This is my first journal entry.
I feel totally alone and misunderstood. I cannot connect with people how normal people do. What’s to blame? I’m either a sociopath, autistic, or a fat girl who doesn’t take care of themselves and lives in a society where fat isn’t likable. Perhaps I’m a combination of the first two with the last. I can’t make friends or form relationships like everyone else. It’s like they realize something is weird or off and they bounce. I care about people. I really really really care about people. I would love to be a mother but I don’t see that in my future. Perhaps a lifestyle of wandering is what my “happiest” reality is. Running from connection. Moving frequently so I can’t feel bad for not settling in and creating my own circle. Where do I belong? Do I belong with the motorcyclists wandering the globe? I am great at superficial first interactions. I have a friendly, round, trusting face which makes people open up to me easily. I love it when people open up to me. I am the best secret keeper. I just want to have a bond with someone. Am I desperate? I’d argue no. I’d rather be alone or I’d rather be single than with someone not good for me or good for this world. I have my stubborn ideals. I have my stubborn ideals. I hold on to that. Because as I write “I have my stubborn ideals,” the tears suddenly stop. I feel a tiny weight lift, and the room lightens ever so slightly. Because regardless of my loneliness, I know what is good for me and I know what is good for this world.
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