Janet Jackson says “We all have a need to feel special. It’s this need that brings out the best in us yet the worst in us”. Ever since I heard those lines I’ve kept them close to my heart and carried them with me. Constantly aware of my need to feel seen and be special. Trying my best to satiate it without letting it corrupt me. For the most part it has kept me above water. I have made many friends throughout life but like a double edged sword. It is my greatest flaw and weakness. Constantly wounding me as I try to make it up this mountain of life.

Let me clarify that there is nothing wrong with wanting to feel unique. We all have that desire and we all want it. For me it just so happens that this need turns into a little voice that sits atop of my shoulder regurgitating all the insecurities I have ever felt growing up. No matter what I achieve it is never enough, well at least that is the internal monologue that I hear. The constant reiteration of “you don’t deserve the spotlight”. Yet in the moments I do stand in the light. I freeze up, knees shake and tighten, my throat closes and I pray to the sky that this moment is over quickly so I can run and hide. Soon as it over, I regret not relishing my time and crave to have it back more and more.

I also have the fortunate blessing of being surrounded by creatives. Who inspire me everyday by their ability and minds. To make something out of nothing, be bigger and better than the day they were before. It’s truly magnificent to see. But,of course there was going to be a but, I can’t help but compare. From one creative looking at another I drift and veer into the realm of jealousy. Jealous that my work is not on the stage or that I never get opportunities to be paid to entertain. The thing that hurts the most is the one to blame for it all is me. I tell myself I am not enough. I tell myself that my work could never be up there with theirs. They have that “Je Ne Sais Quoi” whereas I don’t. Simultaneously and desperately this motivates me to work on my art to get even to the level of being compared. When I start though, I can already tell it is a flop.

I want to feel special, for the world to see and appreciate my creativity but how and for what? I write but do I write enough and even well enough to go down as a famous blogger? Is my poetry good enough so that when I die it is revered and hung up and studied in libraries and museums? Is my jewelry even worthy of a post or mention? I know I know that the true meaning of art is to just simply create. But you see this is where the sword is stabbing me. Always piercing and injecting into my veins that I need to compete. The worst sides of me are brought out. The part of me that envy everything they see, not because I don’t believe others deserve it. They do…I just wish that it was me.

Maybe this all stems from my identity. It’s not like the world is sitting at the edge of their seats waiting for a black latino nonbinary queer to step on the scene. So sometimes the need to feel is out of pettiness and spite. For all the years my communities were pushed out of the scene of humanity. In some ways it is me fighting what I believe, that people like me deserve to be loved and seen. Refusing to submit to the status quo.

Writing this, I probably sound spoiled and fit the framework of an attention whore. Partially and maybe a 100% true. Especially given how fast the world is falling apart right in front of our eyes. To want to feel seen is absurd by many accounts in these current times. For me it is the opposite, crazy as it is to admit. My logic is that if the end if near then my time is short. If my time is short then let it be worth while. Let my existence leave some type of impact to say “I was here”.

Everything dark comes to light and I find writing to be therapeutic (especially since I can’t find a good therapist). I believe that exposing my dark side will somehow heal me. By being in bathed in the light, it will not feel destroyed but finally be seen. Comforting the insecurities and reminding that side of me that it has always been a product of love. Maybe not produced in the healthiest way, but it is love at the end of the day. The love I have for myself to be noticed by the world. To leave knowing I made my mark. It is because I love myself that I know I am special.