me. It seems as though I can be in the middle of the busiest place in the world and yet remain unnoticed. It’s as though I am someone to be left alone. I think that when people look at me they see something that they don’t want to disturb.
And so I go through life unthreatened. Unthreatened and yet alone. I would rather be threatened if it meant that I mattered.
To add to the wound and prolong its hold on me are the prevailing hopes on the wind. The whispers in the corner that feed my imagination. The word of wisdom from the occasional passerby that pauses long enough to offer up their own bit of opinion about my life.
You have potential.
You’ll be amazing.
You’re going to do so much.
You’re great.
You have so many gifts.
At first an inspiration they have now reduced themselves to more of a haunting. Or worse, a taunting of what I’m not. Before they drove me forward and now they only drive me away. I’m losing the strength to try.
I’ve tried.
I’ve tried so much.
I feel bound by very nature, entangled in my own potential. It’s as though I’ve had too much medicine, and the very thing that was meant to heal has killed.
I write this not in pity. If I was to pity myself I would speak more of the pathetic nature of these thoughts. And yet, here and now, I feel that I must write.
What about I have no intent. Simply to express somehow to myself that I at least am in understanding. That at least I myself am consistent. That, at least, is a start. It’s something. It’s all I really have. I have no strength to try, and by try I don’t mean of my own. By try I mean humbling myself to any and all advice and methods that come my way. I HAVE TRIED!
Where to go from here I have no idea. I guess I’ll just continue on in my wandering to nowhere, with nothing, for no reason. Worst of all, alone. Not alone in absoluteness, as I do have a someone. Someone wonderful. Someone that is more than I could have ever hoped to come to know. She means a lot to me. So much so that it only adds to my frustration. How can I possibly give her any of the things she deserves? I feel as though I have absolutely nothing to offer her. I have myself, but that is more of a burden to carry.
And so I sit.
My job seems pointless. More of a way to waste time than an occupation. A painful waste of time at that, as in every moment there is the awareness that time which could be used for something productive is instead imprisoned by a system of darkness and death.
Then there’s my girl. My girl is half a days drive away. Were I to muster the courage to spend the time and money to drive there, her schedule would hardly allow the time for a meal and a movie. Even if time was available there is nowhere convenient to stay. Instead I must spend a small fortune each and every night to stay in a hotel that is less comfortable than the average mobile home. And so although we are within a distance that could be travelled in a feasible amount of time, we are again imprisoned by our circumstances. To add to that, the times we work are opposing in so much as the days she’s off are the days I’m on.
And so I feel torn apart. Incomplete. As though I’m not really all here anyway, so trying is hardly possible.
What else. Well, I’m really the only person I know here. Yes I have other acquaintances, but no one that will call me to be with me in a meaningful way. That’s not a surprise though. I’ve never really had that. It seems that all other relationships I’ve benefited from have been those of others around me. My family, people in proximity, situations like that.
It seems as though I myself am entirely incapable of having a relationship that has a productive end. To strive and be passionate and accomplish something in an environment of cooperation is an apparent impossibility. But why? Why can’t I work with other people? People say they like me, they say I’m this and that and the other, and yet at the end of the conversation no one wants to have anything to do with me and my ideas. Sometimes I feel like my ideas are a stench that I carry with me. Even the people that give me a chance come near me and are driven away by the smell. They’re all that I have left. They are the very root of me and the way that I think and exist. I process based off of ideas and possibilities. Theoretical situations to problems and simplified formulas.
Pointless.
They are worthless I guess.
Nothing more than a hope and a dream, something to make me vulnerable to the attack of others. My soft spot. I’ve come to grips with my own outcast self, but I’m still clinging to my ideas, hoping that someday they will be given a chance and that through them I will be acknowledged in some way.
I’ve tried.
All that’s left to me now is ultimate vulnerability.
I give what was held back so that it too can be crushed.
At least all of me will be in the same place.