At work, I’d do my best-est. I worked hard to improve, to live up to the expectations people have of me and of myself. It’s a pattern I’ve picked from home. As the adopted child, I’ve spent quite a lot of my youth and adult-life trying to prove to my family that I am worth the space at home. That I’m worthy of the money spent on my education. That I’m worthy to belong.
That was all before.
I don’t want to prove things anymore.
I’ve been experiencing what I called “inner diaspora.” I felt distant. Not with anyone in particular. Not with friends or family. I felt distant with myself (sounds like an oxymoron?). It’s like I didn’t want to be. It’s how I found myself continuously questioning my existence. Within my family. Within my circle of friends and work. I questioned my purpose. All the troubles my friends couldn’t name strangely felt familiar. I felt acquainted with nothingness. That feeling, that strong desire to cease.
Perhaps, this was the effect of all that incessant “proving.” All that precious energy I’ve invested on proving myself at work and at home deserted me.
It tore at my soul.
From a phase of my life were almost everything I did was driven by the necessity of proving my worth. From experiencing the most surreal and lonely and infinite-like nothingness. To being here. Still existing and even writing things in retrospect. How?
I am not certain. Perhaps, it was the beginnings and the in-betweens. Perhaps, it was all part of growing.
Maybe, this is what it means to be truly human. To experience oneself. To want to define it. To discard that definition. To own oneself. This is who and what and where I am.
And this is how I got here.