I’ve always possessed something of a passive discomfort with the idea of the ‘self’. I am me, but do I like ‘me’?
Moments where I am okay with myself and what I’ve done are rare. They don’t happen anymore. A life of repression made it so that I never thought about myself up until the age of 12, and after that point I had a short three year period where I pretended to be someone I was not.
What goes unmentioned in that is that regardless of pretending, what you show people is ultimately who you are. You are not remembered by your hidden intentions and desires. You are remembered by what you do to others.
My past brings me shame. I’m not proud of who I was. I struggle to justify my childhood and teenage mistakes because, as understandable as it may be to make mistakes, I find myself in a position of where I knew better but specifically ignored that little detail.
Knowing better and making the mistake anyways negates any superiority you may feel you have, the same as being intelligent but electing to do nothing with it. It may be true that you knew better but you failed to meet the mark. You still made the mistake.
I can describe most of my life this way. I knew better but chose to be less. Being less did not endear me to other people and it did not endear me to myself. Every year has been some effort towards not wanting to be worth it and not wanting to be liked.
Many bridges have been burned. I’m socially isolated to an unhealthy degree and have accomplished little. Physical issues aside, my mind is diseased as well. Several of my barriers are of self-design either through conscious decision or subconscious neglect. Leaving something to fester should not surprise you when it starts causing other problems. The snowball effect applies to more than just good things. It can happen just as well with the negative.
Coming up with explanations on why I’m like this can be futile. Most of the time I merely dismiss anything I come up with as a lame attempt at justifying my mistakes, and I’m keenly opposed to doing something like that because I feel it is important to own up to your failures. I spend most of my time owning up to failures now.
But if I decide to follow the thread to its end, the answer I come to most is that I simply don’t want to be me.
I don’t want to be who I am. I don’t want my past, my burden, my virtues, anything. Every week I wish desperately for the impossible to happen and that my life is wiped from existence. I possess no interest towards making the best of the hand I have been dealt. I possess no interest towards dealing with the present and working towards the future.
I don’t like who I was. I don’t like who I am. I don’t like who I’m going to be.
If I could, I would erase myself. The world is less with me in it. I regret that I could trick people into liking me, yet I’m far too selfish to save them from the mistake.
I just don’t want to be me.