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  • Writer's picturethesecrawford

April 27th, 2012 Excerpt

From now and to forever, I will never deserve this life I have been given. It was someone else's. But they died, and I was born like some sort of hasty consolation prize.

As a child, I wondered what I did to deserve it. And it was with such a horrible feeling of dread that I realized I didn't. I tried so hard to earn it then.

The things that mattered as a child where childish things. I wanted to do well in school . I wanted to be good at sports. And mostly and always, I wanted to be good.

These things were essential. They would ensure my place here so that no one could dare take it away.

My goals are impossible and so heartbreakingly unattainable, but I still want them. I want to belong here, but I just can't. I can't let myself. The thought won't go away. I feel like I was meant to be born somewhere else, and that I just got lucky instead. Lucky over someone else's pain. A mistake.

I tried to earn it, but I couldn't. I made my life so hard because of it. I couldn't be happy because there was always something to be unhappy about. I was always disappointing myself; setting myself up for failure. I hate that word. It's the most horrible word I have ever learned. I was destroying myself for fear of that word.

And now I am afraid of happiness. I am so irrationally sure that something will take it away if I let myself feel it. I was so young when I developed the fear that someday something terrible would happen. Like the cosmos would finally realize the mistake and fix it. They would take away all the things that weren't meant to be mine.

I have had to consciously stop myself from ruining my own life out of some sort of penance and wishing that something bad would happen to me as payment. And now I am just so tired. I am tired of living- of the waiting. Now, if I let myself, I will collapse in a heap from the weight of my waiting.

I'm afraid of wanting because of the price I'll have to pay. I'm afraid of making plans and goals because I will always turn them into something self-destructive. I love to sleep because when I sleep; I'm not here. Even nightmares are welcome because they are not real.

I'm disappointed that I am still alive, and that it the worst thing of all. That is my guilt. I can't appreciate my life and I whine- bitter and sad, while others try so hard to improve bad lives.

I can't stand to look at myself anymore, and I can't stand for people to look at me. For surely they will look and they will know.

I'm scared of my life because it has never felt like mine. And every morning I wake up wishing that the person who was supposed to have it will finally wake up and take it back.

I have asked myself to be good, but I have never let myself be good enough. I want to be good enough.

And that is what I am waiting for.

Someday, something will say that is enough.

And it will be enough.

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