What have I become?
So was it all a movie? Was there really a perfect script somewhere, carefully written and waiting for me to discover the one person who would finally make sense of everything? Or was that just another story I told myself because reality was too complicated to accept? Maybe finding someone didn’t change me. Maybe she simply revealed parts of me I had spent years refusing to look at.
And now I have to ask myself something I never wanted to ask: Was I becoming the very thing I spent my life pointing at in other people? I used to look at liars and call them liars. I looked at deceivers and wondered how someone could live with themselves. I looked at people who hurt others and convinced myself I would never become like them. But somewhere along the way, something changed. I learned that power could be achieved by almost any means necessary, and my life adapted around that belief. Survival became justification. Control became protection. Cynicism became wisdom. And before I realised it, I had built a version of myself that knew how to win but had forgotten how to be human.
What have I become?
The man who could write the perfect script and still forget that there were real people living inside it.
Sometimes I think of Shakespeare not because I believe my life is some grand tragedy, but because there is something terrifying about becoming trapped inside a role you wrote for yourself. You perform it so well that eventually you don’t know where the character ends and you begin. You become the chief of your own chains, locking yourself inside the very identity you created because you thought it would keep you safe. And perhaps the cruelest part is that I wasn’t even trying to destroy people. I wanted everyone to belong. I wanted people to stay. I wanted to understand them, protect what mattered, and somehow create a world where nobody had to feel as alone as I once did. But how many tears have fallen along the way? How many hearts have broken? How many lives have been touched by decisions I convinced myself were necessary?
That question frightens me more than being hurt ever did. Because what if the person I’ve been trying to protect all these years became the person capable of causing the very pain I feared?
What if I became the monster? And if I did, is there a point where a person becomes too far gone to return?
I don’t know.
That is the terrifying part.
I can feel the chaos inside me, and sometimes it feels like it has consumed everything. The certainty, the innocence, the idea that I knew what kind of man I was supposed to be. I look inward and find something hollow, like a house that still has walls but no one living inside it. And I wonder whether I became empty somewhere along the way, or whether I had always been empty and simply became better at decorating the silence.
But then another question comes.
Does heaven still see me?
Not the version of me I present to people.
Not the man who knows what to say.
Not the one who can explain his actions.
Me…….
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