I think that I found myself, and then I lose it again.
A part of me is content. Satisfied. Occupied.
A part of me is desperate. Insecure.
I try to hold myself up high, but hold onto anything that gives me attention and comfort.
I try to pass it up as not needing anything, self-sufficient.
A part of me wants to be a damsel in distress, even if it’s against everything I preach.
I feel like I’m always going to be alone.
And I know, I know I say I’m too busy, too occupied to date or mind someone else.
But a part of me can’t help but want it.
Crave it.
You know, it was nice.
It’s nice to be held and feel wanted, even if it all may be artificial.
Even if it’s all just a figment of my mind.
I’m a people pleaser.
I hold a tough front, but pretty much feel anxious all the time, feeling like I’m not present.
Thinking that lack of presence means fading away.
And partly that’s true.
I keep telling myself to have patience.
I keep telling myself that everything will work out.
I think I need to work on myself.
Or so I say.
I’m happy and content, until something happens and it completely tears down by walls, and I’m back to square 1.
I need to hold myself high, backbone strong, stand for who I am.
I’m good at pretending, but I’m not really good at convincing myself that I am okay.
They say fake it till you make.
But when do you make it?
staymiscellaneous 