She
She walked into her room. She threw her keys down on the table. She took off her coat and scarf. Why was she wearing them anyway? It wasn’t that cold out. She set down her purse. She paced the room. She felt desperate. She felt angry. She felt like she wanted to do something. Something different. Something new. Something exciting. Something illegal. She needed to break out. She screamed from the inside. Life isn’t that bad, she told herself. I’ll have fun someday. Just not here, not now. But someday...She walked over to the wall and placed her head longingly on the map of Germany that was hung there. Her hands caressed the paper as if she expected something to soak off the paper to her. She then sat at her computer. Her hands were folded. This is just another normal day. Nothing to worry about, she told herself. I’m TINA. I’m the good girl, the respectable one. The one who never speaks out of turn, the who never speaks...She sat at her computer and didn’t know what to do. Why was she feeling this way? Nothing happened to her in her past that was really that bad. Life was bearable. She had a loving family, a job, friends, and she was in school. She was doing what she wanted to, right? Sounds good, doesn’t it? Well, for some reason this girl didn’t think so. What’s wrong with her? Why does she feel this way? Can anyone help her? Can anyone help her? She feels so alone...like no one understands her pain. Her longings. Her desires. There must be someone out there who really knows, she told herself. But no one did. She wanted to be accepted, but then she didn’t. She wanted to be liked, but then she didn’t. She wanted to do something, but then she didn’t. She didn’t know what she wanted. Why is she here? To waste her parents money? To ebb out a meaningless existence? She felt she was something great. She wanted to be an astronaut, she wanted to be president, she wanted to change the world. But could she, who knows? No one pushed her to be really great. But then again, if you’re great, you don’t need a push...or do you? As she sat there at her computer thinking that life was a waste, she thought of one thing...to hold on. There are better times ahead. This a bad spot...you’re in a rut, she said to herself. She was alone, she always was alone, and maybe will always be alone. That’s OK. Maybe she was never meant to fit in, to be understood, to be accepted, or to be truly and completely loved. Don’t have pity on her. Just let her be. Let her pass you by. You can’t help her, no one can. She just needs space and time. She needs time to grow. Time to think. Time to be. How can she survive? She needs to have human contact. She needs to be social. She needs to be. Maybe she’s not destined for greatness. Maybe she’s not destined for anything. At least let her think her thoughts and leave her be. Let her obsess over things you don’t care about. Let her write her stories. Let her be that quiet girl. Let her be what she thinks she is. Let her be. Let her think technology is bad. Let her go ahead and type on her computer. Let her think that corporations are bad. Let her go to college, buy coke, and wear Nike’s. Let her be. The feelings of desperation will slowly go. She realizes she has a loving family who will accept her. They may never know...they may never know. They may never know she cries herself to sleep. They may never know she longs to do many things. They may never know how she feels. Then again, no one will...no one will. She’s OK with that. She doesn’t mind. As long as the feelings aren’t constant. This is an anxiety attack. This is nothing, she tells herself. She begins to rock in her chair, typing away. She must let people know what it’s like. What it’s like to have no purpose. What it’s like to feel lost. What it’s like to not fit in. What’s it like to be in acting in a show. Always on. Always fake. She must let people know what it’s like to be. A mass of helpless flesh. A ball of energy waiting to explode. A person who is lost. A person who is empty. A person who feels dead inside. A person who sees, but doesn’t see. A person waiting to be found. Why can no one find her? Why can no one make her see? Why can no one feel her every pain? Why can no one tell her she is just like everyone else? She is normal. She is fine. She is not crazy. She is accepted. She is talented. She fits in. She is loved. She is me.
