Pain

Pain sickens my heart and hurts my head. I am in constant pain from my defective body to my lonely soul. I fight daily with challenges and win, I stand victorious against odds stacked against me but when I look to claim my reward, there is none to be found. My fight and my struggles are for nothing. I fight to maintain my life, my struggle is to merely exist. While some work hard to carve out a brighter future, I have to work hard just to have a future.

Days, weeks, months and years pass. I continue on with my life and continue the fight as I wait for a better day. I spend every moment of my life waiting for a magical time in my life when things will be better. When just being alive wont hurt so much. I sit in my nest that I have made for myself, a little dwelling of sticks and stone, while others have homes bigger and shinier than mine ever could be. I sit and live in my little home, waiting for the day that things will be better, they day I will have a shiny home like the rest.

So I sit, expressing my feelings and telling my stories all in attempt to ease the pain. The stories distract me from the life that torments me but they also help me feel validated. After all is said in done, at least I have my stories. Out of fear I have nothing else to offer the world I share my stories. I invite people into my fantasy worlds hoping to bring happiness to others, to entertain people and distract them from their own pain. The stories continue to flow through my head without end. My inspiration is boundless like a never-ending fountain of fantasy. My mind is always weaving a story and this is how I live. I craft stories and scenarios with my emotions, I use pieces of myself to create characters and put it all in a world where everything works out in the end. I turn my pain into happiness as I entertain others and myself.

Though I enjoy writing and enjoy having others read my stories, doubt remains. Doubt that I cannot face. Doubt that even my stories aren’t good enough. Everything that is good about me goes into my stories and my storytelling and if it ever turned out to be not enough, then the world as a whole would be telling me that I am not enough. Rejection of my stories is a rejection of me. Though I know my stories are good, others may not see the quality. I have been passed over before and it wouldn’t be unheard of to have my stories passed over as well. Now it all cycles back to my pain. I struggle with pain and wonder if its worth the fight. If the world will ever appreciate me and ever see me for who I really am.

So for now I write, I struggle, and I survive. To anyone who may read this I do not want sympathy, just understanding. I write this to express myself, not to get a reaction or feeling out of anyone. Generic sympathy will be met with scorn.

If nothing else, live your life, continue your struggle and take time to see who is really important in your life. Because they might not be around forever.