The right of narcissus narcissist to be unhappy.

I’m not optimistic about the future. I think my life is already done. I know, or I think so, that I have skills and abilities. If I wanted to, I could do a lot of things, I could be anything: a genius, a hero, a loved one. Sometimes I feel like I were God, with all the possibilities and a whole life in front of me. And sometimes, I feel like a turtle: small, useless in most of the cases and always quiet and hiding. I know I’m not doing any of what I could do, just because I’m too stupid for doing it and, sincerely, too lazy. A reason for die is that I’m too lazy to live.
My dreams seems so far away, so impossible for someone like me. I was dreaming in becoming a writer, so I could write books and poetry. But I know I have to be realistic, I’m too lazy and stupid for doing that.  My ideas, the reals ones and that, for some reason, I like as much as I like the optimistic ones, are becoming in an addict or in a homeless or in a prostitue. I’m not kidding, I seriously think that can be my future and it doesn’t bother me. What really scares me is becoming in something that I don’t want to: a normal person. Having a husband, a normal work, children and being everyday telling to my children that life is unfair and we can do anything about it when they ask me why is a man sleeping under the bridge. The idea is creepy for me. I don’t want to. That life seems too perfect. I’m claiming the right to be unhappy. This may sound narcissist and I will hate it, but I think I’m too smart for this world, or I’m too insane for this.
I usually write stuff, and there’s always something talking about death or suicide. I can’t let it go, it’s, somehow, a part of me. A charge that I wish.