I'm not really sure which parts of myself are real and which parts are things I've gotten from books.

I really am only one infinitely small part of an aching humanity.

I guess I'll never measure up to anyone's expectations. I surely don't measure up to what I'd like to be.

I'm afraid to live and afraid to die.

I wouldn't intentionally hurt anyone in this whole world. I wouldn't hurt them physically or emotionally, how then can people so consistently do it to me? Even my parents treat me like I'm stupid and inferior and ever short. I guess I'll never measure up to anyone's expectations. I surely don't measure up to what I'd like to be.

Maybe the new me will be different.

How is it possible for me to be so miserable and embarrassed and humiliated and beaten an function still talk and smile and concentrate?