Who Am I?

There's so much wrong with me,

I don't know where to begin.

If I don't drink, I have insomnia that drives me to the brink of insanity.

If I do drink, I'm drinking every night, just for the sake of sleeping, which prevents me from working out regularly.

If I workout, I become so egotistical, that I criticize people for not taking control of their lives.

If I don't scrutinize other's lives, I play video games in which I waste away to the stories they tell, without ever doing anything I love.

If I follow my passion to all else above wise, I write. In that, I become completely infatuated with my allegory that I become a god in my eyes, and thus, all life becomes meaningless.

If I allow life to have meaning, I contest that I have no "normal." So where do I belong, and how do I find my song? What allows myself to be happy without impeding on the happiness of others?

The person you know constantly wonders a life without a tightrope, hoping for a place where he belongs.


I've had friends tell me that I matter, and in those words, I see them as true. What's sadder is that I see a worth in existence, but why must an opposition exist?

Making people smile always makes me smile, but in that, something is missing, far beyond denial. What makes me happy?

Can you imagine a San Junipero?

A life in which you actually get to retain your life, after your death?

Would you want to be the same, like an addiction to meth? Is life just enough, if not, numb it enough to your last breath? Just feeling, be it cold, hot, love, hate, would you really want that, or would you refrain?

I long for death, always have, but not because I hate living, no, quite different. I love living, I hate this conflict to its depth. Why must I question, even at my moments of solice?

But through all this, what is life without these pain? Is it really life? Can you consider it strife? Is it really worth breathing if you know that you're going to have a positive outcome until the day you are undone?


This is why I ask, why can't I ever just have one feeling? Why does everything have to contradict itself in its meaning?

People tell me to find God; what if I am God?

People tell me to find purpose; what if I am that beyond its surface?


I'm not scared to be alone. I'm scared to be me.