useless.

again i'm struck with the reality of my childishness. naivety. insufficiency. inadequacy. it feels like these things will follow me for the rest of my life. i can never be the person i want to be. i am not enough. i'm useless. i serve no purpose on this planet except writing aimlessly, mindlessly, and pining after things i can never have. being myself isn't nearly good enough. i have such high standards for myself--expectations i can't quite meet.