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Have you ever sat and stared at something until you don't even recognize it anymore?

Maybe you have. Maybe you have no idea what I'm talking about.

But I feel like I'm doing that with myself right now.

I've been going through a lot of...well, just a lot, put it that way. And to further my journey of self-discovery and self-improvement, I've had to analyze and learn and look at every little bit of myself.

And I've been doing it so damn much it's making me ill. No, it really is. I have all the symptoms of some sort of cold or something, but I know I'm not actually sick. I'm just worn the ******** out.

I've had a lot of my flaws brought up to me (and some flung rather cruelly at me) lately. Good points too, and for that I'm grateful, as without that, all this may have been too much for me.

But I just keep seeing it all, and saying, "is that really me? Is that really what I'm like?"

In the past few years, I've learned to be a person that can say that yes, I have problems that I need to work on. Yes, I ******** up. A lot. Yes, I don't always do the right thing, and I don't always say the right thing, and yes, those mistakes often cause pain to others.

I'm trying. That's not a half-assed excuse for any failures, as in, "OH WELL I TRIED". No. I really am.

I'm scared. I'm scared that I don't know who I am right now. And I'm starting to wonder if maybe I never knew me at all.

Did I?

Did anyone?

Will anyone?

I have so many questions racing through every thought every day...and no answers.

And I badly wish I could just sit and ask somebody who knows me what the hell is going on with me, and what I should do...but everyone's got their own agendas. Well, not everyone, that's an exaggeration. But the few (and they are a very few indeed) that don't have their own agendas...well, I prevent myself from talking to them.

I do that. I've always done that. Maybe not always. But it feels like always. Shut people out, disappear, make them hate me so that they won't be interested in my pain...because if they're not tempting me with open arms and ears and hearts, then I won't put my burdens on their shoulders.

And that's selfish of me, in a sense. At least to those who genuinely care about me. So many people throughout my life have asked me, pleaded with me, begged me to tell them what's going on in my head. But if I let it all out, if I give it all to them...I'm scared that there'll be nothing left inside of me. So I guard my secrets, I keep amusements and hurt to myself...because at least if they decide to move on with their lives, away from me, they can't take everything I've got left in me. But holding onto it all gets harder every day.