identity crisis part 1

Hi, my name is _____, am seventeen years of age, and I don't know who I am.

Every morning, I look for something to hold onto - something inspiring... palpable... unique... something real and of life's true essence;  something that, no matter what anyone would do or say, I could really include to the collection of things and treasures I can really call mine.

Life has been a dump and a real downer as I've survived these last seventeen years with a certain dragging monotony that still haunts my daily life. I wake up every day as light comes into my eyes upon seeing the white, dull ceiling staring back at me with its chilly plainness. It hurts. It hurts so much - the rays of brightness, the piercing simplicity, the blanche routine.

I never asked it to be this way - I never asked it to be any other way, for that matter. C'est seulement comme ca - et il faut que je la subisse. You can't blame me, though, just as I can't blame anyone - just as I can't blame myself nor the world.

I'm seventeen - and I haven't done anything for anyone - not even for myself. I haven't done enough, nor have I done anything for a single soul that lives in this world.

I love life.

I love my family.

Friends.

I love this world.

yet, the only thing that I just can't love is myself...

Hi, my name is _______, and I just lost the definition of "______."



P.S: interpretationsfrei.