Wednesday, April 12, 2017

When I was a small child, to when I was a kid, to when I was an older kid, to when I was a pre-teenager, to when I was a teenager, to when I was in my late teenage years, to when I was in my early twenties, to when I was in my mid twenties...

I was a miserable person. I actually felt dead inside. I didn't know why.

As I became more aware of things over the last few years, I blamed certain things in my upbringing and my environment for my unhappy past. Which was true and good. At last, I was able to confront these issues and then move past them.

But now I'm realizing that this wasn't the whole equation. I was the other half of the equation.

I caused my own unhappiness. I was the bad person.

I didn't care about things. I CHOSE THIS. It was easier not to have any goals or dreams (real ones), big or small. It was easier not to care about love.


It's good that I finally realize this flaw about myself now, but I also worry about myself. How is it that it took me so long to admit my flaw? I don't want to keep making this same mistake (significant unawareness of my flaws) in the future.

I think that part of the reason is that I inherited this characteristic, either genetically or environmentally, from my mom. I am just now realizing exactly how much of a hard time she has admitting her own flaws as well.

All good to know.

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