God's Love Shines down on us all
I Love You All, Blessed Be
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Who am I ?
Who is this person staring into this screen. I really don't know, do you know what I mean? In my depression my creativity flows. I am crying out for attention, and the whole world knows. I want so much to be accepted and loved. Out in the world I get abused and shoved. Forever it seems I've hidden myself from life. Living as an outcast on the edge of a knife. I get some to listen and some empathy. Some say they're my friends and some people agree. But in the real world they'd see a different man. One who hardly talks, one they can't understand. Even writing these words I'm sure some will take me wrong. It's so hard everyday to feel like I belong. So I clammer for attention just like a little kid. Hey, can you see me, can you see what I did. Please love me, please hold me, make me feel alright. Don't leave me alone to fade into the night. I don't want your money, your possessions or property. I just want the world to accept and love me. Why can't I express this when I come face to face. My breath goes away, and my thoughts just erase. My words start to studder and I stare at the ground. Oh look! A different person you've found. Only with those who are close, or with this cold bright screen, can I truely express myself. Do you know what I mean? If these words have touched you, and you want to show me love. Spread the word, tell your friends, so less aspies will get shoved.
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I'm remembering lines from a poem I wrote in high school, though I can't recall even close to the whole thing:
ReplyDelete"Countless faces stare at me
Voice telling me I'm good, bad, different...
this poem has no sense, it's just as it is
it is myself on paper"
Though I'm much less self-conscious and awkward than I was half a life-time ago and have discovered many friends I love and value deeply, I still encounter those feelings and thoughts from time to time, still feel socially awkward around people I don't know well or who live life on what I consider a surface level. This is especially true for me in party situations.
Writing, though, has always been a place where I can communicate the best, creatively and with other people and in making sense out of life for myself. Eight times out of ten, I would rather write to somebody than talk on the phone, though if I've found somebody I really connect with and trust, face to face conversation is exhilirating.
It can be strange, though, can't it to be so articulate in writing but get tongue-tied speaking? And to feel frustrated that you're not able to communicate the richness of who you are in certain contexts.
Scott .... Dawn ... thank you so much!
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