It’s making me sick.

The years pass and I am still a pretentious twit.

Some things never change. And while my ego typically deflates or inflates according to its own whims, for the most part I like myself, in all facets of the word “like.”

I like who I am now more so than at any other point in my life thus far, and it gives me a greater appreciation for the person I am aiming to become.

As a terribly introspective person, sometimes even to my own detriment, I am very much aware of how others perceive me. And while what others think shouldn’t really matter in the whole grand scheme of things, I like to know, mostly to measure their perception against my own. The middle-ground is perhaps the most accurate picture of me that I can possibly achieve.

I’ve been called strong. And independent. I’ve been told that I’m made of ice, or steel, and that nothing ever seems to phase me. People have said I’m very caring and considerate. I don’t bullshit. I’m honest, and I’m a good friend. I’m smart, whatever that means these days. I am also very ambitious.


I, on the other hand, consider myself a coward and a fink. That’s because I know what’s simmering beneath my calm demeanor. I think I am so much less than what others tell me.

The person people think I am is the person I am trying to be. It is very nice to know that the qualities and traits I value and admire are attributed to my character, but I am not quite there yet. I want to keep bettering myself.

Sometimes though, I think I’m trying too hard. I’m trying to be a superhero. I’m trying to be infallible and indestructible.

Hence my “no-crying-in-public” and “no-sharing-of-intense-feelings” policies. If I want to be a superhero, I can’t have everyone knowing my vices and weaknesses.

And this is impossible. I have plenty of insecurities, which is precisely why I have so many vices. I am human, goddamnit.

I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to accept that.


I forgot to mention that I am also an enormously obsessive creep. Maybe even more so than David.

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