I don’t know. That’s my answer to everything, even the most basic questions. I don’t know what I want, or what I feel, or what I like, or don’t like, or what makes me laugh, or what makes me cry. I don’t know who I like, or who I am, or if I like myself. Can I like myself if I don’t know myself? I don’t know.
I haven’t found it – where I’m suppose to be or who I’m suppose to be. Actually, I think that – the fact that I feel like I’m “suppose to be” – is the base of my problem. I think I’ve spent my whole life trying to be what I perceive that I’m “suppose to be“, without ever getting to know who I simply am or what I simply want to be. I don’t know.
I’m 23. Is it too late to figure that out? Do I even really exist or am I just a formulation of what I’ve always thought I should be or should do or should want or should like. Am I an amalgamation of what I thought others, or society, or circumstance seemed to suggest I should be? I don’t know.
I feel like I need to reboot. I feel like in an ideal world, right now I would leave everything and everyone behind, move to Ireland, or Australia, or London, or Guam, and start over. Find myself. The thing is, in this world that I live in now, with everything and everyone, the only thing I feel like I know – if i know anything – is that I love him. The thing is, loving him isn’t helping me. I don’t think it’s helping me. I don’t think it’s helping me because I’m quite possibly losing myself in him. If I ever existed. If I ever knew who I was, it’s melting away in him. It feels good. The melting feels good, but isn’t everything that feels good bad for you? I don’t know.
I’m addicted to it. The feeling of melting away, disappearing into him, is addictive. Maybe it lets me hide from the fact that I don’t know myself because I become him, and I know him, and I love him… so I must love myself? I don’t know.
I fear, if I continue to melt, I’ll disappear completely into him. Then there will be nothing left for him to love but himself. If that happens, he won’t even understand how. He’ll just know I’m gone. He’ll walk away. He’ll forget I ever existed because, well, did I ever exist? I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.