Bird Furious

Our words are only as valuable as the emotions behind them. I lost the words, and now I'm left only with the emotions. 

Sometimes I find myself sitting on the kitchen floor in front of the dishwasher I'm supposed to be unloading. Sometimes I hear somebody come downstairs, or hear the door open. Sometimes I think to myself, 'time for more masking'. Then I haul myself off the floor and proceed with whatever it is I'm doing and try and look like I'm not in so much pain. 

I don't know how I became this way. I used to be so clueless and happy. But the more I grew up, the more glaring my mistakes and flaws became to me. I realized I wasn't a person the way I thought I was. I wasn't a being with the same mind as everyone else. Those around me didn't think the same way I did--- their values, their likes and interests were all different. I used to think I could convince anyone to like writing. But that's not how it is. Things express differently. We all value emotion, I think. But that manifests in different ways. Maybe we don't all value emotion. Even so, that only furthers my point. I was different. Different an alone. 

As we all are. Only a couple days ago it hit me just how lonely being human is. We don't know how others think of us; we don't understand each other. We can't compare pain levels or depression levels or how deeply trauma affected us without having a scale created using data from all humans' subjective experiences. 

Ultimately, we are completely and damningly alone.