Never Good Enough

I must have been nineteen or twenty years old when I decided I wanted to die. I needed to free myself of the pain, the unrelenting loneliness, and the angst that accompanied me on my trip from adolescence into early adulthood. That was when I realized I felt no one would listen to me without judging me; I could barely experience the pain I felt without judging myself the weakling, the boy-man who was not good enough to confront the world around me, the world that suddenly had become stronger and more capable than I.

[I mistakenly posted this before I had finished writing it; my intent was for it to be much longer and more involved. Apologies for thrusting this unfinished and blemished piece on readers’ eyes so very, very early. It is utterly incomplete; I will, at some point, finish it. I intended to save it as a draft but, instead, posted it for all the world to see.]

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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