The stars and the broken people

I lay staring up at the sky. At the stars. At the suns to other solar systems to other universes. My body feels numb. All the time. I try so hard to be happy. To be sad. To be mad. To feel something. Anything. My brain tells me to let it out, but nothing ever does. I lay on the floor, not moving. Does anyone notice? No. No one ever does. Sitting there, in black and grey, the monochrome colors that everyone pairs to the emotions of sadness, not moving. I know I’m still alive, still present, but at the same time, I’m not. My body is there, but it's like my soul is floating above, not in but not really there either. I put on this fake face and make others happy. I’m always there for people. Making them smile or laugh hysterically. Telling them they look good, that their ex is missing out, that they did great on that test or that they are amazing and spectacular. Giving them the answers for anything they need. They call me when they're crying in the middle of the night. I always pick up, even if I'm sick or dead asleep. I hide my tears and let them talk. I'm never not there for them. No one does that for me. But why should I expect them to do that for me? Why should I get to feel loved and worthy? I shouldn’t. I give and give and never get. “That’s selfish of you,” my heart tells me. My brain tells me “It’s logical”. It’s neither of those things. What is it though? It’s nothing. It’s the pain. It’s the teen inside of me. It’s the child inside of me. It’s the adult inside of me. The numbness inside of me. I have thoughts that never seem to go away. You're not good enough. He's never going to like you. You are worthless. You don't deserve a happy ending. They're talking about you. They don't like you. You aren't enough. You are such a klutz. You look fat. You look ugly. Those girls are prettier than you. Your hair looks messy. You aren't worth it. No one really cares about you. Why would they? You are nothing. You are nobody. You are going to fail. Why would you do that? That's stupid. You're stupid. Just stop trying. It's your fault. You broke it. You can't even keep your phone not broken, how are you supposed to keep your life not broken. Why do you even care? Why do you try so hard? You are such a try-hard. You just want to be better than others. You don't even care about others. No one even likes you. You think you're all that, but you aren't. Just because your heart is broken, no one cares. No one cares that you're crying. You're fake. No one even cares. Those are thoughts, not emotions. Those thoughts run in my brain. It's either those thoughts or nothing. Just quiet. Just because your brain is full, it doesn't mean I am feeling anything. Sometimes, my arms are heavy, I can't move my body. I can't even move my mouth. The only thing I can move is my eyes, and even then it's super hard and too much work. I don't feel. I haven't moved in hours. The sky was dark, black and blue and purple. The white and yellowish sparkles in the sky were the only thing that made me feel good. I open and close my eyes. Over and over again. Even when I close my eyes, I still see the dark sky. So I'm going to lay out here, maybe forever and just feel. I think about the way these planets were created. The amount of time they took. The way the stars shine. They never stop shining. We just can't always see them shining. They get covered up by the sun's light. At night, it's their time to shine. Maybe that's the same with people. The millions of different pairs of eyes that have seen the same exact stars. Maybe my soulmate has looked at these same exact stars, maybe they're looking at the stars right now. Millions of people, millions of years ago saw these stars. Martin Luther King, Jesus, princes and princesses. Maybe, these stars make me feel something because of the people who've looked at them. Maybe the people told their stories to the stars. Stories of love, and pain and happiness and joy and heartbreak, and broken families and friendships and sadness and everything in between. Maybe there are others like me. People who know how to feel but don't. We feel sometimes, and other times we don't feel at all. People who want to feel. People who need to feel. Maybe it's the stars. Maybe it's the thought of the stars. Maybe it's nothing. So I'm going to lay out here, maybe forever and just feel. Feel the pain. The sadness. The joy. The hurt. And everything in between. You never really know a person, know their story, what brings them happiness, what makes them sad, what hurt they're going through. Maybe that's a good thing. Or maybe it is limiting us. As humans. Not knowing or caring about what others think. What they feel. That's how we stay connected. Through knowing what others feel. How they feel. I feel by looking up the limitless sky and wonder about the planets that are millions of miles away, the sun that keeps us warm, the stars that shine so bright but only at night. The stars make me feel. Looking at the stars. Talking to the stars. Up to the sky and the universe and up to heaven and up and up and up. No one can hear my story but the stars. The stars listen. The stars absorb the stories. They retell our stories. The stars are the light of our stories. That's why we look up to the stars. That's why I will always look up to the stars.