Not living up to who you are inside - that's something that people should really be afraid of.
There's a part of me that believes that I could be someone special in the future. That the encouragements from my family, my best friends - the promises my sister and I made together - are the foundation for who I am meant to be.
"Is writing really all I want out of life?"
"Am I going to actually be able to publish?"
"Does this person think I'm worth it?"
"Do I think I'm worth it?"
These things rush through my mind constantly.
My parents raised me under pressure. I suppose they expected a diamond to be piddled out of their efforts, but it left me with a permanent sense of expectation - their expectation. I'm supposed to grow-up to be better than my siblings. I'm supposed to make something of my life, get a good job, finish college, have a nice family, etc.
But all I really want is to get out. I just want to leave this town, this state, this country. I want to taste things and meet people, write about the way light fractures over mountains - or the fog that curls over London's streets. I want to be someone that isn't theirs, and then I question if that's actually me or not.
Is the me they want actually who I am, or is it just a mirage?
I don't know, and I guess I fear that, too.
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