I’m so sick of being me. But I’m also rather attached. What I wouldn’t give for some thoughts and feelings not contaminated by this well of loneliness and despair inside. But if anyone were able to take it from me, I would stubbornly resist. It’s who I am now. I’ve been this way the majority of my life. My formative years. It’s my personality. Despair, pessimism, isolation, and regret for what might’ve been. I can’t imagine anything else. I can’t imagine not hating myself. It’s my only frame of reference for interacting with the world.