The pattern

My brain fights.

I struggle.

I'm meant to be someone. ~I'm am no one.

I cannot tolerate mediocrity. ~ I cannot rise above it.

I am a rebel without a cause.

I am an angel without a vision.

I do good, but wish to be bad.

I wish to be good but find no happiness in it.

I struggle with the desires of my heart.

I feel small.

I have no goals.

I have goals.

I outgrow my goals.

I become bored with my goals.

I cannot think of a goal which is big enough to warrant my attention.

People try to put me inside a box or define goals for me.

I feel trapped.

I pull away to escape but realize all is utterly pointless.

I look for a way to get around the fact that things are pointless.

I enjoy the small things.

I keep myself hidden from reality.

Reality calls to me.

I rise to meet it.

It washes over me like a tsunami.

I am overwhelmed.

My reaction is to flee.

My heart flees. ~My body remains.

I become depressed, withdrawn.

Physically ill.

My head and health torment me.

I must flee.

I flee.

People push me to do and be more. ~ The more they push, the less appealing it seems.

I start again on my rise to the top.

People view my goals to be worthless, my talents wasted, my life at best, a cry for help.

I give up.

The pattern continues.