You know your worth, which is why nobody else can. You're in the position of a life probably wasted, but then again you aren't sure how you would have spent it otherwise.
You're not a good person, but you're not evil either. You're dead center, and you're dead in the center. Most of your time is spent in transit and most of your actions are reactions.
When was the last time you had an original thought? Or the last time you weren't just getting by? What are you thinking when you travel, and what do you think when you arrive or depart? What's your function? Do you have one? No? Would you feel satisfied if you did?
Would that change anything about you -- "you" you? That your personality is the rubble left by a collapse - all shards and sharp edges covered in dust - is that a disturbing idea or are you unfazed? Where are you going all the damn time and what do you do when you get there?
Have you thought about any of this? You can't kill yourself because you might get better and you're bad at gambling. You can't live as yourself because you're waiting for a change that isn't coming - a final reveal: the "real you" launched without a hitch in beautiful colors. The you you dream about when you're sleeping away the you you actually are.
When I'm done, I'll tear this sheet away from its pad, smash it into a ball and chew it down with my afternoon coffee. I'll send you a picture of what comes out the other end and you'll tell me the answers to all my questions.
