My Last Memoir

A me story.

Dear everyone,

This is a letter from me, whatever me you know rings true. Because at least you know who I am, because I don't; and I don't think that I ever will. Which is an interesting thought, right? At least the way that I think about it. While others go searching for who they are, trying to figure out who they are; here I am, not wanting to be anybody. I don't want to be known by a name, not a name given to me or one that I chose. I don't want to use pronouns, I don't want to be anything besides just existing. I want to exist, and be okay with that. I don't want to think the way I do anymore. My life is caught up in stories as of recently, stories from my imagination, stories of my life. When it comes to my imagination, I simply write it out, or live the story in my head and never put it to paper. But when it comes to my life, that's a different story -hah obviously.- I imagine the future, who I'm with, I have hope, I know where the story lands - and if something changes then so does that story.

Yet at the beginning of this, my imagination started to dwindle to just living the stories and never writing them out, then I just didn't think of stories. I wanted to write, I loved writing, but I couldn't - stuck in an endless writer's block that I could never seem to get through. All I wanted was to write, but I never could. So I tried last minute methods. I smoked and wrote a paragraph once. After writing that paragraph I came back to it and finished it, it was the first work I had finished in months. I loved that story, I treasure it like my own child; But then the excitement faded and I wanted to write something else, desperately. It worked for a while, I wrote though I never got a story finished. It seemed ever slowly that it had gone back to just daydreams, to nothing. Things made me happy, but I couldn't find my reason. I was scared that if I couldn't find anything else to do that immersed me, then I'd be left with nothing - what I never wanted to go to and what I was scared that I would see. So I smoked more to try to help me write, but I never did.

Then my life started slowly going dull. Smoking did nothing, I'd just lay there. It wasn't fun anymore. People in my life pressured me with growing up and it scared me. Pushing me to grow up when I feel like I need to be fixed, I need to finish this story before I could grow up and be the person I want to be. But everything dulled out. Everything slowly started becoming less, the people in my life slowly becoming burdens in my life, annoying me, making me hate myself, making me feel guilty. I drifted and then I felt so much more alone. I had the option to talk to people - and I did - but it never felt enough. It never felt genuine because who were they talking to? Me? I don't even know me so how could anyone else?

I started thinking about the people I hurt, and the people who hurt me, I couldn't stop. They'd become a random thought during the day, and I couldn't. I wanted to go back to normal life, to be able to be a part of the conversation, but I never could. I felt like everyone was changing and I couldn't change with them, and maybe I can't. One night I had the thought, "Oh, it's over. The story is over." Because I can't see the future anymore. What I had feared had come true. I couldn't grasp onto anything but I was still there. It felt like it was the deadline and my story was done, and so was the others around me. I no longer played apart, so it was over. There was no more. So it needed to end because if I didn't end it, then it would feel like this forever, prolonged and full of nothing.

I wanted to be famous, you know? I know everyone wants to at one point, so I'm not that special; but I thought I could. I wanted to write a book people would read and love, they would get it, it would be special to them as books were to me. I thought that maybe I could publish poems because others have the same thoughts. I was told that I was good at it so I focused my whole life towards it, but it never came because I could never write. I thought that maybe I could become a youtuber like most people want to be, but it was special to me. To be able to make people smile, to comfort them, to make them feel okay. I never had a comfort person or character, but I wanted to be that for people. I thought it could be an actual thing because people already love me, I have friends who adore me and love me because I'm funny and an idiot and I'm happy and I listen and give advice. People loved me, but like from Bojack horseman (as dumb as that sounds) says, "You'll realize that everyone loves you, but nobody likes you. And that is the loneliest feeling." And it is. I feel trapped in this circle of people who don't know me but claim they do.

I had some people in the past all together and friends, that was the closest time to feeling that, to getting that that I ever did - but it fell apart and I was alone again. I think that's why I kept trying to hold onto the past so much. But it didn't matter, because it was over. It was all over - meaning I needed to end it, and I was scared. Because the idea of it wasn't scary, it was comforting. I accepted this, and I wanted to, I want to. Because it all makes sense to me. The story is over, for me.

So I guess I'll never get to make a lot of people smile like that, but I'm glad I was able to do that to some people, even if it was for just a short amount of time. It was worth it, and I think that's why I'm okay with it, because I've made my amends to the people tha I wanted to. But still I was scared, so I tried to reach out for help. I tried to message the crisis textline but it didn't feel like anything. I talked to an adult at my school, and it helped a little bit but I had to lie. I had to lie because I'm scared that if people react the way I think they will, then I'll get the help I want, but then everything in my life will change. My parents' reaction is what scares me, but I want the change. I want it so bad. I want to be okay again, even if I can't ever write again.

But then again I'm talking to that same adult this monday hopefully, so maybe I will get that help, I'll ask for it and I'll be honest. Maybe things will be okay. I mean, this is over 1,000 words so that's a start right?

This will be my last post on this account, at least for now. This is my last memoir, but maybe there will be more, I don't know yet, guess we'll see.

A/N: I was not orginally planning on posting this, but hey I want to be known for something amiright? (kidding.)