It’s an absurdity, looking back across the years realizing how much I’ve missed out on, realizing I’ve harbored a child for countless years. Understanding just how many decades of love I’ve already committed to a child I refuse to look in the eyes, knowing they’ll never see me for who I am.

I’ve paid child payments for decades, each check a barbed wire I’m forced to climb over in an attempt to get further in life. You’re now 14 years and counting and I still don’t know your name. Your presence is still felt, sometimes I’m able to go a few years without acknowledging you, and at the same time I’m forced to confront you daily. Ironically I feel better after confronting, but I get further by ignoring you. How strange because this is such a non-issue for most people.

They’ll give me outdated advice, as if I haven’t already tried everything, as if I’m somehow unable to recognize the blinding reality I’m forced to feel each day, as if it hasn’t already been seared into my mind. I can close my eyes and still visualize it clearly.

How awful to end another question of “what’s your plan for the weekend?” with another series of “dunno”. I used to come up with elaborate details, make up entire stories, but nowadays I’m way too tired to do so. People are economically broke because of social committment, they can speak with ease about this or that restaurant, this or that café, this or that place of entertainment, whilst all I’m able to elaborate on are awesome series, online content, my solitary existence bleeding into a quasi-parasocial world, crashing like waves into blissfull ignorance.

The worst part of it all is the fact that I’m actually just not able to cope. Not for long. That isn’t to say I’m nearing the end at all, but more so that I’m just not able to maintain this illusion that everything is going great. People are at a surface level, each interaction just a puddle, and I’m not able to cope. I could be puddle-faced, but nowadays I consistently break my nose trying to dive in. I am who I am, and that realization has brought me more joy than anything else.

“Do what you love and people will come” is great advice for others, but it just doesn’t happen organically for me. The child keeps me locked in, unable to share, unable to be part of something more. I see them in the eyes of people when they look past my mask and finally realize just who I am underneath. I get along well with some, are you especially strange I fall for you completely, but are you normal you tend to project your normalness onto me, hoping I’m one as well, and when interactions over time leads you to understand me better you reject me. And I’m left without any meaning behind it all.

Every single aspect of my life screams out in pain, in isolation and loneliness, my room is filled with artifacts, with gifts not given, with words not spoken, even my bank account shouts loudly. I’m economically viable, saving up everything I get, but only because I have nobody to spend any of it on. I live a frugal nearly pitiful existence barred from all the things that people spend money on. People want a larger house, more room, more stuff, while I already have all the things I want, all the things I need. And still, late at night, I realize how much I’ve lied to myself – I need more.

As I wrote when I was 13: “I’m left standing at a beach looking back at footprints left by someone else who walked here before me and I’m wondering where they went as I stare back at them erased by the waves rushing in, leaving nothing but barren sand and taking the memories back to sea.”

I’ve nurtured this child for countless years, fed it my pain and suffering, let it grow underneath my cold and calculating exterior, underneath the smile I’ve painstakingly painted on lies a child in need of a hug, of touch, of love. But this is also my comfort, my way of being, my reality. I know no other way to function, this is the language I’ve learned, the only way I can communicate, the only way I can work in this world. I’m well fed, live in a comfortable apartment, I can freely walk around and express my thoughts and opinions, freely function in a society designed for freedom, partake as much as I want to, I’m materially secured for years even with no employment. And still, I need more. But not much, I’m not looking for someone to carry my burdens, people can’t offer me advice I haven’t already heard or given myself, I’m just looking for someone, a connection that’s deeper than a puddle.

I’ve recently fallen in love. A huge array of feelings I never thought I’d feel has been unlocked, and it all comes flashing forward, it all feels meaningful, every interaction cherished, every parting filled with sorrow, but I can’t do anything but hope I’ll get to see you tomorrow. I want more, but I know I’m biased when reading your hints, I can’t trust anything but the most direct communication. I want you but at the same time how the hell can I want this, my life, for you? You deserve more, and so I’ll just walk around next to you feeling joyful I’m privileged enough to spend it with you, even though we’ll never see each other again in a few weeks. It will break my heart, but at the same time I know you’re destined for more.

“I must be the reason why
You have given up your smiles
And the hope inside your eyes have been stolen
I must be the reason why
You must tell me all these lies
Wishing you a better life without me by your side”

In a strange way I hope for rain.