About Me
I’m struggling with the About Me page on my other blog. Maybe it’s because I’ve been struggling with my identity. Who am I? Who was I? Who will I be? Who do I want to be?
Is there no end to the impossible questions I ask myself?
I like to think, and yet my thinking causes me so much misery I forget how to live. In this non-living is where I find myself. It’s a place where nothing makes sense and the answers I have to my questions are unreal as the questions themselves.
When I was an infant, I was carefree. I played with my toys, let my imagination run wild, and lived life. Lived it, not thought it.
When I was in elementary school, I was a bully. I got bullied too. I was also shy. I was a mean, shy, funny, bully. Maybe just shy with girls, like Meghan Shelly who I had a crush on for 5 years.
When I was in middle school, I was definitely shy. Selectively mute as I call it. I did not talk to others, I did not try to make friends, I slept in the grass in a hoodie because I wanted attention but did not know how to get it in a healthy way, by being normal. So I was abnormal. I also discovered the wonderful word of Runecape in which I escaped and kill cows and whipped demons.
When I was in high school, I started getting beefy. I was a little less awkward, a lot more muscular, and just as unmotivated in life. I drank a lot with friends and had my first kiss. It was a blast. Drinking, playing football, and playing Dota.
In college, I stepped up my party game. I smoked hookah, played more video games, made out with more girls, even got 2 girlfriends. I tried to step out of my comfortable friend group and never did. I was a big fat pussy.
After college, I worked 2 jobs I liked and hated at the same time. I was super up and down in my faith with God, and now I don’t know if he’s real, or what the hell I’m doing with my life.
I told myself I was going to South America to meet some authentic people, open my eyes, and turn things around, whatever the fuck that means, and now I’m scared shitless and how I’m going to do that, I’m blogging about who knows what, and I want it to all make sense but it doesn’t.
None of it makes sense.
No wonder I don’t know how to write an about me page. I’m a fucking mess. I feel more at peace accepting that. I love that I can accept it, and hate that I am it at the same time.
Maybe that’s who I am. I’m a complicated mess of a human being that is confident in knowing he’s clueless about who he is. That’s who I am. Great.
Now that I’ve written this anonymously, what the hell am I supposed to write on the other blog which has my face on it?
