I really do think I have two personalities or something. There’s the irritable, commanding, defiant, perfectionist me, and the nice, funny, friendly me. Unfortunately neither one of them is me. The first one—the leader—is unfortunately predominant inside of me. I am easily irritated, and I always think both I and others could do better. But then, I really want to be a nice, outgoing, funny, friendly person.

I force myself to suppress myself, to become the me that you know. I see Conrad, and I see my feelings in his doings, more often than the compassionate side of me would like to think. He acts outwardly as I feel inwardly. But since I want to appear nice, I bottle up those feelings.

When I feel dejected, though, the softer side of me critiques me for possibly being to harsh and bitter, as I see what those traits have done to Conrad and Ralph. Sorry guys, this is just what I see. I have always been somewhat detached from society, and have never, much to my own suffering, had a “girlfriend,” by any sense of the word. Thus, such pain causes me to want to both withdraw and immerse myself in society. My failures beg me to stop trying, while the pain of a incomplete soul begs me to continue on.

This is my sad, but true tale. If ever I seem quiet and removed, there is a decent chance that these two sides of me are struggling inside. And while they struggle with each other, a third, observant part of me brings me to the verge of tears after seeing the sad state in which I exist.

So how can I ever be myself, if I have three parts of me constantly struggling to make themselves seen? To achieve perfection, it seems that one must give up the goal of compassion. To be compassionate, it seems that one must give up perfection. These two sides of me can never be concurrently satisfied, and the third part of me is constantly struggling to satisfy both and amend my turmoil.

The compassionate side of me often wins over my dreams, wherein I think of the happy things I want. The perfectionist side of me, unfortunately, often wins over my actions. The observant side of me often wins over my mind, likely the worst tragedy of it all. It pains me to realize that being so smart allows me to see these problems within myself.

I must therefore come to the conclusion that to be a fool is to be happy, and that to be happy, one must be a fool. I wish that I could myself undo, but the past cannot be undone. Ignorance is bliss, neither of which I am—ignorant or blissful. I leave you with this view of my shattered mind’s shards, as I try to piece them back together again. Those peices, however, never seem to harmonize—they always seem to create a disjointed dissonance.

My thoughts and feelings cannot be expressed in words. Words are the inexact, unsanitary tools with which we dissect our thoughts and share them with others. I depart now to reconcile the day’s events with the peaceful rest we call sleep, that will hopefully set all of my emotional dischord straight. I wish that tomorrow shall be brighter and l will be in a fairer mood.

I apologize for all of the talking… I needed to say much of this today, to prefix my mixed emotions about today’s marching performance. I shall not detail it here, since my opinion is likely to change…

Thank you for reading. I really mean it. Have a nice day.