I can’t let go of the past. Who I am. What I’ve done. The thoughts I’ve had. The things I’ve seen, and felt. It is me. It’s how I make sense of the world. If I could just wipe the slate clean – go off and be a happy, functional person. But there are reasons why I am where I am. A person can’t exist without a past – an explanation of why they are how they are. Maybe if I got amnesia – or could change my memory somehow. Convince myself that I’m not here because I’m screwed up beyond all belief, but because some tragedy befell me that was in no way my fault. That I’m a positive, happy, confident, upbeat person, with all of the normal life experiences one takes for granted. Go off and be happy.
But even if I could do that, it wouldn’t be me. It would be someone else, using my body. I am my sickness. I’ve been screwed up too long, and now I identify with my neurosis. This is me. And I hate it. And I want it to stop. But I can’t let go. I can’t just forget. It’s not something I can overcome.
So fuck it.