A Confession: Me

I sometimes wonder what’s the real me.
If it’s the one that’s positive, helpful, motivated,
the one that’s happy and accepts things as they are,
solves problems by seeing their positive side and
laughs.

Of if it’s the dark, gloomy, sad, depressed, horrible,
dickish idiot that’s been creeping up in me that’s
growing bigger and stronger by the day,
threatening me, the people around me,
threatening my life.

And really, at this point, I don’t even know anymore.
Maybe it’s both, maybe not.
Maybe it’s depression that’s making me be like this,
but honestly, I refuse to believe that an illness
can do this to me.

This is a confession.
I don’t know anymore.
I don’t know who I am, and I don’t know if I ever will.

This is me.
Or maybe it isn’t.
I don’t know.