A long time ago, but not so far away, I was young and had my whole life in front of me. I was raised in a small town by nice people. Nice ordinary people who fought everyday and hardly noticed me or my siblings. I wasn’t in any hurry to grow up. I dallied in the woolly headed dream like state of infancy and played fantastic games with my brothers during long summer days and nights. Even my adolescence was filled with dreaming – there were girls and friendships I thought would last forever, but nothing was ever ‘real’ to me.
So where did I go wrong? Perhaps life, real life, failed to measure up to my childhood dreams. Perhaps I was traumatized in my infancy. Whatever the reason I always felt like there was something missing. I consoled myself with drink and drugs for the opportunities squandered and the hours ill spent, but nothing could fill the hole that lay hidden in the core of me.
I once thought that love will fill the hole and make me somehow complete. I always thought that life itself sprang from love, but I’ve seen that hate has a life of its own too. No, love didn’t fill the gap. In fact, love simply accentuated the depth of the chasm within. It was as if that hole measured the distance between myself and the rest of the human race. It turned out I couldn’t expect anyone else to fill that space for me – I’d have to bear that burden myself.
So what’s the solution? There is no solution. Life goes on and we go with it – whether we want to or not. Perhaps in the end life fills that hole, or more accurately it’s the attempt to fill the hole that constitutes a life. I don’t know how others feel, or if my sentiments will strike a chord with anybody else. I just know that I’m holed with a hunger that is never satiated, never filled.