Does everyone think like this?

Most of the time it feels contrived and pessimistic. My life, that is and therefore my words. I don’t feel lost truly; lately I don’t feel much at all. It’s not a bad thing. There brews a disconcerted soul beneath my socially enforced facade. So easy to read are the strangers on the street, their depths a mystery to them are so clear to me. Yet here I stand puzzled at how my own pieces fall together. Knowing with such certainty that they are part of a greater picture I may never know. Breeding so much uneasiness. I read a valuable sentence that implies our strengths are not those things at which you are good at, but in fact they are the moments of pure happiness you experience throughout your life. So even if you are great at that 9-5 job and everyone tells you so, if it sickens you to do it day in and day out it is in effect weakening you. Which means the most effortless and minuscule instant of shear joy is your strength. But how do I pay the bills with that?

           

I mean its great. It clears up a lot for me. But then I search my mind for those heart filled moments and they are random and hard to interpret. I wonder how much damage those who tried so desperately to guide me have done. In turn how much am I doing to my children? So full is my life. With love and luck and happiness. And so quietly nagging is this internal voice. You need your voice and that is what I hope to leave my children with. You need to hear it. I have a degree in avoidance I think.

If all I know is I got this life. Yet it slowly sweeps by with a silence that is deafening. Then what I know is I let myself down. In the grand scheme it all seems superfluous. Gosh that word is pretentious. I hate that word. I am adding it to the rainbows and unicorns list. Stupid is a better word. Death scares me. Does it you? I guess regret scares me most and death kinda solidifies the moment at which may look back in regret.

Does everyone think like this? I feel like a pathetic self-absorbed artist. Minus the self-esteem to even call myself an artist.  Who would read this shit? I mean I am depressing myself. I don’t mean to be depressing. I guess I just need to be, somewhere. It’s out there. And I breathe. In my comfy chair with my healthy kids sleeping with full bellies as my wonderfully supportive husband works so I may live by the beach in Canada. I apologize. To come full circle in shame, I ask the universe to conspire towards those who really need it tonight. Those who really need it right now.