Me, myself, and I.
Me, an imperfect human with a nature to put things off and off and off, until it’s staring me in the God damn face; what am I doing? I’m writing and I’m thinking and I’m forcing myself, I’m creating I’m doing: something. I stare at the keyboard, the screen, the paper, the pen; urging my hands to move to write, to type in utter fear that one day I’ll lose the spark, in utter fear I’ve already lost the spark. My heart thumps, with fear, with dread, at the aspect of looking at a word document and not have the urge to write a novel, to look a word document and think not today, maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m confused, and my exam is on Wednesday. Instead of cramming, of staring at a text book for 7 hours straight until my eyes tear up and my brain rejects the information I am forcing inside, I type and I write and I think.
Myself, a person who sometimes I am scared of and worried for, I separate myself from me, and think of them as a different person. I don’t want to believe that it is me that is in trouble that I am sick, my brain, it doesn’t work properly and maybe me, myself, has known that for a while but I avoid, I cry, I pretend that I don’t see the smashed broken image of myself I carry on. Unhealthy, healthy I don’t know which one I am, it is healthy to let your emotions out, but when I am consumed by the fear, the terror of a day of a life time of this earth shattering emotion is it healthy. My brain is broken, I know that.
I, a word I use too much, I this, I that, I think and I am selfish. How many times do I focus on myself and no one else as, and I say yes it is normal for that, because you have think about yourself, take care of myself take care of me. I think too much about me and myself I forgot the consequence of my actions and the catastrophic effects on my friends and their emotions and the feelings, why am I like this, why do I think only about, me. Even with that I still neglect the person I am, I am by own barrier I am my own enemy, my own devil and no I will not love myself because I won’t let myself do so, I won’t let myself help me. Selfish or not, I cannot stand the thought of being with just me, I can’t stand the thought of it being me and yet all I think of is-
Me, myself, and I.