Here

I'm tired of myself,
of the eating and the appeasing and the pleasing of others.
I'm tired of myself,
self-sacrificing consistently, self-sacrificing my body and my mind, my family and my home, my needs and my vices.
I'm tired of myself,
of this old woman I've become who doesn't smoke, nor really drink, who eats healthily and exercises regularly, who looks nothing like herself.
I'm tired of myself, this constantly improving individual because what I started with just wasn't good enough.
I'm tired of myself, of where I stand and what I stand for and why I stay and what the goals are.
I grow weary of myself today.
I dream of awful things, like the good old days and wonder how long it will be until this new tiresome self eats the old self whole so I don't have to cope with her lack of willingness to change.
I grow weary of myself and wonder why I never loved her to begin with.
I am twenty-two and yet I feel like I am forty-three.
I am twenty-two and I can't quite remember why I sold my life.