Sometimes I sit and wonder. I ponder all of the “what ifs” life has to offer every day we breathe. What if green were orange? What if water was solid instead of liquid? Maybe, just maybe, water is solid and WE have it wrong as humans. Have you ever thought about that? I mean, who is going to tell us we are incorrect at this point in time? Who has the audacity to wag a finger at us and say, “Hey dumb humans, guess what? You screwed up, and water is solid and stone is liquid!”? Yep, absolutely no entity I can fathom will be stepping up to do that anytime soon! Lol.
What if I were truly happy, or even genuinely content, as opposed to faking it every day? I am tired of faking it. Tired of pretending that I am some insanely emotionally strong guy. I want to cry every day, it seems, at some point during the day. I silently cry into my pillow nearly every night before finally drifting off to sleep.
Ahhhhh. Sleep, the ONE place where I fear nothing (except waking up – all too often a harsh and very brutal reality check as to just how screwed up life really is!). Sleep, THE safe place for me to go and dream of a life filled with contentment and happiness, not only for me but for those I care about.
Yep, I am that dude, the one who comforts those around him always no matter what – friends, foes, strangers, enemies, neighbors, and minions. I like being that guy most of the time. Even when I do not like being that guy, I love how that guy impacts others. They KNOW for at least one brief moment in their day someone gives a damn enough about them and their state of being to at the very least ask the question. Someone cares enough to at least pose the question when they meet. Someone finds them worthy of spending at least a few brief seconds formulating the question in their head and pushing it out of their mouth. Someone cares enough to invest their precious non-renewable time in speaking to them and checking in with them. Someone. . . cares. . .
When will someone, ANYONE reach out and ask ME if I am OK? When will SOMEONE put a hand on my shoulder and quietly reassure me that all will be OK, remind me to breathe my next breath, encourage me to dream on with the day or the night or both? When do I get to weep in the arms of someone to whom I truly matter? When do I get not just a “hey are you OK JT?” but a genuine, heartfelt, concerned, “JT I know you say you are OK always, but we both know that is bullshit!! Now, please tell me how you are REALLY doing and let me know how I can help make today better with you, not for you, but with you!! Stop being bullheaded and let me know, please. You matter to me, JT.”
Maybe I need to find a mirror that reflects not my face, the one I put on when I awaken each day and prepare to fake it for the world I exist in, but rather reflects what I NEED from the world I strive to leave a better place each and every day. Maybe, just maybe, I would end MY day the way I try to leave everyone else each day. Perhaps I would go to sleep with a smile or grin on my face instead of tears on my pillow. WHEN DO I MATTER?? And to whom?
Sure, the last question sounds needy and whiny as hell. But, you know what? I listen to everyone else whine daily without judgment, ridicule, or discouragement. I reassure everyone that life is an amazing journey IF we allow it to be. I tell folks to buckle up because there WILL be bumps along the way, and we all know that life has a penchant for throwing each of us some very serious curveballs when we least need them, want them, or expect them!
When I sit and ponder these “what ifs,” my mind often spirals into deeper questions about the nature of reality itself. What if our perceptions are fundamentally flawed? What if the way we experience the world is merely a shadow of its true essence? It’s a daunting thought, isn’t it? That everything we take for granted might be entirely different from what we believe. This kind of thinking might seem abstract or philosophical, but it deeply influences how I view my own struggles and the masks I wear daily.
I often wonder about happiness and contentment, not just as fleeting emotions but as sustainable states of being. What if I could find a way to be genuinely happy or at least content? I wouldn’t have to wear a mask or pretend to be someone I’m not. This thought leads me to question why it’s so hard for me to be open about my feelings. Is it societal pressure, personal pride, or fear of vulnerability? It’s probably a combination of all three, but understanding that doesn’t make it any easier to change.
