Who Am I? - An Introspective Deepdive

 Does insecurity distort my rational thought or do I experience moments of clarity that allow me to see who I really am? Are the pieces of evidence in my memory misperceptions or overdue reality checks? Am I addicted to shame? Do I ask these questions in an effort to answer them or to prove that I'm self-aware enough not to be disconnected from reality? There's a fracture inside of me. Multiple parts vying to make up the whole. I recognize that they combined are the whole, yet I'm ignoring certain parts of myself for the benefit of the others. Desire outweighs self-love. Pity outweighs compassion. Fear outweighs confidence. What am I missing? What am I shielding myself from? How could I have endured  trauma that fractured me in such a visceral way? What did it? My mom spitting at my dad? What my dad did? What my former uncle did? Did he do it? I'll forever hate myself for not knowing the answer to that question. I was weak. I failed multiple people. I fail my family every day. I fail my friends. I'm wallowing in self-pity instead of taking action. I'm showing you my weakness so I don't have to try to trick you into thinking I'm strong. I don't have much. My body and brain are messes. My family and I are distant. I can't rely on the friends I have now forever. I remember forcing myself to forget memories I don't remember before inducing a state of depersonalization. The more I bring to the surface, the more scared I get. There's a reason I cling to childish jokes and temperaments. I have a hatred for the world that I've tried to stuff down into nothingness and cover up with a zen facade. The truth is, I'm scared. Every single I day I wake up, and walk through the world with fear coursing through my body. I can't be myself. I hate you but I need you to love me so I won't feel like a piece of shit. I need to know I'm capable of being loved. But I hate that you choose anyone over me. I recognize the toxicity of what I'm saying. I don't care. There's no time like now for the truth. The world fucking sucks. Everything about it is a fucking waste of time. I have a problem with everything because everything must have a problem. There is no such thing as perfection and yet I strive for it. I see perfection in love, but to see the world as completely imperfect I can't let myself see love. I want you to love me but I don't know what that means. The world gets blurry when I'm in it, and is distant when I'm alone. There's a point in-between that I love but it isn't healthy. It isn't doing me any favors. To pretend I'm different than anybody else. To pretend I have any more to say, to think, to give. I have what I have and I'm doing nothing with it. I'm writing. I'm expressing thoughts I never thought I'd think and sharing them with people, which I never thought I'd have the stones to do. I've been in a haze the past few years. I keep wondering where I went wrong just to accept that I'll never find the answer. Maybe the haze was in the submission of my negative thoughts. Maybe I'm scared to be fully conscious because that means managing myself and I'm scared of failing. I'm scared of making mistakes or doing something that might hurt somebody. The pendulum swing of emotion is too much for me to bear. I'm not scared right now. I'm in pain. My throat is sore and my back is tense. I'm angry. I'm mad at the world for giving me this life and I'm mad at myself for bending over and taking it. I'm mad that I let fear run my life. I'm mad that I'm scared that, without fear, I'll be somebody I won't like. I'm mad that I don't trust myself. I'm mad that I didn't deal with all of this a long time ago. I'm mad that this might worsen how people see me. I'm mad that I care about that. I'm mad that I thought about deleting this entire post. I'm mad that people won't read it. I'm mad that I feel entitled to people's time and energy. I'm mad that I can't argue with that. I'm mad at everybody for not seeing what I see. I'm mad at myself for not respecting other perspectives. I'm mad that people don't love me. I'm mad that I need love while I'm scared I don't deserve it. I'm mad that I feel special. I'm mad that I'm not. I'm mad that I want to be.

  I'm a child. A baby. A young adult. A teenager. A preteen. A toddler. I shut down with anger and fail to reroute it. I know I need to feel my emotions. I need to express them. Is this interesting? Is this complex? Is this helpful? Is this a verbal tantrum? Is this a continuation of my mental health journey? 

What do you see? Someone who needs help? Someone who can't be loved? Someone who doesn't recognize their strength? I'll never know. Neither will you, probably. My audience doesn't care about me. Not enough to read my personal, public journal entries. It's okay, I wouldn't either. So now I'm insane, writing to both somebody and nobody and, ironically, if you're reading this, this part isn't meant for you, yet you deserve my recognition. I just wish I got yours. My audience are my friends. 

I've been having hopes and dreams again.

I'm rigid and I feel friction when I rub against emotion I'm trying to push away. I'm trying to stay focused on sharing myself even though sleep would be better for me. I need to listen to my body. It knows best. My mind is a scary place but it's no match for objective observation.

Brandon's Brain VS Mindfulness Techniques 

It's a cooperation not a competition. It's a joke fuckface. Suck my dick, I believe jokes can have a subconscious effect on the mind which makes us more accepting of a negative opinion if that's what a joke deals with. You prolly right but does that mean you can't make those jokes you love so much? Well, not all jokes are bad, right? What about your jokes? What about my jokes? What kind of jokes do you tell? Are they based in negativity? How much does it matter? Is it all or nothing? This narrative really fell apart, huh. That's what happens when you have a disorganized, lazy mind. To have two characters which represent your different thoughts converge into one is a confusing dialogue choice but does effectively show your brain works sometimes. Does it? Well, I think so. Maybe you're right, maybe I can lean into it. Oh yeah you could but you're such a lazy fuck that you wouldn't be able to get past a couple lines without moving on to something else. Well I'm doing pretty good here, aren't I? Admittedly, you stuck to a pretty interesting narrative choice. It's probably been done before. But not with your brain. My brain can't be that unique? Isn't it the most unique, just how everyone else's is? How is that unique? Each rock is unique based on it's different fragmentations but that doesn't make each rock special. Well this got confusing again. They might not get it anyway. There is maybe one person reading this. I think it should be read but is that self-indulgent narcissism? It's a huge switch to go from hating everything about yourself to loving everything about yourself, according to Therapist Thoughts. Is she right? She is a professional, you should probably trust her. She could still be wrong. Loving one aspect of yourself does not make you a narcissist. It is not narcissistic to have some loving thoughts about yourself. If I'm not looking for something wrong, what if I miss something? That is an overcorrection, my friend, you do not need to be perfect. Then what am I? A human being. A friend. A brother. A son. A cousin. A nephew. A worker. A student. A philosopher. A writer. 

Of which am I talented?