The same but never the same
And when I think about it I’ve engaged in some of the same exact activities and committed the same actions. But it’s not the same. I don’t hold any value once I’m befriended. I don’t have any enjoyable social skills. I don’t have any notable talents. I don’t have any bizarre, relatable interests or obsessions. I am nothing.
And I look ugly while doing it. Ugly in the face. Ugly in the way my body is formed. Ugly in the characteristics I share with so many people around the world, except, they wear it all so much better. So much better than me, in fact, that I feel shame. I’m ashamed to wear a body so ugly. To walk upon this earth bearing a face so fat and big and wrong in its entirety.
There’s the difference.
I’m no hero.
I’m no villain.
My existence isn’t justified.
I’m not meant to be here and it shows. It shows, it really does.
And my acknowledgment of this has only drained me. Drained blood and pain from me. Drained energy and sociability from me. Drained motivation from me.
If I had never known, I would have been better off.
But there’s no other way it could’ve played out. At some point I would’ve realized how worthless I am compared to the rest.
How much better it would’ve been to have not been born at all than to look like this, act like this, feel like this.
I grew tired. And it is the fault of none, nothing, but me and all that I am.