can u like chill bro

sometimes i look at myself and see a certain sense of emptiness. I look at the people around me, i see how they interact with each other, have normal friendships, be normal people, and it strikes me with a sense of envy. these people have an IT factor, something indescribable, this way of fitting in with others. i could stand in company of my closest friends and still never feel that.

i feel like an outsider, i feel like i don’t belong in this country, i don’t feel like i belong in my own country, how the fuck am i supposed to call this place home.

i see other people, i see the joy they feel, the happiness that seeps from their laughter. i look at them, their bliss makes me weep in misery, and then all i am consumed by is this vision of my life crumbling right before my eyes. i could live a thousand years and yet never feel even a fraction of what they do. i don’t have a “group”, a set of people that i can claim to be a part of. i even go to a university where i’m isolated, stumbling across campus muttering words to myself, hoping that could console my solitude.

how do you fit in when you know you can’t? how do you claim something when nothing belongs to you? my entire life, i feel like i’ve been perceived as an outsider, and it feels like it could be for a myriad of reasons, not smart, not hindu, not white, just not normal. how is it my fault? since i was young, i’ve been led astray from the norm by the cruel hand of chance, and now it feels like things are irreconcilable.

this is why i need alcohol. it’s the closest thing that gets me to forget about all of this. i drink with the intention to rid myself of this awareness, of my reality. when i have a drink in my system, i feel like a better version of myself, a version that i could’ve been. but at the end of the day, i’m still me. i see the resentment i have for myself, for when i look at myself, i seethe. at this point in my life have no interest in taking care of myself. it’s so fucking pathetic, a 22 year old man needs someone else to tell him to take a shower, to brush his teeth, to clean his room.

the last few days i’ve been sitting at a cafe while writing some assignments, the place i sit at faces the canal and allows me to look at the people walking by. i look at these people and try to see what they see, the bus stop to their right the entrance to the cafe on the left, and just further on the left at a slight elevation, me. when they look at me, i wonder what they see, do they see me as abnormal? do i look abnormal? i know i don’t put in effort into how i look, but can they see that? do they see me and find a word in their mind to attach to me? what word is it?

when i see myself through their eyes i feel the “nausea” sartre speaks of. this disconnect, this abstract feeling of meaninglessness, and as much solace as camus’ work may provide, his work doesn’t mitigate that feeling.

is this feeling inherent to everyone? is everyone in the world playing a sick joke on me, where nobody tells me they feel this too? am i subject to a lifetime of finding feelings through the works of people whose carcasses are now rotting?

idk man maybe i just need a nap.