Sometimes I fall into the trap of not knowing my own mind, after all this time.
I’ve found myself so intertwined and enmeshed in the personalities of others that I think I like what they like. Their friends should be my friends. Their interests should be mine.
And yet I find myself increasingly unsettled. If these people are my friends, why are they not acting like it? Because they don’t know? They don’t know we should be friends?
Why did I convince myself for years that I liked cheesecake? Because someone I admired and wanted to be close to liked cheesecake. Why do I insist on creating worlds that aren’t real? Why must I contrive circumstances that are false and then find myself disappointed when the facade falls away?
Why am I projecting my desires onto people who are only people? Why do I continue on the rollercoaster of expectation, disappointment and acceptance? Like a ride at the fair in a nightmare. I don’t want to get on. I have no choice.
How strange this thing is that I have done.