I’ve been trying so hard to find my place—to fit in somewhere—but I’ve felt like an outsider for as long as I can remember.

I haven’t had any real friends in years, if ever! Most days, I tell myself I’m fine with that. I’ve learned to live with the solitude, even embraced it at times. But when the loneliness hits, it’s unbearable. It feels like a weight I can’t escape, a reminder of what’s missing.

When I need someone, even just one person, there’s no one there. I’m grateful for my family—they’re supportive in their own way, and I love them deeply. They help keep me going. But I don’t have anyone I can call when I need to share a moment, a thought, an idea, or even exciting news. I don’t have someone who sees me beyond the surface of everyday life.

With my family, the connection is…limited. It’s not that they don’t care—they do—but there’s a gap between us. I’m the black sheep, the one who stands out, the one who doesn’t quite belong. They’ll help me when I need it, but I often feel like they don’t really understand me. I’m the “weird” one. The different one. The one people call when they need something, but rarely the one they reach out to for anything deeper.

I’m someone who craves depth. I want conversations that go beyond small talk. I want to connect with people in a way that’s raw, honest, and real. But fear holds me back—fear of being judged, fear of not being enough, fear of being misunderstood.

Over the past decade, I’ve developed agoraphobia. I didn’t even realise how afraid of the world I was until recently. When I asked myself why, I realised it’s because I feel so alone. The world feels overwhelming, massive, and full of people who don’t see me. It’s hard to face that every day.

I don’t want to “fit into” society. That’s not my goal. But I do want to feel like I belong somewhere. Like there’s space for me. A space where I can be my authentic, vulnerable self without fear of judgment.

The truth is, I feel things so deeply. I’m intuitive and empathetic to the point that it’s exhausting. I can sense the energy in a room before I even step inside. I can feel your sadness, your anger, your loneliness—and I carry it with me as if it’s my own. I want to connect with people, but so often, it feels like they don’t want to connect with me in return.

When someone asks, “Are you okay?” I want to tell them everything. I want to pour out my heart and be heard. But I hold back because I know most people don’t really want to listen. The world moves too fast for that kind of honesty. And I get it—I’m guilty of avoiding depth sometimes, too. But it leaves me aching for something real.

I’ve tried so hard to form connections. I put so much energy into giving—my time, my attention, my love. I give and give and give. But it feels like it’s never enough.

And it’s exhausting. I’m tired of being sad. Tired of being lonely. Tired of feeling like no one truly sees me.

I wonder if it’s me. Is it the way I look? The way I walk—I limp because of a spinal injury. Maybe it’s my “weirdness,” my unconventional way of living. Do people think I’m not worth the effort? I know I’m not always easy to understand, but I have depth. I have layers. It just takes someone willing to look past the surface to see them.

I ask myself all the time: Am I a bad person? Do I deserve this life? I’ve made mistakes, hurt people, burned bridges. But I’ve also given everything I have to give. I can’t give 100% when I’m running on 20%, but I give honestly, with my whole heart.

I live on edge. Anxiety is a constant in my life. OCD dominates my thoughts. ASD and ADHD shape how I experience the world, while trauma casts a shadow over everything.

There are days I hate life. But there are also moments when I see its beauty, and I love it fiercely.

Somewhere in all of this, I just want to be. To feel like I belong. To feel understood. To feel like my weird, messy, emotional self is enough.