I wonder when there will be a time I will understand why I think the thoughts I think and do the actions I do.
I don't feel like a person, rather a paperweight that sits behind scattered college applications, towering tomes of literature, and corporate giants.
I just sit in the back of a car, hoping for some purpose one day.
Right now, I am just this object getting passed around, an item no one ever wants or needs in their life.
How have I lost my way?
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I've seen the world, I know what to do, I've done the things I need to, yet I still feel so lost.
And it all feels so worthless. How nothing I ever do is going to make people stay with me, always demanding actions of my weary corpse.
Why must I shed tears and waste thoughts on a paper that I shove onto the floor? Why must I shed those desperate thoughts on a person who doesn't see a purpose for me anymore?
Am I really that alone in this little world?
I'm not lonely or that depressed, but it is like a serpent of sadness has slivered and snaked over my head and into my brain, dampening the wonder of the world.
By calling myself depressed I feel so selfish, so unworthy.
There are real people with a real purpose who are suffering on this retched plane of existence while I just mosey around in that same sleepwalk dance.
I don't have a reason to feel so unhappy, yet I do and I don't know why.
What is my purpose in life?