Every since I was little, I’ve never wanted to be me. To be me is to always be depressed, always sad, always morose.
Life has made me into a dark ball of anger and hate, and jaded beyond the moons. I do not hate all of me, but I’m tired of most of me- the me that is non-functional, the me that keeps me in the doldrums, the me that keeps myself prisoner in my own mind.
Sigh. I’d rather trade me to be a “happy healthy idiot.”
1 comment
I can relate to what you are saying but I find that that not being you is also the source of internal turmoil and of anxiety. I am currently asking myself the question: do we really have a choice of not being ourselves? Is it possible?
The only thing that seems to bring peace is to accept yourself and be yourself no matter the price. What do you think?