It feels as though sometimes I hate who I am.
I like how I write, expressing my feelings through words. Telling a story that everyone can follow along.
I like how I touch people. Not as deeply as I would like, but I know I leave lasting impressions that make people always want to be around me.
What I hate is this vision on the perfect boy. Beautiful hair, gorgeous eyes. A smile that can make any persons sadness disappear. I created this fictional person, who owns a business and dresses nice. This person with fancy suits who works out and is a jack of all trades. I despise this person, with an amazing eye for photography and the vocabulary only matched to an intellect from Harvard. I want to be him so bad but I can’t be him. I can’t because I am the opposite. I see an ugly human being in the mirror who looks disgusting. I see a person who doesn’t deserve to be called a photographer, an individual who can’t figure out his career and is worthless. Sometimes I feel he should have gone to the military so not to bother everyone around him. Or maybe he should have ended up in jail where he could go rot with no dreams. Why do I end up looking at myself through this mirror. Hating who I see on the other side. How dare he compare himself to this fictional character that doesn’t exist. How can he continue to push for greatness when he makes greatness unobtainable by any means necessary.
As an artist I fail
As a parent I fail
As a husband I fail
As a brother I fail
As I son I fail.
So what am I really good for if all I do is take up space in this world. Take up resources that can be given to someone who DESERVES. I hate that person. I wish he could be happy, but it seems I continue to drown in my hatred…for myself.