Who am I, really?

I’m probably the most innately insecure person you would ever meet your life, dear readers.  I know who I am, per se, but I don’t know where I belong, who I belong with, and what I have to offer this world or the people important to me.  Why do the people I love love me back?

It must be for these reasons:

–I’m an incessant whiner and complainer.

–I’m always hard on my self and never see the value or influence I have on anyone.

–I’m an insatiable hermit.

–I’m an arguer.  I need the mental exercise of a good fight almost every day.

–I’m meager, timid, and shy away from anything new.

How can I be aware of these things and not work on them?  Do I really anticipate that someday someone will just embrace these qualities of mine?  I have people in my life who value me immensely.  Why can’t I see that for what it’s worth?  Why do I always doubt it?

Why am I in the prime of my youth, and not enjoying or appreciating even a moment of it.  Why do I waste my days away doing absolutely nothing.  How does one even do absolutely nothing?  I don’t even partake in the things I enjoy anymore.  I haven’t played a video game in months.  Read a book since my English course earlier this spring.  I haven’t drawn in almost 3 years.  About the only thing I’ve done recently that I like is to write.  Well, type, in this instance.

Who do I have to talk to?  To relate to?  I live alone in this city.  Just me and my cats.  Yes, I’m already one of those people.

I am 20 years old.  I am an intelligent person.  Why am I allowing myself to go through this?


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