Searching

I’m constantly searching, and I don’t know what for. I hate that I’ve spent the past twenty-something years looking for something I don’t even remember or have any recollection of.

It used to be, if I just went to college, I won’t feel so stuck. Then it was, if I stopped having roommates, I’d be able to express myself. Then, if I had queer roommates, I’d feel more like myself. Then, if I had a partner, I’d feel seen. Then, if I moved out by myself, I’d finally have the space to be who I’m supposed to be.

I’m constantly in a state of searching, finding, moving, changing never understanding what it means to just exist in the environment I live in without wondering what life would be like if I started planning for the next thing.

If I just got a full-time big-girl job, I’d finally feel financially stable. If I started planning for grad school, I’d finally be able to afford the life I want. If I got a cat, I wouldn’t feel so lonely. If I had a car, I could go wherever I please without feeling managed.

All these things I told myself would push me into becoming the version of myself I desperately need to be. I don’t know how to be content, and that scares me. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m constantly in flight mode, chronically anxious, terribly traumatized by the people I’ve had in my life. But I can’t relax. I can’t stop. I can’t slow down. I want to do everything and anything and have it all happen right now and then some.

If I’m consistent in the gym, I’ll finally have the body I want. If I go to different clubs, events, groups, I’ll find people who choose me.

The battle has been so intense that it’s built avoidant tendencies in me which is insanely ironic, because I absolutely hate avoidance. I feel like I’m constantly standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for a big push that’ll send me tumbling down. And sometimes I’m scared I won’t be strong enough to catch myself, so I jump first, down the ditch or from rock to rock just to spare myself the hurt of becoming too comfortable and vulnerable, to the point where someone else could do it to me.

I’ve tried so many things to make myself feel normal, or at least semi-normal. It works sometimes but not all the time. Most of the time, when I’m around my siblings and cousins, I feel the most normal. The mask I’ve built for every single person drops instantly. I’m suddenly this twelve-year-old girl who just wants to gossip, play stupid pranks, and laugh until my body aches.

With them, I don’t feel like searching or running or chasing or jumping. I feel like I’m floating. And my heart hurts when I have to leave those moments and fall back into the reality of the world, the petrifying feeling that I’ll never achieve the things I dream about and be content with it , no matter how much I daydream about them.

I want to feel like I’m floating 24/7. Not just when I’m with certain people. I want to feel like I don’t have to create all these unnecessary, unrealistic expectations for myself that lead to me fighting a war in my own head when I’m alone, scared, frightened in my room. I want to feel like I’m not constantly performing for every fucking person I meet to the point that I’m not even sure what part of me they’ve experienced is actually me.

I’ve always seen my soul as a fairy: this mystical creature that just wants to float around and laugh and love and fly, spreading joy and glee across all my days.

When I close my eyes, I almost feel it.. my little wings stretching across the room, glittering in pink and gold dust. And I rise so high, higher than my fear, higher than my doubt, higher than my racing mind stretching the tips of myself to the heavens I’m so high, I’m high enough to see the version of me I’ve been searching for this whole time. A version who isn’t running or chasing. just quietly, softly, finally being.