Often times I find myself lost in a sea of expectations, no longer able to establish which are mine and which are foreign. Pulling myself through their mass is a daily trial which I feel as though I fail minute by minute, my strength ebbing away, my resolve growing dull, and my struggle growing with every stroke.
Looking around I see that I am lost.I am desperate to find the expectations and goals I carefully set for myself such a short time ago.
Today I recommit to finding the bread crumbs, the foot steps, which I hope still remain.
The sense of self I once had, the person I wanted to be, has drowned. Held down by the weight of it's full pack stuffed to the brim with adult responsibility, practicality, prudence, and the fear of failure.
This is a death I will morn no more. A new life, daily dreams, and a sense that I am meant to be only what I do not what I predict takes seed in it's place. No tears, no self-loathing, no pedestals to stand on or climb shamefully off of.
I am only what I expect of myself. I expect great things. I do great things.
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