I envy others. Others who are more innovative, have much more creativity than I. I envy other who have more than I do. Not jealous, but envious. How did they get bestowed with such blessings, blessings that seem to have skipped me in the delivery. Was there a sign up for such things, an audition? I surely would have attended. Or at least I think I would have. I think I want to be successful. I think I want fame.
Maybe I don’t. Maybe becoming a tragedy would be so much more fulfilling. Maybe giving up would be better. Not for me, but for them. I would essentially gain fame, not how I imagined or envisioned, but FAME at the very least. Isn’t fame the same in all variations? Instead of having adoring fans, I would have sympathetic pities. Pity is woe. Pity is me. Instead of haters gossiping, brewing new rumors to spread about me; I could have neighbors and family friends passing my story on: A Bright, Intelligent Student Destined For Success Turned Bitter And Hopeless By Life. Instead of photographers and paparazzi following my every move, I could have texts and phone calls awaiting me in the mornings just to make sure I’m okay.
Maybe FAME is the root of all evil, the root of change. Will I forget my old life once FAME has entered in either occurrence. Will I forget how to be normal? To be me? Will FAME take hold of my body? My soul? Suppressing me? There can’t be enough room for the both of us inside of this one body. There isn’t enough room for me. If there was, I wouldn’t need to seek anything more. I would be content with myself. Lose myself internally. Lost in my own mind. Maybe that’s where the crazies go. The mentally unstable. The insane. They have all actually figured it out, ok maybe not but still. That all we need in life is ourselves.
As long as we can make ourselves happy, we are successful. Fame doesn’t enter our lives. Fame doesn’t change our lives. But we become FAME. And WE evolve into what we were always supposed to become…Right?