Finding Meaning

Like most, I live my life day to day, doing what I must to survive, but it just isn't enough. I used to believe in a greater goodness, in something more than the daily mediocrities. It all changed when my dad died, everything became pointless and meaningless. I stopped caring. I stopped trying to be better. I stopped believing in goodness and beauty. I became a broken person, well, more broken than I already was.

I don't want to be that person anymore. I want to make a difference. I want to believe in myself and in other people. I want to be that person who fights injustices. I want to be that person who loves freely and without fear. In the end I guess that is what happened to me, I became afraid. Afraid of living, of success, of giving of my heart, of giving and receiving love. I'm afraid to be vulnerable, of being too soft, of appearing weak, of admitting I need someone, that I need help.

I look at my reflection in the mirror and don't recognize the person looking back. It isn't the person I wanted and hoped to be at this age. I see a failure. I see all the things I never accomplished, all the things I quit because I was too afraid to succeed. I see myself still doing it. I see a person who is unhappy, unsatisfied, lonely, empty.

I know I need to make a lot of changes in my life, but I feel so overwhelmed and have no idea where to begin. I see a mountain of problems I need to fix, and all I want to do is lay in bed and hide. I'm afraid to start because I'm scared to fail again. I'm so good at quitting. I'm afraid to succeed, to be happy, to feel together because I know I could lose it all and in the end it really could mean nothing, and that is the scariest thought of all.