Where do I fit?

where do i fit inWhere do I fit? What is my purpose in life? Why did I go to  Ivy League Schools to end up here?  Why am I here? I still don’t have good answers for any of those questions. Many think I am lucky and even successful, why don’t I agree?

During sensitive periods of one’s life, traumatic events  can have  profound and pervasive effects. I believe the suicide death of my father combined with the ‘hit and run’ death of the best friend I ever had, my little brother, occurred at times in my life when I took consistency for granted. At the time, I never imagined the impact these deaths would have on me.  In my younger days, these deaths made me compassionate and empathetic, never wanting to see others hurt.   But as I became older, they made me sad and bitter.  They also set the stage of waiting for the axe to fall.

I miss them both. Someone got away with murder; deep down I know that car should have hit me instead of my brother. I thought I had the whole summer to be with him.

My life seems so senseless. I have never been able to count on anything. The moment I do the rug is pulled from under me. It is not fun to live most of your life on the ground. This time I don’t want to get up. What’s the point?  When did I stop caring or stop fighting?  When did I stop believing in others?  Why am I so angry at myself?

I have two wonderful boys who taught me the meaning of unconditional love, something I did not experience growing up.   I wish I could return to those days of aiming for the stars and contorting myself to please others. I want my children to have the happiness I never had. If all my disappointments result in their happiness then my life on the ground will have been worth it, and I willingly accept a life without a future. I may even get up knowing I’ll be knocked down again.

The Irony of Life was written over 13 years ago. I was an optimist, now I am a realist who no longer wants to fight unless it is for my children.  Am I fading away or just getting older and depressed at the thought of growing old alone.

I am losing my passion for life and the company of others. I truly don’t care what people think about me. Ironically, this is a liberating feeling  for me and I do love myself. I guess there is still hope for me yet.

Although I still don’t know where I fit in, this was a therapeutic blog.

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