This question of identity is muddied with cliche, but it is an essential question, at least for me. I did not take the time in high school to figure out the answer, and now, at 22, I'm forced to ask myself that. If I do not, I run the risk of losing myself forever and spiraling into an oblivion of psychosis.
I have thought so thoroughly about things that I've thought myself right off the path to knowing who I am. I've taken logic to such an extreme that I've denied the simple logic of, That's just who I am.
Taking that to the extreme can lead to laziness and justification of sin. Yet I think that sort of thinking - without the sin part - can be healthy.
I'm writing in puzzles, I know, but I'm just trying to work this out. Knowing who I am would put my mind at ease; it would mean I could enjoy life more, instead of trying desperately to fit some mold. It would mean better nights of sleep, more time spent on the things I love, a greater acceptance of my limits and sharper focus on my abilities. It would make me a better person.
So who am I? Correct if I'm wrong, but I am...
Impassioned. The center of attention. Theatrical. A writer. Aggressive. In love with literature. Angry at injustice. A feminist. A Marxist. Someone who values connection with people. Emotional. Appreciative of intellect.
There are so many negative things I could put on that list (impatient, selfish, over-analytical, rash), but continuing to hate myself for those things would only cause me to sink deeper into depression and self-deprecation. Those things, I know, need to change. I hope with focusing on my good qualities that I will change; hopefully as my strengths get stronger my weaknesses will get weaker.
Time will tell, but it will not be time wasted.
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