i’ve been holding a lot in for a long time. i don’t always know how to say these things out loud, but maybe you’ll understand. maybe you’ve felt some of this too.

i’ve always been different. even when i was little, i noticed it. i had meltdowns at school and sometimes i would run out of the classroom. everything got too loud and too confusing. kids stayed away from me. some were scared. i got bullied a lot. it made me think something was wrong with me.

i wanted friends. i wanted to be like everyone else. but i didn’t know how. it felt like i missed out on learning something everyone else just knew. people tried to help. i got put on meds and into therapy. i know they were trying their best. but it didn’t fix how alone i felt. it just made me feel guilty for being a problem.

growing up, i barely had any friends. most of the time, i was by myself. even in high school, when it seemed like everyone had groups and plans and people to count on, i had maybe two or three people i could really trust. and even then, i was scared. i felt like if people ever knew the real me, they might leave too. and if they did, i would have no one.

and the truth is, i love people. i love hard. i act fine because i don’t want anyone to worry about me. i laugh things off, i ignore my problems, and i show up for everyone else. because somewhere deep down, i’ve always felt like i can’t be loved just for existing. i feel like unless i achieve something, or do something for you, i don’t deserve to be cared about. i help so many people, and no one really asks how i’m doing. but that’s fine. that’s just who i am, right? i take care of others. i make people smile. i stay strong so no one has to worry. i guess i thought maybe if i gave enough, it would be enough to keep people around.

the only place where i ever felt like i belonged was baseball. when i played, i wasn’t different. i was just part of a team. i didn’t have to hide anything. all the stress, all the burden, all the overthinking — it would just disappear. for those couple of hours, all of my problems were gone. it was one of the only times in my life i could breathe and just be. no worrying if i was too much or not enough. no second-guessing every word i said. just playing the game i loved. it made me truly happy in a way nothing else did. i’ve played since i was a kid. no vacations, no parties, no normal stuff. just baseball.

when i played baseball, i felt like i had a purpose. it was the only place where things made sense. i had a job to do, and i knew how to do it. i didn’t have to guess what people were thinking or try to be something i wasn’t. i could just play. i belonged there, even when nothing else in my life felt right.

but i’ve also realized something. ever since i was 10, it’s all i did. every day. i practiced. i lifted. i threw. i hit. i spent every summer on the field while other kids went on vacations or hung out or just lived. i was out there in the middle of july, 100-degree heat, full catcher’s gear, sweat pouring off me, pushing my body harder than i probably should have. i was 15 years old, catching doubleheaders in the sun, going home sore and waking up to do it all over again. i told myself it was worth it. i told myself i was chasing something important.

but it also made me feel behind. and lost. because no matter how much i worked, i would see kids who were just better. they had the talent. they made it look easy. i’d put in hours and hours and hours, and they’d show up and still be ahead of me. i’d tell myself to keep going, to work harder, that it would pay off. but deep down, i started to wonder if hard work was ever going to be enough. if maybe i was just running in place, wearing myself out chasing something i could never catch.

and i think part of me knew that. but i was too scared to stop. because if i stopped, then what? without baseball, i didn’t know who i was. it wasn’t just a game. it was the thing that made me feel like i had value. without it, i was just that weird kid again. the one who didn’t fit. the one who didn’t know how to be normal.

so i kept going. even when it hurt. even when it felt hopeless. because being exhausted and left behind still felt better than being nothing at all.

now i know i’m probably not going to make it. i’m not getting drafted. i’m not going to play pro. and i don’t know what to do without it. it was never just a game to me. it was my whole life.

now i’m studying accounting. i’m good at numbers, maybe because of my autism. people say it’s a smart choice. they say it will get me a good job. but i don’t like it. it’s just surviving. working and paying bills and doing it all again the next day. i hate it. i hate that dreams don’t matter unless they make money.

i thought about coaching, but it doesn’t pay enough. so i have to give that up too.

i feel stuck most days. like i missed too much already and now i’m building a life that won’t make me happy. people told me i was going to do great things. and now if i’m not the best at something, i feel like i’m nothing.

i don’t know where i go from here. i don’t know what it looks like to build something new from nothing. i just know i’m tired of running from myself. tired of chasing things that were never meant for me. tired of believing that i have to earn the right to be okay.

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