Trading Places
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- Parts 11
You ever felt like you don't belong in the world? Like you should just kill yourself and get it over with? That is how I feel everyday. My name is Tameka Love Brown. Yes my middle name is Love. But that is not how I feel right now. I am not loved I never was. I cut myself. One time I was about to drink bleach in order to kill myself, until my best friend stopped me. My best friend, Craig Crippen Jr. was the only thing that kept me alive every single day. When he died I was heart broken. No one was there for me except him. He was the only one that really loved me. My own parents don't even love me. My mom addicted to drugs and achohol. My father was a drug dealer but he is now in jail. Then Diggy bullies everyday along with his friends. His girlfriend Breaunna has everything I dream of having aside from Diggy of course... I wish I could have her life. She has everything that is perfect aside from Diggy and his crew. I wish so much that we..... We could trade places.....
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Sometimes, I feel like I was designed not to live - but just to survive. My brain doesn't crave joy, meaning, or legacy - it just tries to prevent crisis. It calculates food, money, safety. It panics. It runs. It hides. And somehow... it keeps missing life. I've spent years trying to understand why my mind behaves this way. Why it imagines catastrophes while standing still. Why it avoids the simplest task. Why it overthinks even brushing teeth, but can ride a cycle for 100 km in the rain without blinking. One day, when I was still, completely still... with no task to distract me... this strange feeling overtook me. The thought that maybe - just maybe - I am not supposed to design my own purpose. I looked up. And I said, silently: "God... if You made me this way... if You crafted this restless, impulsive, chaos-driven machine of a brain... then You must know where I fit. Use me. Don't let me rot in guilt and survival. Don't let me just float. You know this universe in ways I never can. You know every corner of it. So You must know the one place where this exact wiring of mine can become meaningful." This wasn't surrender from pain. It was surrender from trying to control something I've clearly never understood. I don't need peace. I don't need success. I need to be used. Fully. For something only this kind of life, this kind of mind, could contribute. If I am a tool, let me build something. If I am a flame, let me burn where light is needed. But don't keep me in the dark asking, "Why me?" Maybe I wasn't built to ask. I was built to be assigned.
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