Sometimes I’m convinced I’m among one of The Greatest People in the World, destined to change everything and become some sort of revolutionary whose legacy lives on in textbooks and monuments and then there are [more] times that I’m thoroughly convinced I’m not even capable of basic functionality, let alone an original thought. On some days I am sure my life is charmed and on others that it is damned. I am positive I am a genius one moment and then sure I’m nothing short of a complete imbecile a few moments later. Sometimes, I’m sure that I’m rife with obsessive insanity while also being the most level-headed person I know. Most days my life is a meaningless exercise in mediocrity while, on others, there cannot be a person more gifted and adored than I. Just when I start to believe that I am somehow better than someone else I become aware that everyone is better than me. A few times a year I feel like I am the epitome of beauty with flawless features and then I shift back into seeing a masculine, overweight, average-at-best face in the mirror. Many days I feel like my years in recovery and therapy have lead me to believe this superior, self-accepting and self-realizing person who is capable of navigating human nature with more ease than most people and, in just as many days, I feel just as much like the Hindenburg reenactment I was when I was being hospitalized for complete insanity, codependency, addiction, etc.

The minute I finally know that I know what I’m talking about my entire reality shifts and I don’t know anything about anything, all over again.

I believe that everyone is busily searching for themselves until the moment I am sure that I’m the only one who gives a damn about seeking out identity.

I don’t understand how I can love and hate people so fervently all at once.

I’m positive that I’m not a sane being. And that I’m exactly like everyone and nobody else.