the miserable life of a miserable teenager

maybe a switch.

Whatever it was, it flipped.

The priority was me, my success.

I guess, I could've been born like this,

just never noticed because,

it comes so naturally.

The mental list in my head of the different personalities I would display to different people.

That can’t be normal, right?RêAd lat𝙚St chapters at Novel(D)ra/ma.Org Only

I don’t even know who I am,

I don’t think I ever have.

It’s always been a show.

But when does it stop?

Is that why I can’t be alone with myself?

Because I am not a person?