The New Me

by Halle Butler

I was embarrassed to be me and needed someone to reassure me that I had good qualities, to reassure me that I was just overreacting or having a bad day.

You can’t ask someone to help you without letting them know you’re different than advertised,

Once you expose yourself as insecure, it’s easy to feel resentment if you’re not immediately put back at ease.

But who cares anymore anyway, it’s always better to be alone, better this way, better to be able to be yourself with yourself, openly awful. Who cares? Nobody.

People spend so much time dramatizing trivial bullshit that when an actual tragedy happens, I wonder how anyone could possibly act out their grief in a natural way.