The real me

Going through life, we tend to focus more on how others perceive us. We sort of lose track of who we really are. The never ending urge of pleasing those around us, until one day you realise that this is not the real you. You realise that the life you lead is a lie and that somewhere along the line you traded your real self to buy happiness but that happiness, that joy wasn’t yours. It was for those around you, and instead you got a deep sorrow, a feeling of emptiness, a loss so profound that not even all the riches of the world can compensate. The current book I am working on is about such a character and at the moment it seems I am living her life, feeling her pain. The point where she is in her life, seemingly happy to those around her, and yet she only knows how utterly defeated she feels from life itself.

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