The Lies We Live

the empty spaces

"I'm searching but there's nothing left to find."

Emptiness. I feel empty. I feel as mundane as the neighborhood I live in: intolerable and insignificant. There is a rush of wind as cars pass by my house, and after the cars it is silent. A flat line from an already dead body. It is not ungratefulness that makes me bored of my life; it is the pursuit of greatness.

I am sickened by the redundance of the everyday, the shallow conversations I willingly take part in. We are only ever scratching the surface. And because of this, our conflicts are absolutely meaningless. We fail to hear what the other person is saying because we never truly speak to people. Its always mindless chatter to compose mindless days.

It sounds, spoiled and ignorant, I know, that this first world life is not adequate enough for me. However such is not true. I am very thankful for the wealth and the quality of life I live. What I mean to say is that how can anyone ever be satisfied with what they have knowing that there are others out there who lack those very things?

We live in a world where we are expected to be happy. A compulsory happiness, if you may. Society expects us to hold positive attitudes in even the most trying times. Popular media teaches us, through selective screening, what a good life really means.

The good life soon becomes money, smiles, and cheap thrills. We become people who no longer aspire to be successful, but the people who seek to attain the benefits received from it. Perhaps that makes me foolish. To want the accomplishments instead of the cash.

What most of us fail to realize is what being happy all the time pertains. To never cry when we are hurt, or yell when we are angry. To be happy is to never acknowledge the truth. It is to be ignorant of the harshness of life.

I want people to stop telling me to be happy all the time. To stop complaining, or being a pessimist. Because you don't know how my mom is a sociopath, or how my dad thinks I'm not smart enough to be an astrophysicist. And yet, people will still tell me to love them. Because they once cared for me. But it doesn't change the fact that I always feel like a disappointment around them.

You don't know about the antidepressants or my dreams of drowning. The way my skin tightly wraps around broken bones that will never heal. But about that dream. There's a girl in a white dress, and I always assume she's me. It's always underwater, in a place where nothing else exists. She is suspended, falling, but not quite. She is entangled in the folds of her dress, eyes closed. I have never seen someone so a peace.

I think we would be sociopaths if we really were to be happy at all times. If we smiled through our tears, or laughed when people broke our hearts. You see, sadness allows us not only to grieve, but also come to terms with the reality. Anger may make us look like *ssholes, but it is the only way we can gather up the confidence in order to face an issue head on.

In the ever expanding universe, our feelings are ironically even more insignificant than us. But they allow us to strive in a place that doesn't value us. Our emotions provide us with the drive to persevere against the everyday, which we must deal with constantly.

Even despite all of this, there is still an empty vessel within me that is yet to be filled. I can only assume that this is the place where you put things such as family and friends. The problem with these people is that they are as uncertain about you, as you are about them. They can change their feelings for you simply based on a few simple words.

The fact of the matter is, you can love all you want, they have no obligation to do the same. Attachment is a scary thing, you are always waiting for the drop.