I Hate Myself
All of the choices I've made in life have made me into who I am today, and I deeply regret most of those choices. Although, my future choices are uncertain as I have yet to encounter them; my past decisions cannot be undone. We are who we choose to be, and I chose poorly. All of my mistakes have created a reprehensible excuse for a human being, an empty husk that continuously fails to achieve being a normal well-adjusted member of society.
Many times I delude myself with the fantasy of being able to change my past. Who would I be today if I had chosen differently? Would I be happier with the outcome? Would my life be truly better? Such thoughts are puerile and inane, although I know that I'm not the only one that has such fantasies. I don't pass any judgement, or rebuke others that share those sentiments but rather focus all of the animosity within. I hate myself even more for wanting the impossible because I should know better. I should endeavor to persevere, and abandon false hope and foolish dreams. Despite knowing my goals, I can't do what I must because I'm broken and bleeding; destroyed and conquered by my own demons.
Many times I delude myself with the fantasy of being able to change my past. Who would I be today if I had chosen differently? Would I be happier with the outcome? Would my life be truly better? Such thoughts are puerile and inane, although I know that I'm not the only one that has such fantasies. I don't pass any judgement, or rebuke others that share those sentiments but rather focus all of the animosity within. I hate myself even more for wanting the impossible because I should know better. I should endeavor to persevere, and abandon false hope and foolish dreams. Despite knowing my goals, I can't do what I must because I'm broken and bleeding; destroyed and conquered by my own demons.
46-50, M