I found a letter I wrote back in 2006 earlier today.

It was so crazy to re-read, because half of what I said = I was trying to put into words last night. My audience was less than receptive.

I never sent that letter. I’ve always had insecurities about it.. I feel like I’m alone on this.

The letter was basically confessing my love… I guess, for an ex-boyfriend. It’s quite cute, but it beats-around-the-bust for about 2 pages until I finally get it out.

Anyway..

I said..

26-2-06

“You know what I came to realize? Nothing will ever be good enough for me.  Nothing will be able to satisfy me. I feel like there’s nothing I can do on this planet, for it to make me feel whole. It sounds so cliche, I know.. I’m so sick of not knowing.  I want to know my purpose for being here. Everyone has a purpose, right?”

I’m trying to remember a time in the past three years, where I felt content.. Or even just happy.

Nothing really sticks out.

I reckon it’s an age thing. Or I hope it is.