from my own weight

It’s about not returning the smiles

of others or mirroring their enthusiasm.

It’s about not extending myself.

It’s about refraining from competition and

scorning those who revel in it.

It’s about loneliness and being

too involved in my own head.

It’s about only seeing the

horror in others and in me.

It’s about distortions and exaggerations.

It’s about my broken heart and doubling up on

the floor after a thousand self-incriminations and

a thousand and one reasons why I’m a failure.

It’s about writing the same thing over and over.

It’s about other people’s judgments and

criticisms and how they shape my

self-perception, self-esteem, and reality.

It’s about despising and envying the optimism in others.

It’s about alienating myself from my family and

running away from those who care for and love me.

It’s about being ashamed to discuss my pain with others.

It’s about thinking that if people knew

the real me, they would be disappointed.

It’s about drifting.

It’s about walking in a fog for forty-odd years

of my life without knowing exactly what it is

I should be doing or which goals I should be

setting or what job I should be applying for or

what woman I should be spending

the rest of my life with.

It’s about missed opportunities and not hustling enough.

It’s about resignation, anxiety, self-consciousness,

introversion, selfishness, isolation, indifference,

detachment, anger, bitterness, irritability, immaturity,

arrogance, pride, sloth, lust.

It’s about yearning to belong and a craving for privacy.

It’s about contradictions and ironies, conflicts and harmonies, warring with my demons, and

making peace with myself.

It’s about being embarrassed to show

my emotions, especially enthusiasm, joy, and tenderness, and the belief that

anger is the only emotion I’m permitted to express.

It’s about cynicism, paranoia,

a lack of trust, and an abundance of blame.

It’s about denial and self-loathing.

It’s about self-deprecation and modesty.

It’s about deference and reticence.

It’s about a loss of language and

articulating my anger with silence.