The school I went to had Christmas concerts every year. The students would line up at the church to sing our little Christmas songs. I loved it. I loved everything that made me feel a part of the group without singling me out. I watched the tapes of two of these concerts today, while transferring them to a DVD. And I cried. Of course, I cried.
I wish my timeturner worked.
Only why on Earth would I want to go back to that torture? My own therapist said she wouldn't relive her childhood for any money. What's wrong with me? Am I really so miserable now that going back would be better? Or do I just see my future as endless more of this? It's not that this is really so bad, but is this all there is? Because it's not enough. At least back then, I had real memories. Real experiences. Now, I mostly just live in books and movies and games. Too little of my life is actually real.
I wish I could be a part of something real, but I'm too broken and weak. I wish I could be a teacher at my old school, or what's left of it. It's not that I'd want that over being a writer. And as things are, I'm free to write with my full attention. But I'm so miserable sometimes that I can't even bring myself to do the thing I love so much. Most people would probably think I'm lucky to not have to work. That I shouldn't whine about getting to be lazy all day. But what if all you had was your broken self and your painful memories to haunt you all day?
I know I'm meant to be doing what I'm doing if for no other reason than it is all I have. I wasn't meant to go to college. To be a teacher. To be "normal". I was meant to write with all I have. And I'm doing more of that lately than I have in a long time. But I'm still lonely and unhappy. Left wondering if I could ever really be part of something again. Even if it was just the illusion it was back then.