Every day, I feel the weight of my own expectations and the expectations of others. It’s exhausting to maintain this façade of strength and resilience. I want to cry, to let out all the pent-up emotions that build up inside me. But I can’t. Or rather, I don’t let myself. Instead, I wait until the world is quiet, and then, in the solitude of my room, I allow myself to break down. My pillow absorbs the tears that I can’t show anyone else.
Sleep becomes my escape. It’s the one place where reality doesn’t intrude, where I can dream of a better life, not just for myself but for everyone I care about. In my dreams, I am free from the constraints that bind me during my waking hours. I am free to be truly happy, to experience joy without fear of it being taken away. But even sleep is not a perfect refuge. The inevitable awakening brings me back to the harshness of reality, often more brutal than I remembered.
I find myself constantly playing the role of the caregiver. It’s a role I’ve grown accustomed to, even if it’s not always what I want. I’m the one who reaches out, who offers comfort and support to friends, foes, strangers, and everyone in between. It’s fulfilling in a way because I know I’m making a difference, even if it’s just for a moment. But it’s also draining. There are times when I don’t want to be that guy, but I continue because I know how much it means to others. They need someone to care, someone to remind them that they matter.
However, this leads me to a painful realization: when will someone do the same for me? When will someone see past the mask I wear and ask if I’m truly okay? When will someone care enough to push through my defenses and offer me the same comfort I freely give to others? I long for that connection, for someone to tell me that it’s okay to not be okay. I want someone to see me, the real me, and still care.
I know that I put up walls. I know that I make it difficult for others to see my vulnerability. But part of me hopes that someone will see through it anyway. That someone will care enough to break through and offer me the reassurance and support I so desperately need. It’s not that I don’t have people in my life who care about me. It’s just that they don’t always see the struggle I’m going through. They don’t always understand the weight I carry.
I sometimes wonder if a mirror could reflect not just my physical appearance but my inner self. What would it show? Would it reveal the pain and sadness I try to hide? Would it show the longing for connection and understanding? I think it would. And maybe, just maybe, seeing that reflection would help me realize that it’s okay to need others. It’s okay to want to be cared for. It’s okay to matter.
The question of when I matter and to whom is one that haunts me. It feels selfish and needy to ask, but it’s a genuine concern. I spend so much time reassuring others, telling them that life is a journey worth taking, even with its bumps and curveballs. But who reassures me? Who tells me that I’m on the right path, that I’m not alone in this journey? I want to believe that I matter to someone, that my struggles are seen and acknowledged.
Reflecting on these thoughts, I realize that part of the problem is that I don’t always let people in. I’m so used to being the strong one, the one who helps others, that I forget to let others help me. I don’t allow myself to be vulnerable, to show my true feelings. It’s a defense mechanism, a way to protect myself from getting hurt. But it also keeps me from experiencing genuine connection and support.
I think about the people in my life and wonder how they would react if they knew the truth. If they saw the real me, the one who cries into his pillow at night and struggles to find happiness. Would they still care? Would they offer me the same support I give to them? I’d like to believe they would, but there’s always that nagging doubt.
Maybe it’s time for me to take a chance, to let down my guard and allow others to see my vulnerability. It’s a terrifying thought, but it might be the only way to truly connect with others and find the support I need. I can’t keep pretending to be okay when I’m not. I can’t keep wearing this mask and hoping that someone will see through it. I have to take the first step, to reach out and let others in.
In doing so, I might find that I matter to more people than I realize. I might discover that there are those who care deeply about me and want to help. It’s a risk, but it’s one worth taking. Because in the end, we all need someone to care, someone to see us for who we truly are and still love us. We all need to know that we matter.
As I sit and ponder these thoughts, I realize that change starts with me. I have to be willing to show my true self, to be vulnerable and open. Only then can I find the connection and support I long for. It’s not an easy path, but it’s one I must take if I want to find genuine happiness and contentment.
So, I will take a deep breath, let down my guard, and allow others to see the real me. I will reach out and ask for help, knowing that it’s okay to need others. And maybe, just maybe, I will find that I matter more than I ever realized.
