The Big Question

Who am I? It’s the big question that pops into my head every now and then and gets my head all in a jumble. On top of that question is What am I? What do I believe in? What do I stand for? What am I worth?

Every so often I have a moment of weakness. It comes out of nowhere, and usually leaves me pretty shaken. I’ve spent the last few years reinventing myself, doing everything I can to become a stronger person, a better person. I’ve been pushing myself hard, sometimes too hard, to become someone worthwhile, someone that can be depended on and looked to for support or inspiration.

But when these moments of weakness hit me, all the confidence and all my drive just runs out of me. That little voice in the back of my mind keeps questioning me. What are you doing? Do you think you’ve amounted to anything? Do you think you’ll ever amount to anything? There’s a reason why no one will give you a chance. Why should anyone give a damn about you? Do you think you matter? Do you think anyone could care if you were gone? Do you really think you’re as strong as you make yourself out to be? Do you know why you feel comfortable in the rain? It’s because it’s where you belong, in the dark and the gloom. It doesn’t just come down to mental torment either. When these episodes hit me, it feels like knives are being pushed into my sides. I can’t breathe, and while I’m collapsed on the floor, all I can do is beat my head against the floor to try to knock things back into order.

I don’t really know why this happens to me every now and then. Maybe it’s because I still don’t fully believe that I’ve become someone worthwhile. Maybe it’s because I choose to live through the pain of my choices rather than abandon them. Still though, they’re my choices, and even though it’s likely that no one will ever understand why I do what I do, or how I see things, I take solace in the fact that I can see the people that matter to me smile, even when I’m dying inside.

Still, I can’t help what I am. I’m an idealist and a hopeless romantic with a strong sense of justice. I’ll do anything it takes to protect my friends and to keep them happy, no matter what the cost to me. I’ve always felt like I’ve been living my life as though I were making up for something, like I need to be forgiven. Might as well keep going with that.

So, in the end, who am I? I’m the guy that people can lean on. I endure pain without letting other people see it. I’ll most likely die young and alone and be forgotten quickly. I’m not precious to anyone, but I’m useful to have around. I’m the boy who waited. Life isn’t fair, but it doesn’t mean that I can’t do my best to even the odds for the people I care about. Maybe I’m not meant to be happy. Maybe despite all that I think I’m capable of, I’ll never be worth anything to anyone. Maybe there isn't any peace for me. Maybe I belong in the background, in the shadows.

They say good things come to those who wait. Sometimes I wonder.