The scary part is that even if I want to give up, I know I can’t because it’ll haunt me every single day for the rest of my life.
It’s like you’re a character in a novel, and you’re not sure you like the plot. In fact, sometimes you hate the plot. But there’s nothing you can do about it because you’re not the one writing it.
"What are you twelve"
Yeah on a scale of one to ten bye
My insecurities. Those goddamn insecurities: The only things that have the power to control me, destroy me and screw around with every possible thing that makes me happy.
The worst part?
Being insecure is no one’s fault but my own.