I won­der if I come off as a per­son with emo­tion­al bag­gage. One of the (very few) things that I pride myself in is my “self-aware­ness”, the abil­i­ty to see myself objec­tive­ly, but this is a char­ac­ter­is­tic that I am unable to deter­mine with­in myself. Has my past made me a per­son of fright­en­ing, unper­son­able dis­po­si­tion? Do peo­ple think of me as some­one with deep root­ed emo­tion­al issues?

I won­der if my his­to­ry even mat­ters to oth­ers. I real­ize that it’s when I let my his­to­ry inter­fere with or affect my rela­tion­ships that it becomes a prob­lem. I’m afraid, how­ev­er, that I let things become affect­ed more than I’d like, more than I under­stand.

The past is some­thing that I rec­og­nize as being sig­nif­i­cant, and I try to keep it only as that. It is some­thing that I learn from, some­thing which can affect me and my deci­sions today, but not some­thing that I should present­ly be deal­ing with.

So, is it?

Well, I’m not com­plete­ly sure. On a night like tonight, when the mid­night sky burns bright enough to illu­mi­nate my room, I can’t help but feel unheard, unheard in some­thing I wish to express. What becomes this need to be under­stood?

It’s a voice I wish to have, to bring me clo­sure, to let me be free.

It has tak­en me three hours to write this final thought, along with the resur­fac­ing of many dis­tract­ing mem­o­ries. Things still feel unre­solved, of course, but I have suf­fi­cient­ly quelled my mood until there is a more appro­pri­ate time to express myself.

When I see you again, you will under­stand what I’ve become, and what you’ve done to make me this way.