Reading through my late night Notes that I have abandoned, I see a pattern.

I keep looking for a place to fit in, even creating space for myself and invite others in, and yet I still don’t feel like I belong.

Always on the outside looking in even when I built the house myself. 

Self sabotaging? Maybe. I always feel like I’m never enough. Not good enough for that house I built. Not obsessed about the house enough. Not cool enough to build that house in the first place.

And at the same time, I feel like the house is too obnoxious, too enthusiastic, too weird. That I’m too obnoxious, too enthusiastic, too weird. 

Anxiety could be lying. But how consistent can it lie? You have to question that when every.few months you see the similar late night notes  again. The notes you dumped out of your brain but never posted. 

Perhaps it is something I need to work on with a therapist. Maybe it’s how my brain is wired. Maybe it’s both.

Maybe I have always belonged somewhere. The house I built was exactly what it was supposed to be. A place where other weirdos can feel like they belong. The place I was always meant to build.

Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.