I want to know who I am
âYou donât know yourself,â proclaims my husband, as if he werenât my partner, and instead my therapist. âYea.â I passively agree, I have no ammunition's to argue with him. I donât know who I am or what I want. /i/ âa simple life... maybe a couple of chickensâ was my answer to the volunteers question. One pregnant, and the other elderly and retired, both gave each other a look âwhat? Chickens?â Both woman lived their lives within the concrete jungle, and spend there youths clubbing and partying. Their hobbies were spent socially, and I once again felt as though my commutive cable had no port to sync into. /i/
He leans back on our ridiculously designed couch and resumes his fixation on an incessant flood of viral or wannabe videos. The baby stares at a plush in her playpen before turning her beautiful blue eyes back on to the large TV screen. Chickens... Do I really want chickens? What do I want to do in life? Do I even have options? My husband said before he felt like he ruined my life, and that if heâd never met me Iâd not be in the position that Iâve found myself to be in. Heâd also said that I could go and do anything I want, and that I could be anything that I want. Its in the past now, and I need to figure myself out. What I want to do, and what I need to do. Much of my time in my youth was spend wanting, and hoping... and crying. Where has that gotten me? And what can I do that is fulfilling? I used to have a lot of hobbies and things that I enjoyed doing, but I lost interest in those things and now have a lot of materials and no ambition to do anything.Â
