I ask you, what does it mean to live? To breathe, taste the air, and see the many colors of the world. I ask because I do not know how one lives life. I myself have inexperience in living. Nobody knows me, the true me. Albeit, that is truly "mostly" my fault. I do not know what to do with this life that was bestowed upon me like a gift. I constantly deal with disappointment. From no one else but me. I disappoint myself every day, failing to do what is "right". I hate myself, I truly do.  I hate myself for ever living in this world. Nobody gets me, let alone even be similar to me. I might seem like a emo person, I truly am not, and I encourage people against this personality. Deep inside, I am depressed. I like to hide it, and it seems to work numerous times. I an not understood, yet I am not trying to be. I try not to disappoint, sadden, anger, or hurt people, but it seems like I cannot do as simple a task as that. I am disappointed, sad, angry, and hurt by none other than myself. And it is entirely my fault.