A Hole in My Soul

I found the hole in my soul.  It does not have a name.

What is it?  Some element seems to a fear of being left behind by the successes of others.  Apparently I always feel left behind - or afraid of being left behind, overrun by those who are simply more successful than I.  They move on, I linger.

Another element is attachment - making me feel something about myself.  What that something is, I cannot fully say - because again, it does not have a name.

Value?  That may be part of it.  I perceive I have no value except in the context of someone else.  Or perhaps that I view myself as unimportant and a servant and I want someone to notice me as something more.

Sometimes I feel as if I am forgettable, that if I did not remind people that I am here I would be forgotten.  Perhaps it is a manifestation of the fact that I feel small and of no account - desperate to be noticed and for attention, if you will.

How do I look in those flights of fancy and dreams in my head?  Not at all like I feel actually am.  Strong.  Confident.  Noble.  Competent.  Honorable.  In other words, everything that I do not feel I am in real life.  Or even the sensation that if I were to become these things it would not matter.

What do I want?  No, what do I really want?  To be great and use the talents I believe (or believed) I had to do great things.  To be competent and confident, a leader.  To be in relationships that are  fulfilling.  To succeed.

But my success fall into what if feels like so much of my life is:  things of the shadows, things that do not make an impact on the larger world or fulfill this hole.  Iaijutsu, Heavy Athletics - these are small accomplishments that matter little in my daily life, or seem to.

And writing, my great hope and dream of success once upon a time?  The simple reality, based on actual results, is that I am probably much less of the writer in fact than I believe myself to be in my head.  In my mind, I am the next literary genius with mighty stories to tell that will change the lives of others.  Evidence perhaps indicates that I am simply a person who likes to write but maybe should keep my day job.

Which leaves me with what, precisely?

A hole.  A hole so big and so large in my soul that I would do anything to fill it.  A hole that I keep hoping will fill with interests or relationships or activities.  The interests and activities never do and I more than likely destroy the relationships in my incessant need to have the hole filled.

Here is the issue:  After I have written all of this and tried to put some definition around a longing and a pain so deep it almost overwhelms me at times, I realize I have probably not named it at all.

All I can tell is there is a whole, a fissure that runs through my thoughts and my life that when it fires, can consume all other things in its need for relief.  And I simply seem to have no idea what to do with it at all.