All my life, I wanted to be a superhero. I'm faced today with the not-so-startling realization that I am indeed no where near to being or becoming one. Of course, the only one to blame for this fact is myself. I'm faced, as always, with an incessant sense of self-loathing. I have at least, arrived to determine at least one certainty of life:
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Questions: Why set up impossible to reach goals? Why not show more kindness, we are human, humans fail? Why is the author unable to move on and appears to be in a tragic struggle?
My experience: When a statement is made, I am in need of being needless it's in fact the reverse or because of a lack of knowledge as to what enrichment being needed can bring into your life.
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