Do you know where you are?

Step back for a second, look down on your life. Are you really who you think you are? Do you see yourself like everyone else does? Would it matter?

Step back in, then out again.

Think. Breathe. Concentrate.

Are you what you want? Do you know that somethings, meant in all fun, hurt? Does it sting to know you aren't who you, yourself thought you were? How does it feel to realize everyone else sees you as a monster? Does all this feel like a spark of electricity ripping through you?

Sure as hell does.

Step out into the lives of others, are they are bad as you have put them off to be? You don't know them, just as much as they don't know you. Maybe life has more depth than you perceived.

Life: To live, then die.

Truthfully, that is what life is, in a far off way. Life is deep. People are deep. Feelings are deep.

If I could honestly see myself others do, would I like it? Because right now, trying, desperately I see myself as a hateful bitch. Yet, I know I am not, close, far, possibly. But how am I supposed to do this? How can I change this way I see myself? Am I seeing others really? Or are they distorted visions.

Maybe everyone I know is a lie.

Everything I have grown to know. Lie.

But it can't be. Because nothing is a lie, as well as nothing is a truth. The cheatee will never cheat.

It's all a balancing act, if you can juggle, you will succeed at this circus we have to call life. I'd like to think I know what I'm saying. But I don't. Will I ever? Is this possible? Is life possible?

Of course.

Anything is possible, all you have to do is try. Make a real effort. Something I don't think I've ever done. Try. Make a real effort. If I tried at everything in life, I would not be here - a sad soul, writing this. Because this wouldn't mean a single thing to me. I'd have bigger dreams. Be a lawyer, still be on the track and soccer teams. Maybe I wouldn't cry, even after I promised myself, never again. But is that happy?

To me, that sounds like hell. Perfection is hell. My room can't be close to clean, because then it has to be perfect. Perfectly clean. I can't stand it, but maybe if I was perfection, it would be fine. But no one can be perfect. I'd rather be a mess of a character then close to perfection.

Perfection strives for gold. Perfection is sought on upon to succeed at everything they begin. I could be perfect. But how so, no one is perfect. But I could. It all makes sense to me. All I'd have to do was try. Not for myself, for others, because I am all they seem to have going for them.

One day, I will be what I want. Because one day I plan on living up to every potential I seem to have. Because one day, I won't be like you.