How does that saying go: before one can be loved love, one must learn to love oneself? If that is the case, then I might as well give up.

How can I like myself, much less love myself, if I cannot stand my own existence. I cannot look at myself in the mirror without immediately thinking how I constantly stumble and fumble through even the most simple things in life.

My reflection shows not only the empty shell that I consider my life, but also shows the haunting images of the past. Images and actions that were supposed to show affection and warmth only appear as specters of hurt and disappointment.

As I try to hold back my wanting to lash myself for what I have done, I fear that I will end up lashing at those that I care for. Such thoughts eat away at any hope for any chance of having any respect and confidence in myself.

Some say that I should open myself up; my fear is that in doing so will open up my own Pandora’s box, in which only more sadness will descend on those around me. Sadly, keeping it all in will cause it to consume me and I will continue to implode further into nothingness.

At times, I feel like punching my own reflection, but that will end up piling on more bad luck and will let my wounds fester even more. But now, I fear what might be standing behind me as I try to look towards my future.

I dare not look back as I try to run from my own reflection. How can I learn to love oneself if I cannot even think of what I have done and what I am?

Love. I will just have to chalk it up as another item in my list of failures.

I lie awake with my mind racing, but I feel like I am constantly stalling. Thoughts of the past flourish and are always at the ready, yet I am afraid to think about it.

I feel that I have not accomplished a lot in my life, but somehow I have completed a checklist of failures and beyond my quota on disappointments.

Outside of my large stature, I feel so minuscule when around people. I speak in loud mumbles and in muffled proclamation.

Some consider my vast ocean of knowledge to be a positive. I find it a burden and question whether such knowledge is helpful or a detriment.

The more that I try to open myself up, I feel like being trapped in an shrinking shell. When I try to blend in to a large group, the more I single myself out. Maybe I might like the attention, but I am afraid of even the quickest of glances.

I lie awake with my mind racing, running on fumes. When will this race end and will it even matter? Being first just feels like finishing last. There is no trophy for this life, and somehow it will be recorded as being a spectacular blip.

I am now awake, now it’s time for my mind to rest.

I did find it easier to fall asleep after jotting down the poem. Well, at least for that one night.

I have had several nights where so many things have been running through my mind when laying in bed, trying to sleep. The following is a poem that I have been trying to piece together in the wee hours.

I must live my life alone, even when I feel so lonely
Within my shell, I feel comfortable yet empty

My mood swings through extremes:
Happy and sad, angry and solemn, open and closed

I say so much, but cannot find the right way to say it
Words at the ready, yet afraid of what may come out

Yearning for companionship, but must be alone
Better to let myself down than to let others down

I can respect you, yet none for myself
There will always be someone better for you than me

I must live my life without that someone special
Even if it eats at me from the inside

Clarification: the above reflects some of the moods that my dreams have been about, not an exact tale of day-to-day life. Then again, dreams can be a foggy representation of what the mind is going through.

The following poem was written a couple of years after I graduated from high school about my yearning of someone; but due to my extreme shyness and stupidity, she never really knew. The pain of my stupidity has grown and diminished over the years, but has recently peaked as it has been ten years since graduation and I have yet to be able to grow out of my shyness and immaturity.

Anyway, the poem: