Yesterday’s theme was underappreciated.
I tried to ignore it, but it was one of those days. One thing after another, all things pointing to the same thing: no one gives a shit about me but me. And even he doesn’t like me most days.
I usually come to this conclusion three, maybe four times a day. But yesterday was different. Yesterday it was four times before lunch. Another half dozen by dark. What makes it worse is the face. The one I wear that says everything’s cool.
I tried to mediate my feelings away. I imagined myself growing number by the second. I was hip deep in a sea of snow. Nothing around for miles but white and ache. Steam like that of a boiling kettle poured off my pale shoulders. The cold only hurts in the beginning. Then the thing that hurts most, is that nothing hurts anymore.
It’s alone and cold when I realize I can’t fix others, but I can innoculate myself from them. I can be numb.
For the longest time, I survived on anger. I believed compassion was for other people. I know that’s not true now. It’s too much compassion that makes me so angry, not anger that makes me apathetic. Either way, I’m to blame. Care too much. Care too little. Damned if ya do and so forth.
I expect the world to notice the good I try to do and at least stay out of my way. Please world, ya don’t have to give me the keys to the castle, but can ya stop giving me shit? I’m not looking for a handout. I’m not asking for charity or pity. I just want momentum. A few moments to feel like something matters. A sign or two. Peace.
I expect too much.
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