“No body understands me!”

It’s a cry of lonliness. It’s a shout of pain. It’s a whining child’s wish to get some attention in a world that’s full of losers thinking only of themselves. In all honesty, it’s a cry of truth, but the thing is; it doesn’t matter one bit. No one gets you, and no one ever will. Everyone’s a little too busy inside their own heads. Why should they take the time to comprehend your life, when you’ve never thought even for a moment of theirs?

No one will ever understand anyone because no one will ever understand themselves. We’re a whole lot more different than society gives us credit for. The trouble is, we’re all so Goddamn different that it’s gotten a little confusing over time. So we’ve constructed this thing called “normal” where everyone is supposed to act just like everyone else, and when you’re caught out of loop your shunned like a black, albino, midget from space.

You’re fault? Nah. It’s just that they’re too confused by something out of ordinary to even try fitting something as extraordinary as you into their tiny little heads.

Sad fact is. As much as we all strive to be normal to put a stop to that horrible confusion that sprouts from uniqueness, we all, ironically, seem to think we are better.

We’re all the same because Lord forbid someone shows signs of self-awareness.

And yet we’re all so self-aware that there is no way in Hell “their normal” can be better than “our normal.” We all have it in our heads that we should be worried about, thought about, cared for, loved at every damn moment of our lives. Very rarely do we actually stop and wonder if our neighbor needs to be “understood” as well. Because, Jesus, like we actually want to “understand” things. That would make our brains hurt. And that’s why the rare times we do come out of our own asses, and confront a friend, family, or fellow human being about their feelings, we are usually left wishing we’d never crawled out of our holes.

Even while we are comforting them, there is always that small part of us that we don’t like to think about (because god forbid we understand our selves). It’s that small part in the back of our minds thinking that whatever minute little trauma we’ve got stored away is so much worse than theirs. And why can’t we be the one getting comforted for a change. We always push that little part away, but it’s always there.

Because in essence, the human being is a selfish animal.

But we’ll never look deep enough to understand why.

Thus, we can never truly be understood.