Others expectations

I think i have always been vary of the expectations of those around me. My parents, their friends, my uncles and aunts. And most of the people of the adult world. And I think I let their thoughts, their uncoloured images of the world, their wants and whishes, i think I let it all seep into my skin. Where to this day, it has layered and hardened. 

And i realised that all my life, i had cared too much what others thought of me. And I thought maybe, i had never been a person at all. 

And what a weight it has been on my bones, to live this way.

And I thought that, maybe then, all I can do, is to build myself up. To build a person, where there has never been one. To let go of all I thought i knew, and to start again. And that is an immensly scary, immensly freeing feeling. Like looking at an endless ocean, wondering if you will ever find land, solid earth, and how that earth would be. 

I think as a child, maybe then i had known small bits and pieces, small couloured patches of what it had meant to be me. But I must have lost it along this long and compicated road. Such a sad thing. But then again I thought, better to have found it now, then to never have found it at all. This is one of many roads.