There is something missing in me, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to pretend that there isn’t some big hole gaping inside, searching to be filled. I’m not talking about anybody else – because the notion that you need to rely on someone else to ‘fix’ you has always puzzled me. No, this is all me.
I don’t know when I noticed I was discontent, but I’ve never really felt completely secure in the first place. It hurts because I don’t know where to start; is it even possible to change? Or will I forever be this partly empty shell of a person, wandering from one distraction to another? It’s harder being aware of it, because at least if I was better at pretending, things would be alarmingly easier.
I see it like having an instructions manual in front of you; you have all the theoretical knowledge you need to put the object together but you’re missing a few crucial bits and pieces. Those pieces aren’t even the extra parts that you can get away with leaving out, so you’re stuck with abandoning the whole thing: unmade, undone, and unfinished;
and that’s exactly how I feel.