Who I am.

Who I am. I am insecure. I have made some bad decisions in my short life, some I may regret for the rest of my life. I’m not a cheat, even though I cheated. I am happy with my family, even though I don‘t show it. I have two or three “friends”, but nothing real as most of the friends I had are all at university. I do not want to be superficial. I hate myself sometimes. Actually, I hate myself a lot of the time. I just want to be happy. I don’t have a career plan. I can’t really afford to go to university, although it may happen in the future. I love books, writing and acoustic music. I hate being taken for granted and manipulated by other people, most vegetables, and anyone who does not respect my books. Sometimes I feel so desperately lonely, even when I’m surrounded by people. I get so low I feel like there’s no way out. I’ve had suicidal thoughts before. I would never do it though, I’m too scared. I am weak, and I hate myself for being such a walkover. I wish I could stand up for myself. I’ve tried to be someone else, but that didn’t work. I can’t hide from myself. I can only keep up the act for so long. I wish I could stop scarring my face, and my back. I know it’s bad, but I can’t seem to stop until it hurts. I wish I could lose a bit of weight. I wish I had the motivation to lose weight. I miss my singing. I miss performing. I miss him. I broke his heart. I broke my own heart. I’ve been breaking my mother’s heart for the last six months. I’m not a bitch, even though some people may think so. I’ve just made some big mistakes. I don’t want to be a clone, even though I follow the crowd a lot. I wish I wasn’t such a flake. I just want to be happy in my own skin. I’m scared of a lot of things, mostly of being alone for the rest of my life. And yet, I still struggle to open up to people, to let them get close. I hate being vulnerable. I think people think I’m this strong, confident person, capable of taking the world on by myself. But I’m not. I can’t handle a lot of things. I especially can’t handle change. I don’t want to change for that one person, but I would, to have him back in my arms. I just wouldn’t be happy. I need to grow up. I need to sort my life out. I need to clean my room. And my car. I think I’d like to be a writer, but I need lots of practice.

Finally, for the first time in my life, I feel like I might have found myself. This is who I am.