I am one hundred different people and I am none.
I have so many friends and I also have none.
How can they be my real friends when they don’t know who I am.
How can my husband love me when I don’t give a damn.
You like football? I love it too. I’m not even lying, I actually do.
You like horses? I actually don’t, but maybe your right, I really should.
I don’t even just say I like them too, my minds made up and now it’s true.
I’m easily led, I’m basically a sheep, I don’t have a clue who I am and I’m really not deep.
I hate myself for not knowing who I am, my mind is numb and I feel like a scam.
I have no idea what I should do, an author, a teacher, or work in a bar; but how can I help or teach others, when I have no idea what my true colours are.
One day I’m happy, settled and can see far ahead; the next I am sad, anxious and full of dread.
I see messages from people “have you seen Louise, what book has she published, she must be on number 63”.
I only started writing to help other people, everyone should know that unkind words can be lethal.
Maybe they are right and I should stop, and take all of my books out of the shops.
Constant wavering and indecision, impulsive behavior and self-derision.
I had 1000 followers, I deleted the account, I couldn’t believe I deserved that amount.
I opened a new page, but what’s the point? The numbers are lost and I just disappoint.
Did Louise add you on Facebook? She added me too. She’s such a weird one, she belongs in the zoo.
Is it really her fault that she is like she is to this day? She adapted to meet others needs and lost herself along the way.
Unconditional love isn’t always a thing, and rejection can cause more than a sting.
So why am I like this and will I survive? I have no idea, maybe I’ll thrive.