It's always in the back of my mind that people in front of me aren't placed as background ornaments, they are people with stories. How often did I watch others treat people, including myself, as if they are nothing more than trash? When I was little, I remember having an ideal world in my mind. Due to the way I was brought up, it was an expectation that people actually have empathy and are kind to each other. I don't know why I carried on expecting that for so long, later on I called myself dumb for being naive and for allowing people to see that part of me. I was angry at myself just as much as I was angry towards the environment I was in. So many lives are lost because of the way people treat each other, lives I've seen, lives I will never know. And in more ways than one. I'd give anything to return to the sheltered view I was given before then. I sometimes hate that I changed so much. Even though it's a part of life to change. I lost a lot of people over the years in different ways, but all I miss is how I used to be. I'll never be the same again.
I feel disconnected often. Like my soul is someplace else than here, wandering while my body remains grounded. The word ugly used to hurt me, now I wonder how it ever did. I know I'll never be beautiful the way I want to be, but it's become insignificant. For a face to appear unfamiliar despite having lived with it for years, I'm looking at how empty I feel. At the end of a day, I always wonder if that person who said and did those things was truly me, because I didn't feel it at all. Maybe I am a selfish person, I'm always searching for more. Selfish to feel anything but empty. More connection, more depth. I'm not one step closer to understanding myself and why I find myself so sad when I'm not trying to forget I am. If I had a past life, I wonder what happened to keep my soul sad in the next. I know that's strange thinking but when you grow up in this way, it's only so long before you start to come up with reasons for why you're unexplainably sad in certain situations that run along a similar pattern. Even when you're laughing, it seems to follow closely behind and laugh at the way you're trying to forget it, you and it both know you'll either run from it all your life or make something out of your life. I can face myself, because I have before.