Sometimes I don't know how anyone can stand me - I annoy myself so. I hear enough from the people around me to assume I don't have this effect on everyone else. Yet the voice of my own condemnation is, sadly, the loudest of all.
I liked poetry that I have written. Well, some of it. And I like my art (well, some of it!). I love some of my scrapbooking work. I feel proud to contribute my skills to other people's projects - like the Kiti Q and Outback Pride websites. Yet I shrink inside. It's a combination of despising myself for any hint of self-righteousness or arrogance, yet needing these achievements to soothe my sense of worthlessness - keep it in it's box, so to speak.
It's a painful conundrum for me.
I need solitude, I know this is something my soul craves to define my identity anew, repeatedly and always defining it again. Yet I tire of my own company. I begin to hate this person, because I cannot escape from her.
I know I do not always recognise the person others see as me. So, how good am I at hiding myself? Or how wrong am I at knowing who I am?
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