today, i think the idea of the individual, the special snowflake complex, is a falsehood.
we are nothing but the regurgitations of our influences. what we choose to absorb into our being become the bricks that build our so-called identities
i consider myself a creative and constantly put myself under intense pressure to at least try to be some kind of original.
and so, i fight with this idea constantly, because while i acknowledge it, i hate it. i fully confess to my need to feel like there is only one of me, that my thoughts and ideas are my own. i hate myself most when i catch myself in these moments of weakness - whenever i feel an idea forming, only to trace back to the source and realize it's been done. i'm no better than a common thief.
some days the feeling is easy to shrug off and i can go on as usual, believing in the idea of "only one me", that i am potentially, (i could be) indispensable. some days, like today, i am not so lucky. i question all that i have come to perceive myself to be and all that i think i can be
i envy those with iron conviction in themselves
i waver constantly and hate myself for it; psyche struggling between extreme narcissism and insecurity
so gross and so internet-induced, i'm sure. and yet i cannot stop?
whatever happens though, i think i have to go on fighting
i'm too masochistic and prideful to accept being anything or anyone other than myself
(no matter how shoddily constructed i think this weird sense of self is)