Me

So I find myself tonight very far down, like at the bottom of a pit far down. Just the usual self-dislike. I mean, really there's no reason for it, but still it comes and it doesn't back down. Like a viscous animal just waiting inside me to pounce.

Sometimes I know that I like me, but then there are times when I don't even know who I am. What makes me me?

Am I my body? With all its scars and markings. No, no, there's something deeper there. Something much deeper there.

Is it the fact that I'm gay? I'd have to say no. I am so much more than who I am sexually attracted to. I know that that freaks some people out, but I want them to look past that and see me.

Is it that I like to write? Once I was worried that I only wrote about people I want to meet. I had a teacher who told me that I was the person that I was writing. that I had her traits. I had created a character and the setting and she was doing what I would.Sometimes I feel like I put my very soul into my writing, but that would mean that my soul is something else apart from my writing. So, no, my writing is only a reflection of my soul.

Or is it my intelligence? Sometimes I'm a bit like a sponge, I can soak up so many facts and recall them later. But I know so much more than random facts.

But what is intelligence without emotion? I find that I am a very emotional person and I feel things very deeply, sometimes so deeply it's like my soul is being torn. Wouldn't that mean then that my emotions are not part of my soul they just effect it?

Is it the very way I think? The way I see the world? Does that dictate how the world sees me? No, I don't think so, partially yes, but not completely.

Some days I wish I could see myself the was that others do, so that I could see not only my flaws but also the good parts of me too. I know those good parts are here somewhere, I just lose track of them sometimes.