No, This is NOT A Post of About Insecurity and Paralyzing Self-Doubt.
Maybe this is a call for help.
Maybe it didn’t matter if I was in a relationship with someone else or I am alone.
Maybe I just really don’t know myself, I don’t know who I am.
Maybe I’m the kind of person who only finds out who he is if he gives some other people ideas on what he’s like or what he does, what he likes doing, what his secrets are, what one thing he likes over another and what has happened in his life so far.
It’s like starting out talking to somebody as a blank piece of paper. I only become me as soon as I start scribbling down what I’ve said on that piece of paper. Then comes the enormous pressure of living up on what’s on paper.
More often than not, I cannot believe I’ve lived 26 years on this earth and be this kind of a person.
Maybe it’s the reason why I am not granted the illusion of permanence that I’m seeking. It’s because each and everytime I am around new or old people, I am that blank piece of paper. I leave nothing written on it, nothing to be read and blank papers tend to be ignored unless they’re needed by someone for something.
I’ve got balls for telling everybody I know who I am.
The thing is, I really don’t. And the sad part is, I have to find out, if I want people in my life to stop leaving or prevent me from leaving people behind so I can sleep better at night.
I so do not deserve to be called a grown up.
Oh, wait. I already know that!