I can’t believe that I changed so little. I expected to look old and hollow and gray, but I guess it’s only me on the inside that has shriveled and deteriorated.
My biggest mistake: not wanting to help myself into thinking I am happy, that change would come about without really trying to change, or wanting to change. Procrastinating about changing. I do want to change.
I’m partly somebody else trying to fit in and say the right things and do the right thing and be in the right place and wear what everybody else is wearing.
Even my parents treat me like I’m stupid and inferior and ever short. I guess I’ll never measure up to anyone’s expectations. I surely don’t measure up to what I’d like to be.
The voice of every kid hooked on drugs, alcohol or the occult joins the sad chorus “Not me! I didn’t think it could ever happen to me. I was sure I could handle it.
