“I don’t really fit in anywhere. Not even with my family. There’s times when I just feel so alone and I cry for hours, but no one even hears or cares. I’m so tired of this. I don’t understand why I’m here.”
I’m lonely. What kind of loneliness? Every kind. I feel disconnected. Abandoned. As always. Repetition. So what, my love? So what? At first, I just wanted to run away. Now I have no where else to run to, nothing to run from. I don’t belong anywhere, I don’t want to go anywhere, I just want to be happy.
So apparently someone on here thinks that having a close relationship with your twin is incestuous… Let me tell you, without my twin, I don’t think I would have made it this far. He is my everything, my whole world, and where I draw my strength from.
This tumblr user also seems to think that nonbinary identities aren’t real.. Yet here I am, unbelonging to a single gender. jack-is-a-self-made-man seethestarsablaze myhandandmyheart
Numbness becomes the new life for those de-spirited by culture. They have been cultured — destroyed and reborn into the new life, where only the unnatural is desirable, for the unnatural feels safe and familiar, for they are unnatural. They have been remade in the image and likeness of falsity; their true God. But the truth aches in their forbidden places and grieves them with a nagging malaise of uncertainty and unbelonging. — Bryant McGill
I would never be part of anything. I would never really belong anywhere, and I knew it, and all my life would be the same, trying to belong, and failing. Always something would go wrong. I am a stranger and I always will be.
Smile Please: An Unfinished Autobiography (Jean Rhys)
When you’re surrounded by all these people, it can be lonelier than when you’re by yourself. You can be in a huge crowd, but if you don’t feel like you can trust anyone or talk to anybody, you feel like you’re really alone.
I remember walking across Sixty-second Street one twilight that first spring, or the second spring, they were all alike for a while. I was late to meet someone but I stopped at Lexington Avenue and bought a peach and stood on the corner eating it and knew that I had come out out of the West and reached the mirage. I could taste the peach and feel the soft air blowing from a subway grating on my legs and I could smell lilac and garbage and expensive perfume and I knew that it would cost something sooner or later — because I did not belong there, did not come from there — but when you are twenty-two or twenty-three, you figure that later you will have a high emotional balance, and be able to pay whatever it costs. I still believed in possibilities then, still had the sense, so peculiar to New York, that something extraordinary would happen any minute, any day, any month.