On being a disappointment.

For me, disappointing people was never something I could bear. The sheer thought of me being a disappointment to someone I know holds me in high regard is shattering.

I am torn bit by bit every time I disappoint.

You may see it as me being a people pleaser, but hear me out.

I was never expected to be something; I was expected to be just another black youth running the streets ambition-less and education less. My teachers, the people around me never expected me to amount to something.

Instead of falling prey to their leering visions, I defied whatever odds were placed in my way and started to climb a ladder – surprising each of them.

So now when I disappoint someone, I feel like I have given merit to their expectations, I feel like I am just another failure. Am I just another failure?

These days I am not sure what I am. I cry myself to sleep on thoughts of being a failure. I think the facade I built for the outside world is falling apart and me with it.

How can I explain to you that I am not that which you think I am when the truth is I don’t know if I am more or less of what you think of me?

I don’t want to disappoint anyone, I don’t want to disappoint myself. Being a failure never resonated well within me.

I always got emotional. Always.

I remember when I just came out of school, I couldn’t get a job, I felt trapped, caged, inhibited and I descended into a dark alley where every other thought centered around wanting to take my own life.

That later manifested into me wanting to take the life of others in some chic manner? What can be chic about taking a life? The rush? The thrill? Not sure.

Now at this exact moment, I feel myself knocking on those very doors without the secondary manifestation. I wanted to rule the world. But now all I want to do is die.

I’m sorry I disappointed you.