Sometimes I consider if my bad decisions make me a bad person—what is the standard to judge myself? The times I've hurt friends and family, isolating them and betraying their love for me, now accumulate heavily in my consciousness. I can't help but wonder if it is a self-portrait. I am bad. I am bad or I am an idiot. It is as if I am blind of the important things. I have no bad intentions, I care about pleasing people, of making things right. But it doesn't matter. By the time I am deciding it's already too late to find an answer. My ignorance leads me to hurtful outcomes. I am naive and I hate it. I wish I had malice, because by inertia I would know what is good and bad. But my mind is a blank, saturated space. Everything comes in and transforms into indiscernible noise. I never know the answer, I am utterly stupid. People must look at me and see how fragile clown I am. And the ones who love me now see how my stupidity burns the bridges they build to get to me. It is wasted love. I take bad decisions after another, accumulating them and crying over them. Proof of my incompetence.
