There are very few times I feel like myself. Most of the time I feel kind of incomplete. Almost as if I were made up out of bits and pieces of various other personalities. Like shards of glass that have shattered and I am trying to put them back together and I never manage to do it.
It’s not like I’m dysfunctional or anything. I can take care of myself. But it seems like people keep telling me that various parts of me are wrong and need fixing and that hurts and that becomes one more shard of glass—a sharp one, too.
Sometimes, though, I feel like I am all together. I have accepted myself despite what others say. I am strong and I hold my life as mine and walk around and look everyone in the eye and I say what I want to say instead of editing it all to please others.
But I don’t think either self could exist without the other. I am separate and I am together. I think like crazy. I try to make it make sense, but it never really does, and I’m ok with that. And sometimes I’m ok that the things I do.