Wrong

I am still childish in many ways. I know I shouldn't see people as flat. I know I have to imagine people complexly, as many-faceted and unknown and beautifully broken. I know people don't think the things my brain jumps to attribute to them. People are nicer than I give them credit for and meaner, in the best ways. I am not a good judge of character and I am not good at admitting it. I rely on myself instead of being God's vessel. I want to save myself, but I can't. It's already been done.

I feel like I'm living out the middle of Ella Enchanted, but I am my own curse. I am the spell that keeps myself from being happy but, similarly, I deem it necessary to hold back. I am too young to be loved. I am too old to be loved. I am too tired to be loved. I am too restless to be loved. I am too beautiful to be loved. I am too ugly to be loved. I am too wonderful to be loved. I am too horrible to be loved.

This is the only way in which my life resembles a fairy tale.