I was an honest child. Or am I idealizing? I know that, in my current condition, my perception of life is so far from what it is – I can tell at least that much from this haze of fiction that overwhelms my senses. My sense of self has become so perverted since high school. I do not even know how I used to be before that. I remember concerns regarding girls and sight and athleticism. I was secure in my academics. Not anymore, so everything else has been brushed aside. The problem is, I’m not perfect, and there is no way for me to become so. Eventually, I’ll have furbished everything about myself that I can, and in my wont of self-improvement, will feel the urge to change something about myself that I cannot, not merely something holding potential for growth, but something that is intrinsic to my identity. I won’t be able to, it’s best I realize that now. There are so many truths in this universe, many contradictory, that even if I take the time to examine each one and apply them to my life, I won’t make sense of anything. I can spend all of my time self examining, but I’m still who I am, and life just won’t be as surprising, and less educational.