The Inclusive Lens

I don’t know if you’ve ever felt it — that hollowness. That weird, visceral understanding that you don’t belong here, or anywhere. It’s not a sense of being alone; it’s deeper than that. It’s the gnawing feeling of being fundamentally disconnected, not just from people but from everything. The emptiness settles in like static, buzzing but never quite making sense. Loneliness doesn’t even begin to cover it. Loneliness suggests a gap that can be filled, a hunger that can be sated. But this… this is different. This isn’t about missing company or feeling left out. It’s about looking at the world and realizing you don’t fit, like a puzzle piece that got shoved into the wrong box, trying to match up to something you can never be. You don't even recognize the shape of the hole you're supposed to fill. It's just off. The worst part? I’m not sure it’ll ever change. The hole doesn’t shrink or shift; it just stays there, an emptiness that grows deeper as the days go by. And sometimes, I wonder if it's better to just let it grow. Embrace the void, really. At least that way, there’s no pretense about who I am, or what I’m supposed to be. Maybe it's easier to be nothing than to struggle with the weight of constantly trying to force myself into something that was never meant for me. But even as I think that, I know it’s a lie. The truth is, I hate it. I hate the emptiness. I hate the coldness of it. The world is full of people who have found some version of belonging. It’s everywhere, practically shouting at me from every corner. Relationships, communities, conversations — all of it just out of reach. It’s like watching people walk through a door you can see but can’t touch, a party you’re never invited to. Sometimes, it makes me want to shut down. Stop pretending to care, stop trying to understand why I’m here when I feel like I’m not. It’s easier, really. Just disconnect, stop looking for meaning in a world that clearly doesn’t see me. Maybe if I stop trying, I won’t feel this tired. Maybe if I stop caring, the silence won’t be so loud. But then I think, is that the kind of person I want to be? The kind who’s hollow and detached? Wouldn't that just make the emptiness permanent? There’s no easy answer. I don’t know how to fix this. Maybe it's just how I’m built — someone who stands outside, watching the world without ever truly entering it. Maybe it’s just my lot in life. But whatever it is, I know one thing for sure: the emptiness doesn’t get any smaller.