I wonder when there will be a time I will understand why I think the thoughts I think and do the actions I do.

  I don't feel like a person, rather a paperweight that sits behind scattered college applications, towering tomes of literature, and corporate giants.

  I just sit in the back of a car, hoping for some purpose one day.

  Right now, I am just this object getting passed around, an item no one ever wants or needs in their life.

  How have I lost my way?

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  I've seen the world, I know what to do, I've done the things I need to, yet I still feel so lost.

  And it all feels so worthless. How nothing I ever do is going to make people stay with me, always demanding actions of my weary corpse.

  Why must I shed tears and waste thoughts on a paper that I shove onto the floor? Why must I shed those desperate thoughts on a person who doesn't see a purpose for me anymore?

  Am I really that alone in this little world?

  I'm not lonely or that depressed, but it is like a serpent of sadness has slivered and snaked over my head and into my brain, dampening the wonder of the world.

  By calling myself depressed I feel so selfish, so unworthy.

  There are real people with a real purpose who are suffering on this retched plane of existence while I just mosey around in that same sleepwalk dance.

  I don't have a reason to feel so unhappy, yet I do and I don't know why.

  What is my purpose in life?